A Kind of Romance (7 page)

BENNY INVADED
my waking thoughts for days after our “date” with a regularity that made me realize I wouldn’t get him out of my head until I called or texted like I said I would. The following Wednesday morning, when I noted my attention wavering from an e-mail I was composing, I figured I should just get it over with. I didn’t know what to say exactly, so I kept it simple.

Hi are we on this week?

I pushed Send before I could overthink it and returned to my e-mails. Benny responded a few minutes later with a bowling ball and a thumbs-up emoji along with a Midtown address. I stared at my cell for a moment before typing a one-word response, then turned my attention back to the screen in front of me. I really had to get to work. I couldn’t afford to waste time thinking about what was supposed to be an innocent night out with a guy I viewed strictly as friend material.

I gazed at the huge screen on my desk, willing myself to focus. My office featured various-sized monitors all tuned in to international financial markets. I’d started my career fresh out of grad school in a trading room and had loved the frenetic energy of being surrounded by flashing screens, graphs, and charts. There had been a tangible excitement in the atmosphere that could be thrilling and dramatic. Over 80 percent of all modern trading was done electronically now. It was hard to recreate the excitement of the trader-room floor from my quiet corner office, but I did my best by insisting I had access to every possible newsfeed streaming current financial data. I felt it was best to be overinformed when it came to investing for multimillion dollar accounts. There may have been a giant window at my back with an incredible river view, but the huge screens on my desk and the wall covered with monitors beyond kept my rapt attention.

Usually. I glanced back at my phone when it lit up again.

When? I’m free tonight. U?

Switching gears from the Dow’s upward trend to planning a bowling date should have been more jarring than it was. Normally I’d ignore the caller ’til the European markets closed, then return the text. Not today.

Sure. What time?

7. See u there.

I paused before asking another question.

Do you need a ride?

No thanks.

I swiveled in my chair and stared out the window at the brilliant blue sky and tiny people and cars on the streets below. Carter hadn’t been exaggerating when he said it wasn’t like me to go out with someone to please my father. I’d spent most of my life going out of my way to go against the grain where George was concerned. If he recommended a right turn, I was sure to go left. We’d never been in sync on anything. If it hadn’t been for Mom, we would have come to blows a few times. She’d always claimed our inability to get along was because we were too alike. The mere idea used to drive me insane. So why had I agreed to go bowling with Benny?

I shrugged and swiveled back to face my computer. I liked him. He made me laugh. And for now, that was enough.

LATER THAT
evening, I had Hector drop me off in front of the massive gray building at the corner of 9th and 40th. Benny instructed me to meet him at the bar and to look for the guy in green. Green was good. Better than pink, I mused as I searched the semicrowded space. I should have known he meant lime green. Neon lime, no less. I made my way around the oval-shaped bar, noting the modern spherical pendant lighting and flashing blue backlights. These kinds of places dressed up their interiors to look hipper than the old-fashioned bowling alley bars of my youth, but the stained, low-drop ceilings gave them away every time. It was a nice enough spot, but I was definitely in no danger of running into anyone I knew. I wasn’t known for hanging out in borderline-tacky Midtown bowling alleys with primary-colored tables and leatherette booths.

The most authentically colorful thing in this space might just be the man with faded pink highlights in his bangs. The fact his bright shirt didn’t clash with his hair was a sign that as outlandish as Benny dressed, he knew what he was doing. Did I? I’d had second thoughts on my way uptown, but I couldn’t convince myself this was anything but a harmless outing. I liked bowling. At least I thought I did. And yes, my competitive nature surfaced when he’d claimed to be an expert. I wanted to prove I was better, though I had nothing to qualify me as such.

“Hi there,” I said, tapping Benny’s shoulder.

He swiveled on his barstool and smiled. It was one of those megabright grins that transform even the best-looking people into a godlike realm. My heart jumped and sputtered and then raced like crazy. The way it had when I was in high school and Jared Hirsch smiled at me. I gulped and licked my lips before taking the seat next to him. A bored-looking bartender stood at the other end of the bar, drying glasses with a hand towel. He tucked the towel in his waistband under his considerable paunch and sauntered over to ask what I wanted in a thick Long Island accent.

