The receptionist hands me my receipt for my copayment and smiles. “Your teeth look great! Good luck with you-know-who,” she says with a wink.

I want to ask what she means by this, but I decide to let it go. “Thanks. See you in six months.”

As I turn around, I text Ben letting him know I’m done and I get a response within seconds.

I stare the message in confusion. That seems like an odd response.

I smile at the nickname “Lil Benny.” Ben hates when Holder calls him that, especially since Ben is taller and sturdier than Holder. I wait in the lobby of the dental office for about fifteen minutes before I get another text from Ben.

I head out through the front entrance on Commercial Street, rather than the back entrance I came in from off Kearny Street. I don’t know why Ben is picking me up at a different location than he dropped me off, but I don’t question it.

When I come out of the dental office, I smile when I see Holder standing next to a black SUV.

He’s holding the back door open, bowing when he sees me. “A pleasure to see you again, m’lady.”

My smile disappears when I’m closer to the SUV and I see Ben in the back seat. “What’s wrong with him?”

Holder winces at the question. “A little too much of that ol’ Kentucky.”

My shoulders slump as I let out an exasperated sigh and shake my head. “This was a mistake,” I say, pressing a button on the side of the back seat so it slides forward and I can climb into the third row seat, as far away from Ben as I can get. “Can you drop me off at Homage?”

Holder hops into the back seat next to Ben and shuts the door. “We’re having lunch with you, Char-Char. I’m fucking starving. Can’t fuck with that manorexia.”

Ben’s bodyguard in the driver’s seat shakes his head as he merges into traffic on Commercial. “Fool, you’ve been manorexic since your mom shit you out and abandoned you in a dumpster.”

The guy in the passenger seat shakes his head. “Oof, Ponti. That tea you’re brewing is hot as hell.”

Holder glances back at me. “Hey, beautiful. This no-manners piece of shit right here is Tyrell Hartford. And I’ll just save him some trouble by telling you that he graduated summa cum laude from USC with a degree in Sound Design.”

I try not to laugh as I wave at Tyrell. “Nice to meet you. I’m Charley.”

He waves back at me. “I’m sure you already know not to listen to this loser,” he says, nodding toward Holder. “If not, you’ll learn to tune him out, like fucking static.”

Holder chuckles. “Oh, man. The irony is so rich I just gave it a tax cut.”

I laugh out loud this time, but quickly stop when I see Ben stirring in his seat. “You’re gonna have to go right on Grant and take Clay Street to circle back around to Montgomery,” I say to Ponti, as he seems confused by the one-way streets in the Financial District. “Then, you can make a right on Sutter and park there or on Kearny. There won’t be any parking in the alley.”

Ben’s eyelids flutter open and he looks back at me over his shoulder. “Hey, kitten,” he says with a smile that somehow still manages to look sexy as fuck even though he’s completely sloshed.

How is that even possible? How can someone look so fucking good all the fucking time? The man does takes snap-backs and tattoos to a whole other level.

Holder shakes his head then looks back at me. “You want me to knock him out again?”

I smile at his offer. “Thanks, but I’m sure he’ll do us the courtesy himself,” I reply, sliding my phone out of my pocket to text Allie and Michelle to let them know I’ll be arriving at the restaurant soon. I don’t mention who’s with me or that the reason we’re late is because I got a last-minute one-hour teeth whitening treatment after my dental cleaning.

Ben sits up a bit straighter and tilts his head as he continues to stare at me. “Is there something different about you?”

I glare at him. “How would you even know, Boozy McPissface?”

Tyrell and Holder burst into laughter. “Aw, damn. Charley is not playing that shit.”

Ben smiles and nods as he leans forward in his seat. For a moment, I think he’s going to throw up, but then he reaches for the door handle.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Holder remarks as Ben unsuccessfully tries to open the door while the car is moving, foiled by the child safety locks.

“I gotta piss. Let me out,” he slurs.

Ponti shakes his head. “You’re tripping balls if you think I’m gonna let you out here. We’re almost at the restaurant.”

By the time we find a parking space on Sutter and walk the block and a half to Homage, three photographers are following us into the restaurant. Ben bypasses the hostess and heads straight for the restrooms while I make a beeline for the table in the back of the small dining area, where Allie is excitedly waving at me. Michelle spots us next, but she looks more skeptical than excited when she sees the photographers snapping shots of me and Ben and his friends.

Allie pulls me into a tight hug and gives me a good shake. “I’ve missed you!”

I laugh as I let her go. “I saw you two weeks ago,” I remind her, turning toward Ben’s buddies. “Allie and Michelle, this is Tyrell, Holder, and Ponti. And you’ve already met the drunk you saw heading for the restroom.”

The blonde hostess sets our menus down on the table and smiles at me. “I’ll make sure those photographers leave you guys alone. Your server will be right with you.”

“Thanks,” I reply, taking a seat next to Michelle on the side of the table with the cushioned bench seat.

Michelle leans in to whisper in my ear. “Why are they here with you?”

