“A bottle of Burgundy, please,” he said, glancing at Ben. “Did you know what you wanted to eat?”
“I’ll have the vegetable lasagna,” Ben ordered, handing over his menu.
“I’ll have the herb roasted chicken,” Thomas added.
The waiter tipped his head in thanks and left them to their conversation.
The words between them flowed freely and easily, with Thomas talking about what it was like having two kids under five in his early twenties, and Ben sharing what it had been like to walk away from a swimming scholarship a year from graduation. Even though they had little in common to be found in their backgrounds, it was impossible to ignore the ease with which they got along. It was nice to be understood the way Ben understood him. And at no point in the evening did he even allow himself a second to think about the fact Ben was a man. Ben was a person whom he was attracted to, physically and intellectually, and Ben was a man who returned that interest. It may not have been what they’d intended, but it seemed to be working.
After the plates were cleared and the waiter had dropped off a dessert menu, Ben excused himself to use the restroom. Thomas scanned the 5x7 cardstock to see if anything sounded good, but he realized all he wanted was a cup of gelato on an uncomfortable chair with Ben in front of him.
The waiter returned, but Ben hadn’t, so Thomas waved him off, starting to worry about Ben’s absence. When five more minutes went by, Thomas decided to go check on Ben. He made it to the bathroom that led to the hallway in time to catch Ben, who appeared a little flustered and plenty unhappy.
“Hey.” He caught Ben by the arms and straightened him up. “Are you all right?”
Ben smacked his lips and shoved his hair out of his face, looking over his shoulder before staring down at their shoes. “I’m fine, but I’m ready to go.”
“You’re not fine,” he said, “but we can go.”
Ben nodded and trailed behind him back to the table. They hadn’t discussed who would pay, but Ben looked ready to jump out of his skin and Thomas knew he had to get him outside. He dropped a stack of bills on the table and ushered Ben out of the restaurant and onto the street.
“What happened?” he asked. “You don’t have to go into details if you don’t want to, but I can tell something is bothering you. I didn’t do anything wrong at dinner, di—”
“What?” Ben fluttered his hands between them and shook his head. “No, nothing like that. I just…I ran into my ex and…”
“The one who cheated on you?”
“Yeah.”
Thomas wanted to go back inside and give whoever it was a piece of his mind. He’d never seen Ben as upset as he was, so unsettled and frantic.
“What did he say to you?” he asked.
Ben wagged his finger and frowned. “No. He just…he said some messed-up things, trying to get me back. It’s his usual MO.”
“Messed-up things?”
“God, this is embarrassing.” Ben shoved his hands into his pockets, once proud shoulders now slumped and curled. “Can we walk at least?”
“If you like.”
They made it around the corner before Ben spoke again. “He cheated on me, but he also…he wasn’tnice.”
The emphasis on the last word was enough for Thomas to understand the story Ben was trying to tell. Immediately, heat flared up his spine, surging through him in a barely controllable way. He reached over and grabbed Ben’s hand, twining their fingers together and kissing his knuckles. The contact between them and the subtle taste of sweat on Ben’s skin were the only things stopping Thomas from turning around and going back to the restaurant.
“He wasn’t nice,” he repeated.
“No.”
“Did he…” Thomas didn’t want to ask, but he needed to understand—he wanted to understand.
“Did he hit me?” Ben glanced at him, cheeks flushed.
Thomas nodded.
“No. But things broke. Or he broke things. Whatever.”
“It’s not whatever.”
