Author's Notes…

I have a very dear friend who is very supportive, and she really needs a pick-me-up, and so I am writing her a story! I don't intend for it to be very long. I really hope everyone enjoys! (That was a lot of "very's.")

For Carla

Chocolate

Chapter One

Five-for-Five

Rey Kenobi was having the worst night of her life.

Not only had her crush—Poe Dameron—gotten married today, she'd been his best man and had had to witness giving him away to some pretty little thing Rey had only met, perhaps, three times. The reception was over, and now they were at their group's favorite bar, getting smashed. She could hear them in the background, laughing gaily, while they were fawned over by every friend Rey had.

This.

Was.

Pure.

Torture.

A man slipped onto the stool next to her at the bar. She didn't recognize him, which suited her fine. She wasn't confident that she could hide how very miserable she was from any of her friends. Finn, especially, and Finn would not let up until she'd spilled everything. Well… He knew everything already, knew how much she was suffering. She'd been avoiding him all night. So far, she'd managed.

Hopefully, it would continue to stay that way.

Rey's teeth closed over an olive on the tiny spear from her martini.

"You look like shit."

Rey stiffened with offense.

She had to say, this was a first, a bloody stranger insulting her out of nowhere.

"Do I know you?" she asked.

"No," the newcomer replied.

"So bugger off," she snapped, and she went back to her martini, ignoring the cheers of her chaps as they went another round some few tables behind her.

"I would," he said. "But I feel like shit, too."

"How lovely for you," she murmured, truly not caring one whit.

"I just came back from a funeral."

That brought Rey's head up. Now she'd done it. "Oh, I'm so—" But the man, serious though his face was, had a smile at the corner of his mouth. She glared. "That's a terrible thing to say when it's not true."

"But it got you to look at me," he parried smugly.

Rey pointedly returned to her martini.

"You look good in a tux," the man observed.

"I was the best man at a wedding today," Rey replied wryly. She jerked her head in the direction of her friends. "I thought it'd look odd if I showed up in a dress." She signaled the barkeep for another martini. Her unwanted companion asked for a scotch, neat.

He drummed his fingers against the surface of the bar. "I saw you there, you know."

This took Rey by surprise. "What?" He had been there? "Who did you know? The bride or the groom?"

He chuckled softly beneath his breath.

She frowned. "Why is that funny?"

"It's not." His glass of scotch was placed before him, and he took a sip. "I was there before the wedding."

"Why?"

"You ask a lot of questions," he observed.

"You told me I looked like shite and then initiated the conversation," she fired back. "I have every right to ask questions. Unless you'd prefer to go?" She raised her eyebrows, signaling she wouldn't be opposed to that at all.

He sighed, leaning his arms against the bar. His eyes flicked to the football—er, soccer—game on the nearest tele screen. "I go to confession sometimes."

"The church was closed all day in preparation for the ceremony." Suspicion zinged through Rey.

"Yes, but my uncle is the priest. He made an exception for me." Another sip.

"Luke Skywalker is your uncle?" Interested, Rey ignored her second martini in favor of turning so she could see him better. The stool was backless and uncomfortable, but she'd grown used to that ages ago.

"Mhm."

"Small world," Rey murmured. "But how did you wind up here? Did you follow me?" She tensed.

"Don't give yourself so much credit," he said bluntly. She set her jaw, prepared to tell him off—why did he continue to insult her?—but he nudged her martini closer to her. "It was coincidence. I walked in and saw you here."

"I don't believe in coincidence," Rey told him.

"You don't?" He seemed amused.

"No," she replied in all seriousness. "Never have."

"Hmm…" He mulled that over for a moment. While he did, Rey ate another olive. She'd been so sick with—… all sorts of hurtful and ugly feelings at the reception that she hadn't been able to stomach a single thing. Even the smell of the food had made her woozy.

"You're Catholic?" she finally asked, because he'd made it clear he wasn't going anywhere.

"No," he replied baldly. "But sometimes I feel the need to let things off my chest. My uncle is the only one I can talk to about it, and even then, I still think he judges me."

"He's a priest," Rey said. "And your uncle. I doubt—"

"You're not that naïve," the stranger interrupted. He winced. "…But thanks."

"For what?"

"For trying to make me feel better."

Was that what she had been trying to do?

She supposed so.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Ben," he replied. "What's yours?"

"Rey."

"Rey." He said it the way one would play a lone piano note in the depth of darkness. It made her shiver in the noisiness of the bar. "Short for Rachel?"

"No." She shook her head. "Just Rey. And not like a ray of sunshine. It's R-E-Y."

He smothered a laugh. "Pffft."

"What?" she grumbled defensively.

"You must have to explain that a lot."

"You, yourself, asked me if it was short for Rachel!" she said hotly. Honestly. She was growing tired of his presence. "What are you, Ben Skywalker, then?" Asking something else was better than arguing with a perfect stranger. She didn't want to draw attention to herself. That would invite Finn over.

"Ben Solo." He smiled.

