Page 67 of Forget About Me

I lift what the waiter called an “autumn squash financier” to her lips and enjoy the moan she makes when those lips close around it. “You keep making sounds like that and I’m not going to make it through dinner.”

She shakes her head, her eyes closed. “It’s just so good.” Her hand reaches out to grab my wrist. “Let me just savor this for a bit before you try yours.” After another little whimper of pleasure, her eyes pop open. “Okay, your turn. I want to watch.”

“You’re killing me here,” I say before trying it. “Oh my god, that is good.”

“See?” Her hand travels to my thigh to squeeze it. “This is special, Ben. Thank you.”

Our date is filled with laughter and stories and explosions of taste and, best of all, Lucy. I can’t wait to get home and get my hands on her. Not that I’ve waited. I’m pretty sure we’ve been in contact one way or another the entire night.

When Lucy excuses herself to visit the ladies’ room, I give the waiter my credit card and ask him to tell the valet we’re ready for the car.

He bows. “Of course, monsieur.”

It is nice not to have to worry about money. That will change if I give up my career out west. Thankfully, the spiral of worries about the future is interrupted when Lucy reappears. I’m just so happy that she’s given me a second chance.

I take her arm. “Ready to go?”

At her nod, I lead her through the restaurant, aware that eyes are on her as much as they are on me. Out front, our carriage awaits.

Lucy giggles, obviously as buzzed as I am—with alcohol, yes, but also with the simple joy of being alive. “I feel like a princess!”

I bow and help her inside. “After you, milady.”

I tip the valet before heading around to my side. As soon as the driver closes the door, I pull Lucy in close. I want as much of her pressed up against me as is possible within the realms of decency.

She obviously feels the same because her hands are roaming. One worms its way in under my shirt to skim across my belly, then further south. My answering gasp is caught by her hungry mouth. Afraid I’ll lose it in the back of the car if her left hand stays where it is, I clasp it to my chest, nipping at her pouty lower lip to slow her down.

“I want you, Lucy,” I whisper. “But I want everything from champagne with an amuse-bouche to brandy and chocolates. Not fast food.”

Her forehead drops to my chest, and she groans. When she looks up again, her eyes are filled with wicked intent. “You can amuse my bouche anytime you want, but if you’re going to make me wait, it’s going to cost you.”

Grinning in anticipation, I say, “Take me however you want me. I’m yours.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“Talk of the Town” - Pretenders

Lucy’s Totally Tubular Tuneage, Song #8

BEN

Just as I cross the threshold of the basement rehearsal room, Bella jumps into my path, arms spread wide. “‘Danger, Will Robinson!’ There’s a review posted of the show.”

I stop so abruptly that Puck gets tangled with my legs. “Is it that bad?”

She braces a hand on the wall and drops her head, shaking it slowly and clucking her tongue. After a deep sigh, she raises her head to look me in the eye. “I don’t know, I haven’t read it.”

“You asshole.” I swat at her with the end of Puck’s leash. “You had me worried.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” She grins impishly, looking more like a six-year-old herself than the mother of one. “But to my credit, I didn’t want you to accidentally read it when you signed in, if you have a problem with reading reviews.”

We’re the first ones here for the Thursday performance. On purpose. Three days off feels like a long time when you’ve been rehearsing six days a week. Bella and I plan to run all of our scenes to make sure all the lazzi—a fancy word for comic bits—are still in working order.

Bella squats to greet Puck. “How are you, sir? Did you enjoy your days off?”

Puck plants a thorough round of kisses on her chin while I strip off my bag, coat and hoodie.

She stands suddenly, feet planted and arms crossed. “So?”

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