Sugaring Ben Read online

  Therefore, I kept my clothes on, pushed him away, and said, “Should we go out for breakfast?”

  He laughed at me and shook his head. “Not a chance in hell is that happening. I made some croissants yesterday, which I can warm up for us, and I have a smooth apple butter I would like you to try. What do you say?”

  “You’re spoiling me this morning.”

  “I don’t want to pat myself on the back, but I rather like to spoil cute weathermen.”

  I looked up at him, fell inside his pupils, and asked, “Are you trying to seduce me?”

  He shook his head. “Maybe not seduce you, but I’m certainly trying to get you to go out with me again.”

  “I think that’s going to happen.”

  “Our destiny,” he said.

  I chuckled. “Whatever, Ben. Think what you want.”

  * * * *

  The croissants were warm, and he lathered homemade apple butter over their light and airy surfaces. He brewed a rich coffee for us, and we sat at a two-person table that overlooked Lake Erie.

  I told him, “You have a beautiful view here. You must love it.”

  The Colonial’s back yard sloped to the lake. There were three sleepy gardens covered in a fresh snow and ice along the lake’s edge. Pine trees decorated with snow looked as if they were painted on a holiday card.

  “Its home for me. Just one of my homes, but my favorite by far. I really like it here next to the lake. The people in Radar are nice people and middle-class. I get tired of the arrogance of Aspen, Paris, and New York City. Radar lets me be me. Does that make any sense?”

  It made a lot of sense to me. Ben Cutter was a celebrity and couldn’t deny it. The majority of Radar residents didn’t care about status, wealth, or a Hollywood lifestyle. Yes, they ogled the man, but usually because of his good looks, not because of his pastry shops and television show, Sugaring Ben.

  “This is a place for you to relax and feel like everyone else. The norm. Part of the masses.”

  “Exactly. You get it.”

  I wanted to get more about the man, but I had to take a piss. I excused myself, trotted off to the bathroom upstairs (the downstairs one was too close to the kitchen, and I didn’t want him to hear me pee), and discovered the bathroom.

  Once I finished pissing, Ben surprised me in the hallway. Again, our lips touched, and his hand strayed to my private parts, which he cupped, gave a gentle squeeze, and semi-hardened.

  I melted the way a boyfriend would melt, felt dizzy, and out of breath. Frankly, I could have stayed in the upstairs hallway and kissed him all day long, but I didn’t want to push my luck with the guy and needed to tone our endeavor down a smidge. Carefully, I pressed my palms against his chest and pushed him away.

  “I’m not ready for that yet, Ben. Maybe someday I will be, but not now.”

  “Got it,” he murmured, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s just…you turn me on. You drive me nuts. I want to be close to you. Every part of you.”

  “Let’s pace this, Ben. What do you say? I’m the kind of guy who makes things last and don’t want to jump in bed with you after just meeting you.”

  “Deal,” he whispered. “I won’t fuck this up because I like you too much.”

  “And I like you. We just need to take our time.”

  “If time is what you want, Mr. Oliver, time is what I can give you.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate that.”

  * * * *

  I almost let him undress me in the hallway of his upstairs Colonial and have his way with me. I almost let him take me to his bedroom, which was just down the hall, on the right-hand side, and lather his tongue over every part of my body, unable to prevent him from his wild exercise and relentless desire. I almost let him tug my jeans open and drop them to my ankles, and then fall to his knees, opening his mouth and…

  I have to get out of here before he has me. If I stay a minute longer, he’ll convince me to sleep with him, and all of this will be ruined. A second longer in this house will end with our clothes coming off and an unstoppable sex scene between us. And then our little romance will be the shortest ever, and he’ll want nothing to do with me. Nothing. It will be over just as quickly as it started.

  Panic came over me, and I spun around and headed for the stairs.

  “You don’t have to run away,” he said, following me down the stairs to the first floor.

  I said over my right shoulder in slurred words, “I’ll have my way with you if I stay.”

  “Is that so bad, Sand?”

