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“Don’t kill me or anything, dude,” Henry said. “But speaking of people whose names start with B…”
“What?” Ben asked the question slowly, emphasizing every single letter in the word.
“You’re going to need to get back in drinking shape by tomorrow.”
Ben narrowed his eyes at Henry. “Why?” He drew the “why” out as long as possible to maximize the threatening tone in his voice.
“Because…well, Bea’s coming.”
“What? I thought she was in Spain.”
“She was. But she moved back to the States two months ago. Just in time to come to the wedding.”
“You have got to be shitting me.” Ben’s stomach dropped. Then it jumped back up at the thought of seeing Beatriz for the first time since college. Would she look the same? Leggy, brown-haired, dark-eyed and beautiful? Talk the same? Sexy Spanish accent and nine kinds of attitude? Smell the same? Vanilla and strawberry shampoo?
“Ben, she’s Claudia’s foster sister. She’s in the wedding. You both are in the wedding. So, you know, take that.”
Ben took it. He took it hard. Beatriz… He’d loved that woman in college. He could own that now. Back then he’d pretended Beatriz was just another girl he wanted to sleep with, and when he’d missed his shot, he told himself it was no big loss. But here he was, five years later, still thinking about her.
“Is she here yet?” Ben asked.
Henry raised an eyebrow at him and Ben’s stomach dropped once more. It went down and stayed down this time. Ben watched as Henry spun around in his bar stool and pointed across the lobby. He followed Henry’s gaze to where it stopped on a woman, tall with long, straight black hair and deep copper skin. She had on jeans, a camisole that did nothing to disguise the fullness of her breasts, and a wide grin on her face as she chatted with the man at the registration desk. She was, in fact, the most beautiful woman in the entire world.
“She’s here now,” Henry said.
Ben stared at Beatriz across the lobby. She didn’t see him, thank God, so he could stare all he wanted.
“Orange,” Ben said, noting the color of Beatriz’s shirt. “She’s wearing an orange shirt and orange high heels.”
“So?”
“She’s the only woman I’ve ever known who wears orange. She looks like a tropical flower, doesn’t she? God, she looks good in orange.”
“Man, I thought I was the drunk one.”
Ben looked down at the empty shot glass and back up at the bartender. She waited for his order. Five minutes ago she’d been a gorgeous woman he’d had fun flirting with. Now she was only the bartender. Good thing. What he needed right now was a bartender and nothing else. He pointed at the shot glass. She refilled it and started to walk off.
“Wait,” he said to her. She turned around with that same seductive smile. A smile that disappeared after his next three words. “Leave the bottle.”
