“Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.”
“The good news is, my mom will be pretty hungover today, so no one to grill us over breakfast.”
I nod, looking for my clothes, feeling Ben’s eyes on me as I walk around in my towel.
“Your clean clothes are downstairs.”
“Oh,Scheiße,I forgot about that.”
He offers me a shy smile. “You can wear something of mine, if you like. The … pants might be a bit short.”
Why does the thought of wearing Ben’s clothes excite me? I’ve never dated anyone as close to my height as Ben isbefore. I usually go for smaller guys who can wear my t-shirts as dresses.
“Maybe I’ll just throw on a t-shirt and a pair of joggers to go downstairs in.”
“Sure, I’ll get you some sweatpants. I’m sure I have a pair that are a little too long.”
I watch his back as he searches his drawer for the sweatpants. Suddenly desperate to take him away from this stuffy house.
“Why don’t we go out for breakfast?”
He turns with a pair of grey sweatpants in his hand. They could be dangerous if he does anything to turn me on in public. I take them with a grateful smile anyway. It might be fun to watch him blush.
I let the towel drop, refrain from laughing when Ben freezes and averts his eyes.
“You know you saw my cock last night.”
“Oh gosh.”
A chuckle escapes.
“You’re so cute.”
He turns his back. “I know I’m being ridiculous right now, it’s just….”
I decide to be generous and let him off the hook. “So … breakfast?”
It takesa while to leave the mansions behind and hit the road. I keep forgetting how far apart everything is in America. How … huge it is.
I try not to watch Ben’s long fingers gripping the steering wheel. Try to push out the smell of his cologne floating around the car as he drives. I focus on the view from the window instead. The grey sky giving the roadside trees aslightly haunting look. The closer we get to town, the less grand everything is. The quainter and almost seaside-like it becomes.
“This is a cute town.”
Ben smiles. “This part doesn’t look like much, compared to the houses on the outskirts, but it’s really lovely."
"Did you grow up here?”
“Yes and no. I spent some time away at boarding school, in Switzerland.”
“Switzerland? Why can’t you speak German?”
“It was the French-speaking part—Lausanne. German was an optional language.”
“You speak French?”
“Swiss French, and I haven’t practiced for a long time. I’ve probably forgotten most of it by now.”