“What do you have on tap?”

He sighed before launching into an exhaustive list of foreign and domestic beers and ales. I was stalling. I didn’t really care what I had to drink. I was having the same strange reaction to Benny I’d had the other night. I needed the extra time to get myself under control. The bartender nodded when I finally made my choice and turned away. Diversion gone. I threw a sideways glance at Benny and found him staring at me. I braced myself for another adolescent-like reaction, but when my pulse remained steady, I shifted on my stool to face him. Damn, he was cute. Scratch that… he was hot. The mischievous spark in his gaze might have been part of the attraction. He looked like he knew the punch line to a hysterical joke and couldn’t wait to share.

“You look good,” I commented in a casual tone.

“Thanks. So do you.” He grinned, nudging my knee as he turned. The contact went straight to my cock. When this happened the other night at Antigua, I figured I was having a vodka-induced reaction. I was stone-cold sober now. And sweating. Not good.

The timely arrival of my beer saved me for a moment. I took a long drink and let my gaze sweep over the patrons. It looked like a basic after-work crowd. I wondered if we stood out. Two gay men bellied up to the bar. One dressed in a color that hadn’t been popular since 1985, and the other… well, in my perfectly pressed jeans and light blue oxford button-down shirt, I probably looked lost.

“Relax, honey. It’s only bowling,” Benny taunted, as though he were somehow able to read my thoughts. “Remember? I’m gonna kick your ass and send you home with your tail between your legs.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t think so, little man. Prepare for certain defeat.”

Benny barked a short laugh and gave me what I was beginning to think of as his signature once-over. “If you like the planet Earth, I would suggest you refrain from ever calling me ‘little man’ again.”

“Ooh, I’m scared.”

“You’re an asshole. Why did I think this could be fun? I must have had too many strawberry margaritas the other night.”

“I see you ordered another fruity drink. What’s up with that? You must really like pink stuff.” I reached out and impulsively ran my thumb along the fringe of his bangs.

He swatted my hand away irritably and shot me a warning glance.

“What’d I do?” I asked. “Tell the truth?”

“I’m already bugged. Finish your beer. Our reservation is in ten minutes. What do you want to talk about? Wall Street or bagels? You choose.”

“I never thought I’d say this, but tell me about bagels. How do you like it so far?”

“It’s fine. But better than that… I actually received a commission today,” he squealed. “A real one.”

I gave him a sharp look and glanced over at the bartender, noticing his inquisitive stare. I coughed uncomfortably. “Commission for what? Pumpernickel?”

Benny chuckled appreciatively. “Sorry. That was a bad segue. Not bagels. A dress. But not just any dress. My client is a theater chanteuse! Broadway royalty!”

“Congratulations. Who is she?”

“Sarah Gerritson.”

“Never heard of her.”

“Well, maybe I’m exaggerating a smidge. She’s in an off-Broadway musical with iffy reviews, but she needs something fabulous for some cocktail party for her hubby’s office. I suppose it’s a start. I wouldn’t usually brag, but the well has been dry lately. If I’m not elbow-deep in pizza dough, I’m dishing cream cheese onto toasted bagels. I can’t wait to get a chance to do something creative again. And thank you, baby Jesus… she wants color! I love black, but when she said jewel toned, I nearly fell off my chair. Things are looking up!”

“Good for you. What color will you choose? Lime green?”

“This is not lime green. It’s chartreuse. You like?” Benny popped the collar on his tee and gave me a sideways look that clearly indicated the question was rhetorical only.

“It’s bright but yeah… you look nice.”

“Thanks.” His smile was wide and… beautiful.

I swallowed hard and tried to come up with a neutral topic change. “Hey, has my dad been calling you? I’m wondering if we’re officially off the hook now.”

Benny cocked his head curiously. “Haven’t
you
talked to him?”

“Yeah, but it was quick. I told him we met, and he went on about how terrific you are until I tuned him out. When I mentioned seeing you tonight, he got kinda excited. I hope you’re willing to convert. He’s hoping for a Jewish son-in-law.”