Her heart skipped a beat.

It hadn't… done that… in a long time…

And what was more, it didn't hurt.

Don't be ridiculous, she told herself with an inward harrumph. It's the drink.

"I'm Rey Kenobi." Why was she so irritable? He was riling her up so quickly, it was making her head spin.

Definitely the drink.

"All right. So, Rey Kenobi… Why do you look like shit?"

A murderous glint must have come to her eyes, because the bartender shifted nervously away. Ben, however, only grinned lazily, his fingertips dancing over the edge of his glass.

"Have you ever spoken to a girl in your life?" she snipped.

"Maybe," he replied in what he probably felt was a mysterious voice. "You going to answer my question?"

"That depends. Are you going to stop saying I look like shite?"

He nodded his head in acquiescence.

"You see that man over there? Nine o'clock?" Rey lifted her martini. She wouldn't make it obvious about who she was referring to. Seeing Poe with Rebecca, his new wife, would put her in an even fouler mood. They'd dressed into more comfortable clothing. Rey had only loosened her tie and popped the top buttons on her shirt.

"Curly hair? Cocky attitude? Probably compensating for a small cock?"

Rey choked on a laugh, and as a result, her martini burned out of her nose. She hurriedly swiped for a napkin, her eyes watering. Ow!

"Yeah, I see him," Ben said.

"Well… I've been in love with him for three years." Rey crumpled her napkin into her palm, wiping at her eyes with her knuckle.

"Him?" Ben asked in disbelief. "No."

She nodded.

"Really?"

She nodded again, then sighed. "Yeah… Pathetic, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he agreed. "And you two aren't together because…?"

"Because I'm too much of a coward to tell him how I feel," Rey said. She downed the last of her second martini. Ben grabbed her hand mid-gesture for a third, and she was buzzed enough to let it happen. "What are you doing?"

"This isn't enough."

"What?"

"Ten shots of tequila," he called.

"Ten?" Rey's eyes widened. "No! Is this your plan? Get me drunk and tumble into your bed?"

Long lashes abruptly lowered over rather beautiful dark brown eyes. It made her breath catch in her throat.

"And if it was?"

Rey snatched her hand away, praying that her reddened cheeks could be blamed on the alcohol she'd consumed.

He laughed. The bartender, a burly man with blonde hair and an epic beard that was tied at the end near his collarbone, set ten shot glasses on the counter. He held Cuervo up in question. Ben nodded. Amber liquid splashed.

"If I was trying to take you home, you'd know," Ben informed her. "I have some questions."

"Fine," Rey sighed. She'd stayed here this long—they both knew she wasn't going anywhere.

"Does this prick know how you feel?"

"No," she mumbled somberly.

Ben picked up a clear shaker of salt. "Hold out your wrist." When she did so, he grasped it and licked it. His fingers tightened around it, preventing an easy escape. Heat flashed down her spine. It was getting easier to blame things on the alcohol.

He sprinkled salt on the patch of wet skin. "He knows," he said. "He's not as stupid as he looks. And he looks pretty damned stupid," he added under his breath. "Next: I take it you're best friends if you're his best man?"

"He's one of them, yeah," Rey replied somewhat breathlessly. She ran her tongue over the salt and grabbed a shot. She downed the tequila, wincing as she did so. Blech! Where was that lime? She sank her teeth into it.

Ben presented his wrist.

She squinted at him.

He shook it insistently.

Ugh.

Just do it. You let him do it to you.

She circled her fingers around his wrist and pressed her tongue there, a flash of dampness, nothing more. A second later, she added salt to the mix. She watched avidly as he did a shot in turn.

His empty shot glass clinked on the bar. "Ever try to make him jealous?"

"No," Rey said.

"Why not?"

"Because… I don't know. I guess I was waiting around for him to figure it out."

"You're better than that," Ben said simply. He flicked his fingers toward her arm. She rolled her eyes and then presented it to him. "Lucky for you, I believe it can be done. You up for it?"

She wet her lips. Was she?

He leaned in. "If it helps your decision, he's already watching us," he said with a roguish grin.

Rey brightened. "He is?" A fresh shiver traced down her spine as Ben's tongue met her flesh a second time.

"Yeah. And considering he just got married, that should tell you he's a real piece of shit."

Rey wanted to argue with him, but… Well. He had a bit of a point, didn't he?

She knocked back her next shot.

By then, she was giggling.

"The secret is to make sure you don't make a fool of yourself," Ben was saying.

She took his arm, closing her eyes as she purposefully ran a long trail up the length of it.

"Fuck," she heard him breathe. "Thought you didn't want to come home with me."

"Never said that," she said. "Is he still watching?"

Ben downed Cuervo. Two-for-two.

"Yeah."

Three-for-three.

Four-for-four.

Rey laughed so hard Ben had to catch her so she didn't fall off the stool. She didn't remember why she was laughing, just that she found him absolutely hilarious. He steadied her and pulled her hair off her neck where it had come free from its elegant bun. His tongue followed, and she swallowed a groan.