I whisper in her ear. “Ben had to come here to get his dad a new drawing tablet, so he offered to bring me to my appointment.”

Her eyes widen. “And you let him?” she replies, glancing at my mouth when I shrug. “Did you whiten your teeth?”

I ignore her question and shake my head when I see Holder staring at Michelle with hearts in his eyes. “Holder, this is Michelle.”

“Very pleased to meet you, Michelle,” he replies, tipping his Dodgers baseball cap.

Michelle glares at me. “Don’t,” she warns me, and I know she means I’d better not get any crazy ideas about trying to set her up with Holder.

Allie grabs her phone off the table as she stares at me. “Did you do something different to your hair? Or is it your lipstick?”

I shake my head as I violently regret the decision to whiten my teeth. The truth is that my hair, lipstick, and teeth are all different than the last time I saw Allie two weeks ago. I can’t slip anything by her or Michelle. Apparently, I can’t slip anything past drunk Ben either.

Speak of the devil.

Ben arrives at our table and motions to Tyrell to get up so he can slip into the seat next to me. His brown hair is messy and slightly damp, like he splashed water on his face. And there’s no trace of whiskey aroma around him, just the faint scent of his minty gum. Great. He’s not just a drunk, he’s a professional drunk.

He leans in and whispers in my ear. “Sorry about the paps.”

I close my eyes as I try to remind myself of all the reasons I hate Ben, but his words linger in my ear.

He sits up straight and casually places his hand on the top of my thigh as he smiles at Allie. “How’s life with the symphony? I was gonna say hi last time I was here for a show, but this asshole told me it would be a bad idea,” he says, nodding toward Tyrell.

Allie smiles at Tyrell. “It’s all good. The schedule is grueling sometimes, but you know how that is. We’re doing a salute to Gershwin next week. You two should come,” she says, looking at both Ben and me.

I shake my head almost imperceptibly, because this is beginning to feel more and more like a date with Ben. And it is so not supposed to be a date. Meanwhile, across the table, Holder is flashing sultry glances in Michelle’s direction while she does a fine job of pretending she’s only interested in the menu she has clutched in her perfectly manicured hands.

Allie raises her eyebrows as she seems to take in the awkward energy at the table. “So… What did you do to your hair?” she asks me, tilting her head as she stares at the lusciously loose curls I spent almost an hour on this morning. “I’m thinking of dying my hair purple.”

I laugh at this, because Allie has never dyed her silky black hair. “Why?”

“To advertise that I’m down for anal. Why else?” she replies as she glances at her phone screen, and Holder’s eyes widen. “Ugh. This guy will not leave me alone.”

“What guy?” Tyrell asks a bit too eagerly.

Allie smiles at him. “This guy who was just hired as a tuba alternate. He’s like fifty years old and he texts me good morning every day whether or not I respond. I feel like I should just reply with something super creepy. Any suggestions?”

“Ask him why his hands are so cold when he’s asleep,” Holder replies as our waitress arrives with seven glasses of ice water.

She shudders. “Creepy, but he might take it as a joke or an invitation to keep texting me.”

Tyrell motions for Allie to give him her phone. “Give it here. I’ll send him a dick pic and he’ll never text you again.”

Ben chuckles. “That baby carrot would scare anyone away.”

“Offering dick pics and dick jokes? Just a couple of , aren’t you?” I reply, shaking my head in dismay.

Ben nuzzles his nose in my hair and whispers in my ear, “I’m only romantic with you, Yoda.”

I push his face away when he leans in to kiss me. “I’d rather you send me a dick pic than kiss me with that pickled mouth.”

His smile widens, completely unfazed as he slides his hand farther down to the inside of my thigh and gives it a light squeeze. “How about you let me put my pickle in your mouth? For old time’s sake.”

“How about you shove your pickle in your ass and fuck yourself?”

His gaze locks on my lips. “God, I’ve missed that filthy mouth.”

I shake my head, trying to ignore the way Michelle’s eyes are burning into the side of my face. “I think we should order now.”

The waitress standing at the end of the table with an empty drink tray tucked under her arm smiles uncomfortably, as she has been for the last couple minutes of this conversation. “Is everyone ready to order?”

As everyone places their order, I shoot off another text to Hunter, since he didn’t respond to the first text I sent him this morning.

I quickly turn off my phone and stuff it in my purse so I’m not tempted to respond — also, so Ben doesn’t see my brother’s insults. Hunter has always been a bit of a showman. He loves being the baby of the family, the center of attention. But this is getting out of hand.

I understand the tension between Mason and Hunter, due to Mason’s initial envious reaction to Hunter being drafted by the Giants. But there’s no justification for Hunter insulting me and Ben. I guess it’s time to start taking my dad’s advice and giving Hunter some space.

As lunch wears on, I’m positive I’m not the only person to notice that Ben has only taken one bite of his burger. He’s probably too drunk to eat, though he somehow manages to look and act as normal as ever. Which makes me wonder if Ben has been drunk every time I’ve seen him since he arrived last week.

