Flavor Of The Month (Kiss & Tell Book 2) (8 page)

T
WO DAYS LATER
Reilly stood in front of the mirror at the bridal shop, her own wistful sigh filling her ears. She caught herself and checked to make sure Mallory hadn’t noticed. God, she’d never hear the end of it if Mallory even caught an inkling that she and Ben had…well, that he had come over and…

She smiled so wide she was afraid she’d pull a facial muscle.

She and Ben had glorious, all night long, hot, sweaty, totally orgasmic sex.

When she’d finally begun to drift off to sleep in his arms at somewhere around two Tuesday morning, she’d been half-afraid, and half-hopeful that he wouldn’t be there in the morning. Instead, he’d kissed her temple so sweetly her heart had ached and told her he needed to get back home, they both had early mornings. She’d nodded and lain snuggled there in the sheets that smelled like the time they’d spent together and drifted off to sleep when it might have been a good idea to follow him out and make sure the door was locked after him.

Now she cleared her throat, her gaze dropping to the pink taffeta dress. Definitely not the image that went along with her thoughts. Definitely not a choice that would be made by a woman capable of rational thought.

She resisted the urge to act like she was choking herself with her finger as she met Mallory’s equally disgusted look in the mirror where she stood behind her.

“Oh, they’re beautiful!” Layla gushed, coming in wearing a creamy silk robe and looking them over. “And they’re the type of dresses you can wear anywhere, you know, after the ceremony.”

Mallory gave Layla a long look. “Sure, if some desperate high school senior with bad acne asks me to the prom.”

Layla blinked at her as the seamstress yanked on the zipper on the side of Reilly’s dress.

“They’re fine, Layla,” Reilly rushed to reassure her friend. “Ignore her. You know Mallory turns into a jagged-toothed monster whenever she has to take off one of her repulsive T-shirts.”

They all looked to where Mallory actually still had today’s T-shirt on under her dress. You could make out the words “You” and “Bitch.” Reilly knew from having read it earlier that it said: You Call Me a Bitch Like It’s an Insult.

Reilly still didn’t have a clue where she bought all these offensive shirts. All she knew was that she rarely saw her friend wear the same one twice.

The seamstress yanked on the zipper, nearly pulling Reilly off the high heels she would be wearing with the dress. “Are you sure you’re a size eight?”

Reilly stared at her in the mirror. “A perfect size eight.”

The seamstress gave another yank then sat back on her heels and sighed. “Yes, well, I think we’d better try a perfect size nine.”

Reilly blinked as if unable to translate her words. She’d been the same weight for the past nine years. It was impossible that she’d gained even an ounce. And it wasn’t anywhere near that time of the month, so that couldn’t be to blame.

Mallory elbowed her to move from in front of the mirror. “So you’ve gained a couple of pounds. So what? My weight fluctuates five pounds all the time.” She met her gaze in the mirror. “You know, depending on whether I’m dating a hot guy who’s great in the sack or not.”

Reilly didn’t really hear her as she stumbled backward and plopped down on the chair against the wall. She absently noticed the way Layla glared at Mallory, but couldn’t bring herself to respond. If a great sack session made a difference in weight, then she should have lost a good three pounds the other night with Ben.

Instead she had gained weight.

“My jeans still fit.”

“That’s because you wear them too big to begin with,” Mallory pointed out.

“Mall,” Layla said in warning.

Mallory blinked at her. “Why are you staring at me like I just backed over your dog, Lay? For God’s sake, I’m going to wear this hideous thing for you, aren’t I?”

“Hideous?” Layla repeated, an ominous edge to her usually controlled voice.

The seamstress stepped in front of Reilly. “Shall I get the nine?”

“No!” Layla and Reilly said in unison while Mallory rolled her eyes in the mirror.

“I’ll…just have to lose a few pounds before the ceremony,” Reilly said, kicking off the shoes then getting up to get out of the dress.

“Five.”

She stared at the seamstress.

“You’ll have to lose at least five. All around the middle.”

Reilly felt the ridiculous urge to sock her. Didn’t the size zero woman who could probably eat an entire cow and not gain a pound know that she’d spent her childhood as Chubby Chuddy? Didn’t she understand that keeping a size eight was an obsession with her? That she owned a pastry shop and never indulged in the pastries.

