Picky Eater

Ch 1: I've never met a Feast

WARNING: This story contains mature content that may not be suitable for some readers.

A-LIST MODEL, Fortune seen with lingerie model, Isabella De Rossi walking the fregene beach in Italy...

Rolling his eyes, Ben tossed his phone onto the kitchen counter and poured himself a large glass of wine. All cologne ads looked the same. Always black and white photos with two half-naked people pressed up against each other. The perfume bottle nowhere to be found.

Ben's furrowed brow forced his glasses down the bridge of his nose, and he pushed them back up. It was annoying how good the two models looked together. Ben wouldn't fit anywhere in this picture.

The phone buzzed, rattling against the counter and at first, Ben's stomach dropped, thinking it might be another notification about Fortune.

Turning on a news alert about the model was a new low. Even for Ben.

Pathetic just hired a new poster child.

Thankfully, it wasn't. It was his best friend calling and Ben answered without trying to hide his misery. "Hi, Lincoln. What is it?"

Lincoln snorted. "You sound bubbly as ever. What's on your mind?"

Sighing, Ben glanced around his gorgeous brownstone apartment and wondered how depression could exist in such a beautiful place. Misery shouldn't survive with all this exposed brick, hardwood floors, and white kitchen cabinets.

This was the height of adult luxury and yet, he was throwing a pity party with a guest list of one.

Ben took a sip of wine and decided to avoid the truth. Jiggling his mouse, Ben's laptop screen awakened. He glanced through the mess of his first draft mocking him in his word document. "What would you wear if you were a vampire on the run?"

The sigh from Lincoln was not lost through the receiver. "I'm sorry I asked."

"I hate describing clothes." He glanced down at the basketball shorts he had owned since college and the t-shirt stained by his coffee from this morning. "I don't even know how to dress myself."

"Just google what hot men wear. Nobody cares what he's wearing. Readers only care about how quickly he's going to take it all off. I didn't call to talk vampire romance. I wanna know how your date with Tim went last night!"

"Oh, yeah." Ben grabbed his wine, happy for the excuse not to write, and walked to living room. He melted into the couch, grateful for the cool leather during this hot summer night. "The food was good, and the movie was alright. I'm not a big sci-fi guy."

Waiting for some sort of reply, Ben suffered a moment too long in silence. "What?" Ben's voice cracked, already feeling defensive. "It was fine!"

"Be still my beating heart."

"What's that mean?"

"Good? Alright? Fine?" Ben could hear Lincoln roll his eyes. Probably the whole tri-state area felt its breeze. Lincoln's sarcasm didn't end there. It'd be a slow death for Ben's dignity. "No wonder you're a romance author. The word picture you paint is truly one of epic romance."

Lincoln pleaded with him, "I want details, Ben! Like, how did he look? What was the atmosphere? Are you willing to talk about how the night ended in juicy detail?"

"It was-"

Lincoln cut in faster than a hot blade through butter. "I'll put you in time out if you say fine again."

"I'd like to see that-" Ben laughed, when a knock on his window made his bones jump. Wine splashed off the lip of his glass and all over his shirt. With a curse, Ben whirled around to see Nino Ventura hanging off his window, tapping the glass. Ben almost swallowed his tongue, gawking, "Nino?"