Kristen Ashley - The Promise

“Come here.”

“Benny!” I shouted.

Then I was no longer reclining on my side of the bed.

I was tucked tight to Benny’s side on his side of the bed.

It felt good. Natural. Right.

I clenched my teeth.

Then I unclenched them to say, “You’re totally freaking annoying.”

“And you’re all kinds of cute.”

I clenched my teeth again.

Ben settled on some television show set in a prison.

“I don’t watch prison shows,” I declared.

Ben said nothing but didn’t change the channel.

“Or war shows,” I went on inanely.

Ben didn’t move and the channel remained the same.

“Ben, find something else,” I ordered.

“Please?” he said that one word as a demand.

I tipped my head from its place on his chest to glare at him.

He grinned at me.

Then he offered me the remote.

Yes, Benny Bianchi, a man who was all man handed me the remote.

To the TV!

Yet another good thing about Benny.

Tentatively, like the woman I was, a woman who was entering previously uncharted territory and needing to do it cautiously, I took it.

Even more tentatively, I found a cooking show I liked.

Benny said not a word and I marveled as he lay there watching a cooking show with me, not saying a word.

And again, he showed me another good thing.

The problem with that was that I was thinking, when it came to Benito Bianchi, it was all a good thing.

“Thanks, babe, and again, don’t worry about comin’ tomorrow.”

It was the next morning. I was standing at Benny’s door, Asheeka out on the stoop. I was showered, ready to face the day, and letting her off shower duty.

“You sure?” she asked.

“I was good yesterday, better today,” I reminded her.

“Yeah,” she said. “Still, you need me, just call.”

My Asheeka. So awesome.

“What I need to do is buy you tickets to Usher the next time he’s in Chicago.”

Her eyes went huge. “Girl, you know it would not be good, that boy and me in the same building, even if that building is a stadium.”

What I knew was that Asheeka had a thing for a baby face. And a bigger thing for a man who could move.

“Right. In order to avoid Usher taking a restraining order out on you, I’ll find something else,” I told her.

This time her eyes went sweet before she replied, “I know it’d be a fool waste of time, tryin’ to talk you outta doin’ something. But I’m also gonna make it clear, you don’t have to do anything.”

“I do,” I returned.

“I know,” she whispered.

My Asheeka. So awesome.

I refrained from hugging her because that would probably make me cry and I’d just done my makeup.

She grinned at me. “You keep me in the know about what’s happenin’ with all that,” she ordered, jerking her chin to the hall behind me, meaning Benny.

“I get my phone back, I will,” I promised.

She kept grinning and said, “Later, babe.”

“Later, Asheeka.”

She aimed her eyes beyond me and shouted, “’Bye, Benny!”

“Later!” Ben’s deep voice shouted back from where he was in the kitchen.

She let out a little chuckle, shook her head once, and I watched her walk down to her Land Rover and get in. I closed the door when she was pulling out.

I turned, looked down the hall, straightened my shoulders, and walked that way.

Benny and I had to have a chat. One where I communicated some important things, he listened, and I got my way for a change.

This I’d decided in the shower.

This, I decided right then, was happening now.

I walked down the hall, turned into the kitchen, took two steps in, stopped, and planted my hands on my hips.

And there I saw that Ben was on a mission. I knew this because he had a donut clamped in his teeth, a travel mug in his hand, he was shoving his phone in his back pocket, and his car keys were sitting on the counter in front of where he was standing. His hair was wet because he’d showered in the hall bathroom. I’d heard him when I was getting ready.

“Ben,” I called.

He looked my way and finished with his phone, lifted his hand to the donut, took a bite, and said through a full mouth, “Yeah?”

“We gotta talk,” I told him.

He chewed and swallowed. “Yeah,” he agreed readily. “Ma’s got somethin’ on with Father Frances this morning, so while you were upstairs, I talked with Mrs. Zambino. She’s takin’ you to the alley today. League play. She says she and her girls’ll keep you company. I gotta get to the restaurant and do some shit. I’ll meet you back here.”

I knew my eyes were squinty when I declared, “I’m not goin’ to the bowling alley with old lady Zambino and her cronies.”

