Page 22 of Bene

“Not lately.”

“Let me be the first, then.”

Marcus gestured between them. “By all means, as long as you straighten up, watch your step, and do what you need to do, Bene, then you can call me whatever you want.”

“That a promise?”

“It’s whatever you need it to be. Just get your shit together.”

Yeah.

All right.

He got it.

Bene had a good mind to head back to his penthouse, sleep off what remained of his bad day and hangover, and start tomorrow fresh. He had every intention of doing exactly that, too, but after an hour passed, and he’d barely touched the food on his plate, he eventually moved toward the bar where he made a home on one of the stools while he watched coverage of the Toronto Hitters during a practice. The pitcher, according to the woman on the screen, was looking at a hell of a year.

He didn’t know why he was watching it. Baseball wasn’t even in his top three favorite sports, honestly, but that’s what the bartender had playing, so he didn’t complain. He also didn’t drink the three fingers of whiskey he’d ordered an hour ago, either.

God knew, he wanted it.

More than anything.

A couple of drinks, and he’d go home feeling good. Not even drunk—just buzzed, light on his feet, and unbothered. He wouldn’t toss and turn all night from his lingering thoughts, or from dreams that wouldn’t leave him alone. Problem was, Bene had learned he didn’t do well with just a couple of drinks. It quickly turned into a few, and then blackout nights.

The whiskey held little appeal.

“He’s got one hell of an arm, but a bad coke problem on the off season. How they’re keeping him sober is a mystery.”

“Hmm.”

Bene wasn’t sure why, but the exchange between the patrons one stool away from his had him turning slightly to see who had come to sit at the bar. It wasn’t as though he planned to join them in conversation, but the disinterested reply of the female had him chuckling under his breath when he looked their way.

Some women liked sports.

Some didn’t give a shit.

“Or is someone pissing for him to keep him popping clean, do you think?”

“I don’t care.”

The guy to the woman’s right held no interest to Bene at all. Standard suit, by the looks of him, and the briefcase under his stool. The woman, however, was a whole other story. Dressed in a light gray pencil skirt, and matching crop top, with black leather peep toe heels that showed off all kinds of tanned legs, she looked about ready to hit up a club. The black choker at her throat, simple studs in her ears, and understated makeup had him doing a double take.

Not because she was average.

Quite the opposite.

She looked like a fucking angel. Her dark brown hair had been pulled into a sleek, high pony with not a single strand out of place, and the ends flowed all the way down her back. It showed off her angular jaw, and the smoothness of her olive-toned skin. Heart-shaped lips pursed when the guy beside her continued to chatter on as though she was listening to him. Her brown eyes were accentuated further by, the starkest piece of her mostly neutral makeup, an inky wing that was made more dramatic by the curve of long, black eyelashes.

Yeah, shit.

Girl was beautiful.

How had he missed her?

It certainly spoke to Bene’s distraction, and his mood when he didn’t notice a woman like that coming to sit right beside him. The restaurant certainly wasn’t high class. The Guzzis owned more than enough of those types of places, and this joint was laid-back, and most were welcome which was why Bene liked it as much as he did. One could meet all sorts of people from all different walks of life just by coming to have a drink at the bar.

This chick, though?