Just Friends With Benefits (8 page)

I fought my way through the crowds of people on the street, including rush hour corporate-types like myself and halted tourists, mesmerized by billboards, office buildings and other attractions of which I, also a tourist in my own right, was too hung over to notice. The two block walk took close to ten minutes and when I finally made it to my firm’s building, I stopped at the little store in the lobby to pick up a sample packet of aspirin and a bottle of water.

“Smile, little lady. It can’t be that bad.”

I looked up into the deep-set sapphire eyes of the elderly man behind the counter, smiled and said, “You’re probably right, but it sure feels that way.”

The man grabbed a copy of
Cosmopolitan
, handed it to me with my change and said, “On me. Enjoy. Just promise to smile.”

For the first time since returning to my hotel room after dinner the night before, I managed a genuine smile and said, “Thank you so much. You just made my day.” And although I meant what I said, I really had no desire to learn 139 ways to drive my man crazy in bed and would have much preferred a copy of
Bon Appetit
.

Part of me was desperate to be comforted. I wanted to tell one of my friends what had happened so she could tell me it wasn’t as bad as I thought—that Hille was a dumb fuck who wouldn’t recognize a sexy girl if she was sitting on his face. I even imagined crying to my mother over hot chocolate and a bottle of Reddy Whip. She would shrug it off and say, “Next!” But I decided to keep my misery to myself. A friend dragged me to a cheesy seminar once about finding true happiness and the quirky moderator encouraged the attendees to “fake it until you make it.” I decided to fake not giving a shit about being rejected by Hille in the hopes that eventually I really wouldn’t give a shit.

I immersed myself in boxes of closing binders with Gina, only taking a short break at lunch time. I felt like ordering the entire menu at TGI Fridays but decided on an egg roll from the Chinese restaurant across the street, relying on the logic that it would satisfy my craving for fried food, yet leave me hungry enough to take advantage of the free dinner later.

And I was definitely hungry when I arrived at Carmines and inhaled the aroma of garlic and tomatoes. I glanced over at the hordes of people sitting at the bar, probably waiting for a table to become available, and breathed a sigh of relief that our crew had a reservation. I was entranced by the giant menu mounted on the wall when I heard someone call my name. I looked up to find Adam walking toward me from the back of the restaurant with a smile, his dimples out in full force.

“Hey, Steph. We’re in the back. Follow me.”

As he led me through the packed restaurant, I became instantly revitalized by the energy of the place. Waiters in all white uniforms were bustling about, carrying enormous platters of food. And the conversations among the separate parties, although I couldn’t make out any of the words, created a buzzing sound I found invigorating.

Steve, the partner on the deal, ordered a feast of appetizers and entrees and, thanks to flowing bottles of red wine and a little hair of the dog, my persistent headache from over-imbibing the night before made a complete exit. By the time the Carmine’s salad and fried calamari were served, I was no longer thinking about Hille either. Instead, I basked in the attention of the 12 attorneys and paralegals that comprised the Franklin General team, especially Adam who was sitting next to me.

“So, Steph, is the D.C. office as cool as the New York office?” he asked.

As everyone at the table looked in my direction, I swallowed the piece of chicken marsala in my mouth and gave the only acceptable answer, “Of course not! It’s pretty cool but New York is my favorite.”

“You did a great job on the deal, Stephanie. You’re welcome to bill more hours from the New York office anytime,” Steve said.

Although I doubted my notarizing skills were better than anyone else’s, I said, “Thanks so much. Glad to be of help.”

Adam whispered, “If I didn’t have to go back to the office tonight, I’d take you for a drink. Next time?”

I felt the blush rise in my cheeks and said, “Sure,” relieved he was too busy to go out. Adam was seriously adorable (and apparently not gay), but I’d probably make a fool of myself, assuming he was actually interested in me. It wouldn’t be the first time that week. Yes, better to leave it at harmless flirting than psych myself up for more and watch Cupid laugh his ass off while shooting his arrow in some other girl’s direction.

When the first group of associates left to go back to the office, I got up as well. I waited for Steve to look in my direction and said, “I’ve gotta head out, too. Thanks so much for dinner.”

“It was great to have you, Stephanie. I’ll put in a good word with Gerard,” Steve said.

“I’d appreciate it!” Then I turned to Adam and said, “Let me know if you have any questions regarding the closing binders I prepared.”

“Will do. Thanks for your help, Stephanie. Have a safe flight back,” he said.

“Thanks! Don’t work too hard tonight.” I waved one last time to the folks remaining at the table, weaved my way through the closely spaced tables and exited the restaurant onto crowded 44th Street.

Back in my hotel room, I decided to take advantage of the mini-bar and, since I didn’t have to get up too early the next morning, I cracked open a bottle of merlot and relaxed in front of the television set. I was contemplating changing into my pajamas when I was startled by a knock on my door. I grabbed my cell phone, ready to call 911 if necessary. “Who is it?”

The voice on the other side of the door replied, “Hille.”

Taken by surprise, I dropped my phone on the floor, called out, “One second” and ran my hands through my hair. I quickly put my phone back on the dresser, took a deep breath and opened the door to find Hille standing there in his suit and tie with a sheepish grin on his face. “Can I come in”?

Wondering what the hell he wanted, I stepped to the side to give him room to enter and said, “Of course.”

“I was in the neighborhood,” he said.

“Cool. I was just helping myself to the mini-bar. Want something?” Fake it till you make it.

Hille walked to the mini-bar, kneeled down and said, “Let’s see what you got.” When he stood up again, he was holding a Toblerone and a bottle of Miller Lite. “Is this okay?”