She thought back on the past week and groaned. Well, she usually didn’t indulge in the pastries. But she’d caught herself on several occasions chewing on a random sticky bun or cream horn, more than a little distracted by thoughts of Ben Kane.

Oh, she so knew that getting involved with him wasn’t a good idea.

Most women lost weight while having great sex.

She gained it.

So rationally speaking, if they continued seeing each other, she stood to gain back every ounce of the weight she’d lost nine years ago.

Now she wanted to sock herself. What a ridiculous notion, Ben Kane’s being to blame for her weight gain. Although she suspected it was easier to point the finger at him than at herself. If her childhood had taught her anything it was that she wasn’t very good at moderation. It was all or nothing. She couldn’t just have one sticky bun, she had to have three.

One night with Ben wasn’t enough, she had to have as many as she possibly could.

And in both cases, she was more than a little reckless when it came to considering the consequences.

“I’ll start running again,” she said, pulling on her jeans. She stared at the denim, swearing that they’d gotten tighter just since taking them off ten minutes ago. “That’s it. I’ll start running again.”

“When?” Mallory asked, fitting perfectly into her size six. “Oh, wait a minute. You could do it before you start baking at 3:00 a.m. Then there’s always midnight when you knock off work.” Her face lit up. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Layla’s marrying the talented Dr. Sam Lovejoy,” she said, drawing out his last name. “Plastic surgeon to the stars. Maybe he can do some lipo or something.”

“Shut up, Mall,” Layla said.

“Sit-ups,” the seamstress said. “Or two hours of yoga every morning. Maybe both.”

Mallory, who was ignoring Layla, made a face at the young woman. “Yeah, who needs sleep anyway?”

“Sex,” Layla said.

Reilly nearly choked on her own saliva.

“What?” her blond friend asked. “I’m marrying the guy. I’m allowed.”

Reilly pretended interest in the dress she’d just taken off, checking to make sure it was the size the seamstress said it was. What she was really doing was ignoring Mallory’s inquisitive gaze.

“So where’s the dress?” she asked Layla in a desperate attempt to budge the subject from sex.

She watched as her friend plopped down in the chair she’d just vacated. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“I thought you were going with the off-the-shoulder one? You have great shoulders,” Mallory said, telling the seamstress where to take her dress in.

Reilly felt an irrational desire to lift the skirt and strangle the woman with it.

“The ceremony’s in December, Mall. While it’s still warm here, it’s not
that
warm. Especially not when the reception is at night in my father’s backyard.”

What went without saying was that three humongous tents were going to be erected for the event and that Layla’s stepmother was checking into space heaters as they spoke even though southern California rarely dipped below the mid-fifties at night.

Reilly pretended to fix her hair in the mirror when what she was really doing was checking her body for telltale bulges. Had Ben noticed anything the other night? Not that he had anything to compare her current weight to, but surely he had to realize she wasn’t the rail-thin model type he was so used to seeing. Did he think her a horse?

“You’re awfully quiet, Rei,” Mallory said.

Her friend had changed out of her own bridesmaid dress and in the mirror the words across her T-shirt looked stranger yet. “Just tired, that’s all,” she said.

“And have you, um, heard from Ben Kane lately?”

She looked to Layla for help but instead found her looking at her curiously, as well.

“Actually,” she said carefully, “I’ve agreed to go to dinner at his restaurant tonight.”

Dinner. She could handle it. She just wouldn’t eat anything, that’s all. She was used to doing that. Did it every time she went to her parents’ house for an occasional Sunday dinner. Had turned into an expert at refilling her water glass and picking at her dressingless salad. She’d learned quickly that after the first five minutes of “eat up, Reilly,” everyone usually forgot to pay attention to what she was or wasn’t eating. And so long as she piled the leftover food up just so to look like she’d eaten her fill, no one noticed afterward, either.

Vitamins. She’d have to pick up some more after she left the bridal shop. And liquid proteins. She had five pounds to lose and she intended to do it as soon as humanly possible.

“O
PEN
.”