“Yeah, you are,” Ben replied before he took another bite of donut.

I shook my head so I wouldn’t get distracted from my mission, and stated, “Benny, we need to talk about what I wanna talk about.”

“Can’t. She’ll be here in five minutes and I gotta go. One of our suppliers is gonna be at the restaurant in twenty. I made the order. His shit is good, but he’s known to jack his clients around, so I gotta inspect it when it gets there so he doesn’t jack us around.”

Although normally I would find it fascinating, the inner workings of a popular pizzeria and how a supplier might “jack you around,” right then, I couldn’t get distracted by that either.

“I want my phone,” I announced, and Benny focused on me.

“Babe—” he started quietly.

“No,” I cut him off. “We have plans tonight. I made you that promise, I’m keeping that promise. I won’t take off. But I’m out of the hospital and I have a life. Friends who are probably wondering about me. A job I quit, where my notice period ended up as sick leave, but I have strings to tie up there, clients to contact. I also have a new job. They know I experienced a traumatic event, but now they probably think I’ve fallen off the face of the earth. I gotta check in, and to do it, I need my phone. I’d rather make my calls here. But, so as not to court the wrath of old lady Zambino, who probably now is excited about her opportunity to show off her skills at the lanes, I’ll make my calls from the bowling alley.”

Benny looked decidedly unhappy when I started talking about my new job.

But he shocked the shit out of me when he said, “It’s in the truck. I’ll go get it.”

“Really?” I asked, my voice breathy due to the fact I was shocked as shit he gave in and did it so easily.

He stopped looking unhappy and looked something else entirely when he said gently, “Yeah, honey.” He put the donut in his teeth again, nabbed his keys, pushed them in his pocket, came to me, then took the donut out of his mouth before he wrapped his fingers around my hip and bent to me, going deep where he touched his mouth to my neck. He lifted to look in my eyes and whispered, “Be back.”

“Okay,” I whispered too.

He shoved the last of the donut in his mouth, disappeared out the door, and I stood there thinking how easy that was.

Maybe I should have asked for my phone the day before.

Or the day before that.

I was still thinking on this when Ben came back in with my purse. He didn’t bring it to me. He took it to the table, dumped it there, then he came to me.

He got close, and for some reason, I didn’t brace. I didn’t pull away. I didn’t move a muscle.

This meant that when he lifted a hand to curl it around the side of my neck and dipped his head, I was an open target.

It also meant that when the lip touch I was expecting became something else—his mouth opened, mine opened with it, and he was able to sweep his tongue inside—I was able to taste the miraculous flavor of donut and Benny.

My stomach dipped again.

Almost before it began, his lips and tongue were gone. Then his fingers were digging in my neck, his were eyes looking into mine, and he whispered, “Later, baby.”

“Later,” I whispered too.

His eyes smiled. His fingers squeezed. Then he let me go and moved out the door.

I stood in his kitchen, staring at the door, knowing that could be my life.

Ben, off to the restaurant to make sure some supplier didn’t jack him around after giving my neck a squeeze, me a sweep of his tongue that left the taste of him in my mouth, and I’d watch him go out the door after a “Later, baby,” which meant I’d get him back.

And I stood in Benny’s kitchen, staring at the door, knowing I wanted that life. Knowing I wanted it so bad, it was an ache. Knowing I’d wanted it since I was a little girl. Knowing I wanted it even more thinking I could have it with Benny.

But the pain came when I remembered I’d never have it.

On that thought, I heard the front door open and Mrs. Zambino shouting, “Francesca Concetti! Shake a leg! We gotta pick up Phyllis and I don’t wanna be late!”

I took in a deep breath.

Then I went to my purse, made sure my charger was in there because, Lord knew, after days with no charging I’d be screwed, and I did this shouting, “Coming, Mrs. Zambino!”

***

I sat in my chair at the alley and watched Mrs. Zambino make her approach and let her ball fly. The ball spun down the lane quickly, listing to one side, then crack! She hit the pin so hard, it slammed across the lane and she got the split.

I jumped out of my chair, arms up, mind ignoring the not-insignificant ping of pain that hit my wound, and shouted, “Go Zambino!”