“It’s not on my dime, Craig. Although the partner might wonder how I could possibly eat a Toblerone after the large quantity of food we absorbed at Carmines.”

“Carmines, huh? Good stuff,” Hille said with an easy grin.

“Yeah, it was good. What did you do tonight?”
And why are you here?

“I stayed late to do an upgrade on the phone systems and went for a beer with a colleague.”

Hille and I just looked at each other for awhile until I said, “Craig” at precisely the same time he said, “Stephanie.”

“You first” we both said, again at the same time.

“No, you first,” I insisted.

“I feel really bad about how we ended things last night, Steph.”

So much for ‘fake it till you make it.’ “Geez, Craig. Could you let it go? I think it would be less painful for both of us if you just let it go.”

Hille shook his head and said, “That’s the problem. I can’t let it go. I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

I just sighed and waited for him to continue.

“I spoke to Paul,” he said.

I sat down on the edge of the bed and said, “Lovely. I was kind of hoping we could keep this to ourselves, but I should’ve known better. Let’s get this over with. What did he say?”

His tone serious, Hille replied, “He said it was a good thing I didn’t go for it because it would’ve been the end of our friendship.”

“Shut up! Seriously?”

Hille grinned widely and said, “No. He just called me a dumb ass. Correction—first he thanked me for being so loyal and
then
he called me a dumbass.”

Laughing, I said, “I knew he wouldn’t care. My breakup with Paul could go into the
Guinness Book of World’s Records
of amicable breakups.”

Hille chuckled and said, “That’s sort of what Paul said.”

“Craig, you didn’t have to come here to tell me that.”

“I know, but I wanted to. I didn’t want to leave things weird between us.”

“If things are weird between us, it’s my fault, not yours. I shouldn’t have told you I was attracted to you. None of this would’ve happened.” And I could go back to my deluded reality that we’re star-crossed lovers waiting for fate to bring us together at last.

“No, I’m glad you did – tell me you’re attracted to me, that is.”

Looking down at the carpet, I said, “I’m glad one of us is happy. It just would have been nice if the feeling was mutual.”

“My attraction to you is not an issue, Stephanie.”

I looked up hesitantly and asked, “It’s not?” I worried that I heard him wrong and willed my legs to stop shaking,

“No, it’s not. I’m totally attracted to you.”

I still wasn’t convinced and scanned the room for a hidden camera, probably planted by Paul so he could personally witness me make an ass out of myself this time. Tilting my head up towards him, I asked, “You are?”

Hille nodded, smiled and said, “Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really!” Hille said, laughing.

I couldn’t think of anything witty or meaningful to say so I just grinned and said, “Good.”

Hille put his bottle of beer on the dresser and approached the bed where I was sitting, feet dangling over the edge. “So, how was dinner?”

I felt my heart pounding and wished I could rip it out of my chest temporarily. “It was good.”

Hille sat on the bed next to me and held a strand of my long hair in his fingers before placing it behind my ear. Then he kissed my neck and asked, “What’d ya eat?”

Feeling a bit breathless, I answered, “chicken” and closed my eyes as Hille continued to kiss my neck and nibble on my ear.

Between kisses, he asked, “What else?”

My heart was still racing just from being so close to him and feeling his breath on my face and his lips on my neck that my usual steel-trap memory suffered a power outage and I could not for the life of me remember what I had eaten less than an hour before. Apparently, lustful feelings also caused me to stutter as I answered, “I don’t re-re-member.”

I was still reeling over my speech impediment when Hille stopped kissing my neck, looked at me for a moment and kissed me on the lips. I had psyched myself up for being with him the night before, but my bravado disappeared the instant he declined my advances, and fear and insecurity took its place. In the first moments of kissing him, my inner voice expressed an hour’s worth of concerns:
Does he think I am a good kisser? Will he think my boobs are too small or my ass too big? Is my bikini wax still fresh?
And I wished I had taken the time to read that article in
Cosmopolitan
. I usually liked to hook up with music on to drown out my deafening thoughts.

But then I remembered I was actually making out with Hille, the guy I had fantasized about kissing over ten years ago and I started enjoying it. I opened my eyes to see if Hille was enjoying it as much as I was. His eyes were closed and so I closed mine again, too. Despite the beer, his breath was cool and sweet, like a Peppermint Pattie and his lips were buttery and soft. He definitely used Chapstick and I made a mental note to ask him what flavor so I could buy it later.

Hille wasted no time before reaching under my sweater and expertly unclasping my bra. When I felt his warm hands caressing my skin, I figured two could play at that game and so I stopped kissing him and when he opened his eyes, I smiled, began unbuttoning his shirt from the top down and let my fingers roamed the patch of soft dark hair that covered the top of his tanned chest. He looked just as good with his shirt off in real life as he did in my daydreams and I whispered, “I’ve been dying to do this since yesterday, Craig.” It had actually been longer, but he didn’t need to know that.

I ran my hands up and down his arms and gripped his defined biceps. I could have held onto them all night but before I knew it, Hille had pushed me onto the bed, unbuttoned my pants and pulled them off my legs. Things were moving faster than I had intended but I hadn’t hooked up with a guy I actually wanted to sleep with in so long, there was no way I was going to tell him to slow down. And the wetness between my legs told me there was no reason to wait. I was about to ask if he had something, when he got up and removed a condom from his wallet, and I didn’t even have a chance to check out the size of his package before he was inside me. But he fit just fine and as we began to move together, I kept thinking “I’m having sex with Hille. I’m having sex with Hille!” until I finally stopped thinking and lost myself in the rhythm. I bit his shoulder to stop myself from calling out his name when I came but I might have done it anyway. I figured as long as I didn’t scream, “Fuck me!” at the top of my lungs, I could live with it.