She knew she should tell him to stop.

She didn't.

She didn't want to.

"I can't lick salt from there," she breathed.

"I know," he murmured. "I can."

And he did.

Five-for-four.

"Your turn," he announced.

She braced a hand on his thigh and leaned up. "I think we've done this in another life," she said somewhat drunkenly.

He gripped her hip and tilted his head so she could move his hair back like he'd done to her. It was black, silky, wavy, beautiful, long enough to touch his shoulders. She wanted to run her fingers through it for hours. She'd ask what had gotten into her, but she already knew.

"Done what in another life?" he asked.

"Tequila shots. I don't know. Don't ask me. I'm half-cut." She was supposed to just lick his neck, but next thing she knew, she was suckling at the crook where his neck met his shoulder. A soft moan lifted from him, thrilling her. "Pass me the salt."

He shoved it into her hand.

"Excellent," she breathed.

She lingered far more than was necessary and got a squeeze to the back of her thigh for her trouble.

"Tease," he growled.

Rey grabbed her final shot and grimaced as it burned its way down her throat.

"There," she said.

Five-for-five.

And then she put her arms around him and kissed him. He tasted like salt, tequila, and something better. Something dark and promising. He didn't push her off, either—he tugged her closer, sinking his teeth into her lower lip, his hands roaming up her back.

"Not here," he said. "Come home with me?"

"Yeah," she gasped.

He fumbled in his pocket for his wallet and slapped money on the table. Then he picked her straight off her stool while she grabbed her purse, and she laughed as he swept her over his shoulder. She caught Finn's eye on the way out and waved merrily.

Cab.

Fingers tangled in raven locks.

A hungry mouth on hers.

Lips skimming her neck.

City lights flashing by.

A moan.

Bzzzt… bzzzt… bzzzt…

Rey's head was pounding.

She flailed a hand out, reaching for her phone on her nightstand—missed—nearly fell out of bed. Her eyes flickered open and the sunlight that greeted them made her groan and close them hurriedly.

Oh.

God.

She was so hungover.

Bzzzt…

"I hear you!" she hissed.

It was around that time that she realized she wasn't in her own bed.

And that there was a heavy arm thrown over her waist.

Oh—

Oh, dear, sweet—

Oh, God.

Look. Turn around and look.

No! No, she couldn't do it!

But she had to.

She did.

It was as bad as she had feared.

She was in bed with Ben Solo.

Swallowing thickly against her raw, scratchy throat, she moved as minimally as possible as she raised her phone.

Two missed calls: Finn.

One text message.

Finn: Girl, PLEASE tell me you are okay and that you weren't shanked by that guy you were all over last night!

Rey buried her face in the pillow she seemed to have claimed for herself.

Oh, bloody hell.

Now what?

How to get out of this apartment without waking up this one-night stand, that was what!

It took a considerable amount of stealth for Rey to climb out of that bed with Ben completely unaware. Part of the credit was due to the fact that he was a heavy sleeper. Peaceful—beautiful, so beautiful in an untraditional way—but… but one-night stand, one-night stand, one-night stand!

Now where were her clothes?

Her bra was hanging from a lampshade. Her panties were near her feet. The rest of her clothes were a straight trail out of the massive bedroom, which was a very expensive apartment in the city. Unbelievable. This was a scene straight out of a walk-of-shame romance novel.

Carefully, carefully…

She tiptoed over the plush white carpet, quietly collecting her things, frequently sneaking glances over her shoulder at the slumbering man on the king-sized bed. The sheet covered nothing. He was huge—all tanned skin stretched over muscle, broad shoulders, long limbs.

And… currently… stirring…

Rey panicked.

She hurried out of the room, wincing, pulling on her clothes, stuffing her panties and bra in her purse. She never went without wearing those, but she didn't have time to fuss with them now. Her tux jacket, she folded over her arm. The front door clicked as she shut it, and she winced.

Rey waited until she was down the hallway to fish out her sunglasses and squish them onto her face. Her hair, she yanked into a messy bun. She mashed on the elevator buttons, her head still pounding. She wasn't very religious, but in that moment, she prayed to God more than she ever had to make the machine come faster.

Come on, come on, come on, come on!

A ding!, and it opened with a satisfying slide of doors.

There was a woman dressed primly waiting there.

Rey covered the side of her face with her hand and moved to the corner of the elevator. The lobby button was already pressed. As the elevator rumbled and traveled down, she slumped her shoulders.

"Am I a whore?" she half-sobbed, half-mumbled.

The other woman gave her a long side-eye.

Rey couldn't even blame her.

Fuck me, she swore.

Just what had happened after she got into that cab with Ben Solo?

Bliss.

Sheer bliss.

That was all she remembered.

Bzzzt.

One text message.

Finn: If you don't answer me within the next five minutes, I'm putting out a missing person report! It's noon!

In spite of how badly it ached, Rey thunked her head against the elevator wall.

Five times.

For five shots.

Fuck my life.