  It was bad. Everything about it. I couldn’t sleep with him. I wouldn’t. “I’m really not sure.”

  Downstairs, I grabbed my cellphone, jacket, and shoes. I balled up all of my belongings against my chest and bolted for the front drive, running away from Prince Charming, scared that I would ruin everything he started between us; ending our short time together and my liking for him by staying and sleeping with him. Gone. Run. As fast as I could.

  Ben chased after me and called out my name. “Sand! Sand! You don’t have to run off like this! I’m sorry!”

  The cold and wind slapped against my face as I bolted along his private drive and headed toward Marshdale Road, which curved around the property. Eventually, I made it past the unmanned entrance and to the road, jogging through the snow, cold as hell. To my surprise, and coincidence, a city cab was driving past, which I hailed. Once the cab stopped, I jumped inside, told the cab driver my home address, and started to dress. I slipped my shirt on and then my shoes. Warm air from the cab’s dash brushed against my face and chest.

  The cabbie, an American-Italian with thick black hair and I assumed Mafia blood (because most taxi cab drivers in Radar were related to the mob), looked into his rear view mirror and asked, “Rough night?”

  “Difficult. I just want to get home.”

  “And I’m the guy to get you there.”

  I relaxed in the cab’s rear seat and told myself that I had just acted crazy by leaving Ben’s place in a panic. There was no way I could stick around, though, even if he was a good-looking man and knew how to make breakfast.

  I kept thinking, he’s flawed. The man has secrets. He can’t be perfect. There’s something he’s hiding from me. No one is flawless.

  “Any stops?” the cabbie asked, watching me more than the slick and icy road.

  “Just home.” I told him the address again.

  “Got it. We’ll be there in just a couple of minutes.”

  * * * *

  Home again. Safe from men who harm and emotionally sting other men. I took a quick shower and warmed up even more, dressed for my job, and noticed that I had missed a cellphone call while under the shower’s hot spray. It was no surprise that Ben attempted to contact me. I probably would have done the same thing. Then I listened to his voice mail, which sounded hurried, but to the point.

  “Hey, you didn’t have to run off like that. I’m sorry if I did something wrong. Call me when you’re ready.”

  I decided I wasn’t ready to call him back and probably wouldn’t be anytime soon. The facts of the matter were simple: I couldn’t rush anything with him. That was a foolish idea. The pace with him was too fast for me. Besides, Ben Cutter would hurt me if I became involved with him. He couldn’t be flawless. No man was. Why put myself through that?

  Chapter 9: When No Means Yes

  I didn’t see Ben for the rest of the day, not that I wanted. Why be bothered by a guy who had faults, even if I didn’t know what they entailed. There was no need for that kind of bullshit, nor rush a relationship with him. Not that morning. Not thereafter. Truth told, never.

  I bundled up for the cold wind and snowfall, and made my way down to Sutner Street, which sat approximately four blocks from my saltbox, and got a ride on the bullet-shaped trolley into the city.

  The trolley became homes for some of the lowbrows who used it to commute around the city: homeless men and women, psychos with sharp knives who liked to hurt people, and gang members. I didn’t fall into those traveling groups, which all made me feel uncomfortable. My group of commuters consisted of the middle class: bookworms, cellphone users who enjoyed Twitter, Facebook users, and Instagramers, readers of the local newspapers, crossword-holics, and Sudoku addicts.

  I did enjoy watching people on the trolley, passing the time: mothers with newborn babies, geeks in glasses, women dressed for business, and young jocks with lots of muscles, heading to or from the gym. The young men were my favorite to ogle. Kat would not have been surprised by that detail. What wasn’t there to enjoy about a man in his twenties and thirties, but no younger than twenty? What gay men didn’t like the visual company of a stud with bright blue eyes, chest of Superman steel, and a beard that I would have enjoyed dragging my fingers through? Men were sometimes my weakness while traveling back and forth on the trolley. Large men. Thin men. Men with melting hazel eyes and arrogant smiles. Fathers. Busboys. Bad boys. Men who carried bike helmets. Shy men. Older men with salt-and-pepper hair. Swimmers. Mechanics. So many men rode the trolley and took my breath away on a daily basis, always. How couldn’t I favor those rides? In fact, why did I drive in the first place on most occasions? Silly me.