Okay, her plan not to eat anything at Ben’s restaurant wasn’t working. Simply because she’d forgotten his little habit of wanting to feed her.

It might be a Wednesday night, but the place was filled to capacity, her and Ben sitting in a corner booth, buffeted from the remaining diners by red beads draped around the upper part of the booth. She hadn’t known what to expect. Maybe a small cutting board for two in the kitchen. But when Ben had immediately spotted her in the front doorway, he’d whisked her to the best seat in the house and proceeded to order what seemed like everything on the menu.

“Open,” Ben said again, waving the overloaded forkful of stuffed mushroom in front of her nose.

Oh, it smelled so good.

Oh, she was such a hog.

She tried to take a small bite off the end of the mushroom but Ben took advantage of her open mouth and shoved the entire fork inside.

Was he trying to fatten her up?

The appetizer melted on her tongue and she couldn’t help closing her eyes and moaning. Damn, but it tasted so good.

“What do you think?” Ben’s soft voice made her eyelids flutter back open.

It was clear that he enjoyed feeding her. His pupils dilated and his gaze was so focused on her that she suspected an earthquake could shake the ground beneath them and he would probably think nothing of it.

“Heavenly.”

He grinned. “I made it.”

She raised her brows. Not only did the guy enjoy feeding her, he’d made the food himself. “No kidding?”

“No kidding.”

She gestured toward the desserts on the end of the table. “I have to tell you, I’m not going to touch any of that.”

He was turning the plate around in front of him, probably choosing the next thing he intended to feed her. “Why? Are you dieting?”

Reilly nearly choked on the water she was gulping down in an effort to fill her rumbling stomach. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“In my opinion, you need to put on a few more pounds.”

What? This from the man who had dated every supermodel this side of the Atlantic?

He waggled his brows at her. “A man doesn’t like to get bruised when things get hot and sticky, if you know what I mean.”

Unfortunately she did. And she found that she’d like to do some more of the hot and sticky stuff right then.

“Open.”

She eyed the octopus on the end of the fork. Now this she could easily say she didn’t eat. “Sorry. I don’t do octopus.”

“You’ll like this.”

She shook her head again. No matter how delicious, the eight-legged bottom feeder wasn’t worth the calories she’d be putting on her hips. “Go for something else.” She reached for her own fork. “In fact, I think I’m capable of feeding myself from here on out.”

“Oh.”

Ben looked so disappointed that she nearly tucked the linen napkin inside the top of her black dress and told him to have at it. Eating the entire contents of the table would be worth it if only it would wipe away that expression.

His grin made a quick return. “And here I was having so much fun.”

She settled in a little more comfortably across the table from him now that she had control of the fork firmly back in her court. “So tell me, is the place always this crowded?”

She pretended to eat a piece of green lettuce as he looked around, seeming surprised to discover where they were. “It didn’t use to be. In the beginning barely half the tables would fill up.”

“And now you’re all the rage.”

He crossed his arms on top of the table. “Hollywood’s a bit fickle.”

“But you’ve managed to maintain a pretty steady reputation.”

“I’m doing all right.”

All right? From where she sat he was doing phenomenally well. You couldn’t open a magazine or a newspaper without seeing Benardo’s Hideaway mentioned somewhere. Either by stars that had been photographed leaving the restaurant or by food critics who raved about the cuisine.

He looked up from where he’d been contemplating the table. “By the way, I talked to my father today. I did what you suggested and invited him to dinner next Monday.”

Reilly realized she had shoveled a good portion of a stuffed mushroom into her mouth and stopped chewing. “And?”

Ben’s blue eyes sparkled. “He’s coming.”

Reilly quickly smiled and reached for his hand. “Oh, Ben, that’s great!”

“Of course, he requested that I have a special kind of beer on hand that isn’t on the menu.”

“Something imported?”

“Something cheap.”

She laughed. “So you make him happy. What’s the big deal?”

He shook his head. “With his request? Nothing. But…I don’t know. I’ve had the doors to the place open for seven years and he decides to come now. I don’t get it. It has to be more than just the day of the week.”

Reilly looked over the place. He had a point. She guessed that Benardo’s was busy every night of the week.