Ben pays the bill and, as usual, leaves an obscenely generous tip. “We have to go,” he says to Holder as he tucks his wallet into his back pocket. “I have to get home and check on my dad.”

“Fuck you. I’m not finished eating,” Holder protests.

“That’s your second sandwich. Take it to-go.”

“You better believe I’m taking this shit to-go,” Holder replies. “It ain’t cutting season for me.”

“Cutting season?” Michelle queries.

“Bro-speak for weightlifting season,” I reply automatically, but she looks even more confused. “Weightlifting season, a.k.a. summer. In the winter, you bulk. In the summer, you cut.”

Michelle rolls her eyes. “Figures you’d know what that means with Biff over there whispering subliminal messages in your ear all day.”

Ben laughs. “Hey, don’t make me break out the drunk stories, Shelly.”

Michelle sneers at Ben’s mention of the nickname her father uses, which she absolutely abhors.

“Aw. I was having so much fun. I’ve missed you guys,” Allie protests, frowning as Michelle and me slide out of the bench seat and stand up. “I guess I’ll text you guys on Tuesday when I’m on my way,” she says, standing up and pulling Michelle and me into a quick but vigorous group hug. “Now, get off my property or I’ll call the cops.”

“Love you too,” Michelle and I reply in unison.

Michelle kisses Allie’s cheek. “Don’t forget to bring my gray hoodie you borrowed.”

Tyrell hangs back to exchange numbers with Allie so they can discuss the possibility of Tyrell doing some “sound engineering” for the San Francisco Symphony. I hold my tongue. Tyrell seems like a nice guy, but I don’t want my friends getting involved with Ben’s friends. That will only multiply the possibility of summer drama.

The hostess smiles as we approach the front of the restaurant. “Those photographers are still out there,” she warns us.

“I’ll bring the car ‘round,” Ponti says.

Ben turns away from the wall of windows and pulls me sideways so his body is obscuring me from the photographer’s line of sight. “I’ll cover you,” he murmurs.

For a moment, I feel utter sadness that Ben has gotten so good at hiding from people and pretending not to be drunk. This is the person he has learned to become, without me around to give him some much needed reality checks.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, noticing the disappointment in my eyes.

I shake my head, not wanting to get in an argument or philosophical discussion about hiding your heart in the middle of a crowded restaurant. Especially when I’m not exactly the most open and honest person here. I’ve spent more time fussing over my hair and makeup and whitening my teeth this past week than I have in the past year.

I glance in Michelle’s direction and I’m not surprised to see Holder attempting to chat her up. I am extremely surprised, however, to see her very obviously pretending not to be interested in him. Michelle is so bad at playing hard-to-get.

Holder is a good-looking guy with tons of personality, but I wouldn’t expect Michelle to be fighting an attraction for him. Then again, maybe she’s just ripe for the picking. It’s been at least three or four months since she broke up with her ex. As much as I want to avoid more summer drama, maybe a little summer fling will do Michelle – and me – some good. If anything, it should certainly help her lighten up about Ben and me possibly getting back together.

I look up in time to see Ben smiling as he watches Michelle and Holder chatting. He’s probably thinking the same thing I just thought, how this can only benefit him.

He looks down at me and his smile fades. “Can you help me check on my dad today?”

My stomach drops. “Why do you need help? Didn’t you hire a caregiver for him?”

He tilts his head. “I did, but I had to let her go when she leaked a scoop about my dad to those fucking sharks that have been parked outside my house all week.” He reaches up and places his hand on the side of my face, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “Please.”

As he uses his charm to try to get his way, I realize I can do this too.

“On one condition,” I reply, staring at his mouth to make him think I’m going to ask for a kiss.

“Anything you want,” he murmurs.

“I’m shooting a wedding this Saturday in Napa. Come with me.”

His eyebrows screw up in confusion. “Why? I’d think I’m the last person you would want to take.”

“Normally, yes,” I reply, my muscles tensing up as I start to worry he’s going to reject me. “But this is going to be a huge wedding. I normally come away with at least two new clients from weddings this size. If you’re there with me… I could double or triple that easily.”

He stares into my eyes for a long time as he ponders my request. “What time?”

“I have to be there by noon to take pictures while the bride gets ready. The ceremony is at four. Reception at six. It will probably run until midnight or so.”

He presses his lips together as he continues to mull it over, for much longer than I anticipated he would. I thought he would jump at the chance to do something like this, considering how doggedly he’s been pursuing a second chance with me.

Finally, he nods and flashes me a tempered smile. “I’ll go with you.”

For a moment, I contemplate telling him to just forget it, but then I recall my pathetic bank balance and quickly decide to swallow my pride. “Really?”

“Of course,” he replies.

And as he places a soft kiss on my forehead, the tension in my muscles melts away.

I smile as he pulls me into his strong arms and I wrap mine around his waist. “Maybe you are romantic after all,” I say, inhaling the intoxicating, manly scent of his skin, which is embedded in his warm T-shirt.

He shakes his head. “Baby, you have no idea.”