  I worked at WRDR that day, keeping my mind off Ben Cutter, the evening before, and that morning. I studied another snowstorm that had every intention of sweeping down from Canada and plastering Radar with a foot of snow. I had a brief meeting with Natalie, finalizing matters about leaving Kent in charge of presenting the weather forecast to WRDR watchers while I was away in Pittsburgh for a few days, ate too many donuts (shame on my weakness for the delicious rounds), and did the weather at noon, one, two through five, and a longer weather forecast at six, which my faithful viewers desired on a daily basis. Good for the
m.

  The time to eventually wrap up my day at the office finally occurred, and I hit the road to home.

  * * * *

  I recognized the Jaguar parked outside my saltbox and sighed, shaking my head. Ben sat behind its wheel, playing on his cellphone, waiting for me to come home from WRDR. I walked up to his Jag.

  Ben exited his bullet, tipping his head at me as we made eye contact with each other.

  Of course, it was still snowing. When in Radar hadn’t it snowed in March, particularly around the middle of the month? Spring would not surface for weeks, so the cold and icy temperatures, along with a string of snowstorms that whisked down from Canada, became accepted, a norm for the lakeside community.

  I noticed that Ben wasn’t wearing a hat, and his ginger-colored hair was already accessorized with snowflakes. He pushed his hands into a pair of black gloves that matched his wool coat and leather shoes. Then he gave me a short wave, a semi-smile of friendship, and stepped closer to me, next to my Fusion’s front bumper, prepared to begin a conversation between us that I maybe wasn’t ready to share with him.

  Truth told, I liked the millionaire a little more than I should have and realized that he was way out of my league: monetarily, with his professional connections, and a variety of other detailed doodads that determined our obvious differences. I could not see us together. Not as friends or lovers. His life entailed traveling around the world from city to city for Sugaring Ben, writing cookbooks, and overseeing the management of his company. I, on the other hand, was a simple weatherman, grounded in Radar, loved by the locals, and with a minimal salary. Kat had to be out of her mind to think that Ben’s world could be mixed with mine. Insane. Crazy. What the hell was she thinking?

  More to the truth, I couldn’t begin something romantic with Ben that I really had no control over and knew that I would inevitably fail at. To begin to care for a man who wasn’t anything like me was ludicrous and a waste of time. I could never live up to his status, circling the globe, having a fan base, and media followers. Radar wasn’t anything like Ben’s Hollywood, New York City, London, or Paris. Things were quiet and subdued next to the sleepy lake. Excitement was rare and happenings uneventful. I could not provide him with the norms of his world that he was used to and seemed to enjoy. Nor could I open my heart to him, knowing that I would only hurt the man, failing him because of our opposite lives. In the end, I felt it best to deter any type of relationship with him, saving both of us from hardship and turmoil. The smart thing to do. The noble thing. Because sometimes you couldn’t always get what you wanted.

  “What happened this morning, Sand? Why did you run off like you did? I didn’t think you minded my company?” Snow blew into his face, and he brushed it away. A few of the flakes coated his orange eyebrows, which I thought sexy as hell and wanted to lick away, fulfilling a fetish of mine.

  I couldn’t tell him that I had tried not to think of him all day at the station, but failed at the task. Nor could I tell him that it would never work between us for many reasons: money, careers, fame, and so many other details.

  “Last night and this morning were nice, but…we can’t take it anywhere.”

  He tilted his head to the right, probably contemplated my comment, and asked, “What are you talking about?”

  “Dating. Becoming boyfriends. Getting married. None of that can happen for us, at least not together.”

  He laughed at me, swinging his head back, grinning from ear to ear. Once he gathered his composure, he said, “It was just a get-to-know-each-other kind of thing. If I remember correctly, we were both gentlemen.”

  “We were.”

