“Holy crap, you can’t do that,” she returned immediately, sounding shocked. “I can’t be a wingman with my boyfriend with me.”

Ben clenched his teeth.

Then he said, “We’ll talk about this later too.”

She read his tone and he knew it when she replied, “Probably a good idea.”

“Leave at five, babe.”

“Like you’re headed down here and I’ll kick back and clean out my inbox,” she murmured.

“Frankie?” he called.

“What?” she answered.

“The answer to ‘leave at five, babe’ is ‘all right, honey,’” he informed her.

“Annoying,” she muttered.

At that, he grinned.

Then he said, “See you soon.”

“All right, honey.”

At that, he chuckled.

And after he told her he loved her and got it in return, he disconnected.

* * * * *

Ben had just let himself into Frankie’s place, minimized the devastation Gus could make by putting him in her guestroom, got a beer and was taking a tug, when he dropped his chin and the bottle and caught sight through her living room window of her Z sliding into her parking space.

He put the beer on her bar, headed to her door and through it, and the instant he came out from the recess of her front door, he saw her stop walking from her Z and start skip-running.

On heels.

Fucking Frankie.

He smiled.

She smiled back, threw herself in his arms, and banged him hard with her computer bag on his bicep.

“Oh, sorry,” she whispered, her face close to his.

He said nothing.

This was because he didn’t give a f**k about her bag hitting him, but he did give a f**k about the fact that her mouth was close.

So he ignored the first and took advantage of the second.

He broke the clinch, took her bag from her, then took her hand and pulled her into her apartment.

She threw her keys on the table by the door and moved in, turning the second she cleared the entryway, saying, “Well?”

“You wanna get changed?” he asked, bending to set her bag on the floor against the wall by the table.

He also saw she was wearing spike-heeled slingback pumps and another business-type dress, high neck, short sleeves, black.

Skintight.

Short.

Jesus.

“I wanna know why I got a Benny Bianchi surprise visit,” she answered.

“You wanna get a beer first?”

“I already answered that question.”

“You wanna let me get my beer and relax after the drive, seein’ as I got here about five minutes before you?”

“Benny,” she snapped.

“Not even ten seconds, baby,” he said softly, moving toward the kitchen and right to his bottle of beer.

She didn’t follow, just pivoted, so when he took a pull and turned to her, she was facing him.

“Well?” she repeated.

“A while ago, I did something.”

Her body went still and there was a look on her face he didn’t get and couldn’t read. It was the first time in a long time she gave him a look he couldn’t read. Especially one like this one.

One that was not good.

“What’d you do?” she asked.

“You told me that guy in your company got whacked, so I went to Sal to see if he could find out who did it and maybe find out why.”

He could read her face then. Her eyes got huge and her mouth dropped open.

She snapped it shut to ask, “You went to Sal?”

“Yep.”

“For a favor?”

“He and Gina are invited to our wedding.”

At that, her face got soft, her eyes warmed, and the tenseness in her body loosened so much, he braced to catch her if she folded to the floor.

“Our wedding?” she asked softly.

That’s when he got the reaction.

“You might wanna shack up for the rest of our lives, but I don’t wanna put up with Ma’s shit if we do somethin’ like that,” he replied. “Not to mention, I want a lifetime of catching sight of my rings on your finger. So yeah, that’s where we’re heading. Our wedding.”

That got him love and marvel, like she couldn’t believe he was real and she couldn’t believe her luck, and he f**king loved that. Loved it.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t take advantage of it in that moment.

“I think I wanna kiss you all over,” she said quietly, and he grinned, preferring her to do that but needing to get this shit done first.

“You wanna know what this is all about?” he asked.

“Okay, I think I wanna kiss you all over after you tell me what this is all about,” she amended, and his grin grew into a smile.

He felt it fade when he shared, “Not sure you’re gonna be in that mood when I’m done, baby.”

“Oh shit,” she replied.

“You wanna sit down?” he offered.

“Do I need to sit down?”

“My guess? Definitely. With a beer. At least.”

“Oh shit,” she repeated.

“Sit down, cara. I’ll get you your beer.”

She gave him a long look, then moved to her couch. A big, overstuffed, pillowy, muted green couch that was unbelievably comfortable and would look great in his living room with her muted blue, overstuffed, pillowy armchair and ottoman. Not to mention switching out her ace square coffee table with his beaten-up rectangular one. Partly because it was ace, partly because it wasn’t beaten-up, but mostly because it was bigger and would hold a lot more shit, like beer bottles and bags of chips.

He was nixing her purple wingback chair, mostly because it was purple and partly because he was keeping his recliner.

When he came to her with her opened beer, she was in that muted green couch, shoes off, legs curled underneath her.

He gave her the beer, sat down next to her, and shoved his fingers in the bend of her knee, yanking her closer and keeping his hand there.

“You know a guy named Peter Furlock?” he asked, and her brows drew together as her head tilted to the side.

“No.”

“He works at Wyler Pharmaceuticals.”

“Okay,” she replied slowly, her gaze turning alert and her body again getting wired.

“He’s a computer guy and Sal found out he’s had a hit put out on him.”

She gasped, her eyes going huge in a way that was still cute but he didn’t like as much, and she cried, “Oh my God, Benny!”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“Did you call the cops?”