My delivery was purposefully deadpan, and the result was well worthwhile. Benny’s eyes widened as he covered his mouth to keep from spraying his cocktail all over the bar. When he finally managed to swallow, he gasped for air. A lone tear trickled down his cheek as he coughed. I patted his back and handed him a napkin with a chuckle.

“You okay, big guy? Note… I didn’t say ‘little guy.’”

He gave me a dirty look but couldn’t speak yet. I lifted my glass in a mock toast and took a swig while he gathered himself.

“Convert?”

“Sure, I’m Jewish. You’re Catholic. That ain’t gonna fly.”

“Handsome and hysterical. How did I get so lucky?” he drawled.

I laughed heartily and patted his back again, amused when he pushed me away. “I don’t know, Ben. I don’t know. You ready for me to mop the bowling lane with you tonight? That’s code for ‘kick
your
ass.’ Come on, let’s do this.”

BENNY LED
the way to the shoe rental area. He’d come equipped with his own bowling ball and a pair of slick shoes. I felt a twinge of jealousy. I’d remembered a thick pair of socks, but frankly, the gross factor in wearing rented shoes was still high. We were assigned a lane at the far end of the enormous bowling alley next to the wall. The semicircular seating was nicer than the usual hard plastic seats found in most alleys. The chairs were upholstered in a brown leather that complemented the sleek computer console. The lighting over the seating area had a club-like feel that made each lane seem private. And strangely… romantic.

I sang the first few lines of Elton John’s “Bennie and the Jets” in my usual off-pitch voice to defuse the mood and maybe get a rise out of Benny as he entered our names into the computer. When he finished, he turned with a raised brow and made a sweeping motion with his hands.

“You’re up. Let’s see what you got, Gulden.”

“Are you giving me a couple practice rounds? I haven’t done this in a while.”

I didn’t think the question was particularly funny, but Benny obviously did. When he was done laughing his head off, he pointed toward the lane.

“We’ll consider the first couple turns practice. You’re first.”

I gave him a perturbed glare and then walked to the top of the lane. I stood tall, balancing the weight of the ball evenly against my chest for a moment. Then I stepped back with my right foot as I swung my right arm behind me, and sent the ball flying down the lane in front of me. I swayed to the left as it careened to the right, as though my movement could correct the ball’s course to somewhere closer to the middle. It didn’t work. I managed to knock down eight pins, though. And on my second try, I got one more. Not too shabby. I high-fived Benny, who stood nearby, ready and waiting for his turn.

Benny stared at the pins in the distance, resting his bright red bowling ball under his chin. He almost looked like he was saying a prayer. A childish voice in my head wanted to taunt him and say something juvenile like “You better say a prayer ’cause you’ll need all the help you can get.” Something I might have said to Abe or Carter. But I kept quiet and instead focused on his form. My gaze dipped from his tapered, slim waist to his ass. For a small guy, he was perfectly proportioned. And that ass was fine. I blinked in an effort to not ogle. I glanced up when he moved. His left arm flew to his side as he pulled his right arm back. He crouched low, almost like he was bowing with his right knee bent at an exaggerated angle, and then unleashed the ball. The red ball went flying straight down the center of the alley and
bam
! Strike.

He sashayed back toward the console and slapped my offered hand a high five.

“Impressive,” I grudgingly sighed before standing to take my turn.

“Thanks.”

“I’m still warming up, though,” I said smugly before adding, “And I’m still gonna show you who’s boss.”

Benny smiled and crossed his arms over his chest. “Naturally. Your turn.”

I hit nine pins on my next turn, then eight and seven after that. I was getting worse while Benny… well, he was kicking my ass. He hit strikes or spares with an ease that proved he’d been telling the truth from the start. He was an expert bowler, and I was the loud-mouthed schmuck who’d challenged the wrong man to a contest I had no hope of winning. By my final turn, I’d been sufficiently put in my place. It was time to apologize for doubting his prowess and admit I’d been wrong. But grace in defeat wasn’t my strong suit, so instead of congratulating him, I opened my big mouth and said something else entirely.

“I’m warmed up now. Bet you can’t do that again, Ruffalo. Let’s play another round.”