  He crossed his arms and brushed his hands up and down his biceps. “Look, it’s freezing out here. Can you be more of a gentleman and ask me inside?”

  I wanted to tell him no, but meant yes. “Maybe that’s not such a good idea.”

  “May I ask why?”

  I shook my head, sure that he was becoming irritated with me.

  Ben put up a hard fight and said, “We’re both done working today. Why don’t we have a drink together? I promise not to get sloppy this time.”

  I wanted to tell him no, but meant yes again, rolled my eyes, and replied, “One drink. And then you have to go.”

  “It’s a deal, Sand. I promise.”

  Who knew that he was an expert at breaking promises?

  Chapter 10: Whirlwind

  The low temperature mixed with wind from the northwest told me that Ben was right. We had to go inside because it was too cold, and we would freeze to death in just a short period of time.

  Over my shoulder, while walking to the house, I called out, “Let’s get this done and over with!”

  “You make it sound like a chore.”

  “Call it what you want.”

  I admitted to myself that it maybe was a chore: escorting him inside, feeding him a shot of something warm, and patting his ass and sending him on his way. I don’t think I could have made it anymore clear to let him know that I didn’t want a boyfriend. Once inside my kitchen, I poured us shots of bourbon.

  While leaning on the kitchen counter, he made the toast, “To a new friendship.”

  The bourbon was smooth, warm, and flavorful, but not my favorite in a closet of many liquors to choose from. Vodka soothed my soul on many occasions, but not too much, which proved that I wasn’t an alcoholic.

  Following his shot, he placed his shot glass on the counter upside down. “Enough for me.”

  I was a little stunned to hear that he didn’t want a second one.

  “Before leaving, though, I want to know something, Sand.”

  I poured myself a second shot, which I could since I was the owner of the house and the guy who made all the rules. “What do you want to know?”

  “Do you like me or not?”

  I nodded. “Of course. You’re a nice guy. Why would you think otherwise?”

  He ignored my question and asked his own, “Do you find me attractive?”

  No. I didn’t. I thought him one of the most beautiful men on the planet, inside and out, which was beyond attractive. But I didn’t want to tell him that, keeping it to myself. Instead, I replied with, “You’re a good-looking man.”

  “Just a good-looking man? You don’t see anything else about me?”

  “What else do you want me to see?” I asked, raising my shoulders and squinting at him.

  He moved closer to me, touched the tip of my nose to his, brushed fingers along my left cheek, and inhaled my scent. “I’m not really sure. What do you want to see?” His other hand fell to my center, and fingers gently pressed against my stomach.

  “Ben, are you flirting with me?”

  “I wouldn’t necessarily call it flirting. It’s more like just getting-to-know-you a little bit more, part two.”

  I wanted to tell him not to stand so close to me because the last thing I wanted was a boyfriend, but I felt at ease all the same with his frame next to mine. “You’re toying with me. I swear, you’re trying to make me your puppet.”

  “If that were so, you’d be the cutest puppet in Radar.”

  How I felt, but shouldn’t have: easy next to him, drunk on his passion, or whatever game he had decided to carry out with me, lust-driven, feeling something erotic for the man, and deeply neurotic. A wave of confusion came over me, with a strong sense of carelessness.

  How I should have felt, but didn’t: distanced from Ben Cutter, unable to have his breath meet with my own, unreactive to him, uneasy, and without any feeling for the man whatsoever.

  “Sand Oliver, I’m catching you, and maybe you don’t even realize it.” He leaned into me, brushed his lips against mine, pulled away, and added, “I realize I’m a whirlwind in your life, but maybe that’s what you want and need. What do you say?”

  I would say: You’re wrong, Benjamin Cutter. Slow down. Slow down. Slow down. Everything you say is wrong. Every way you act is wrong. I don’t want a boyfriend this fast. I’m not in a position to have one right now in my life, particularly one of your status. Take a hint from me. This is not going to work out between us, and it never will. So leave me alone. Please. Please. Please.

  What I said: “I don’t know what’s going on between us. Catching. Pitching. I’m just not really sure.”