Daphne had called ittender, too. She’d said it so emphatically that Benji had almost taken it home before class. Daphne had to talk him into showing it. Now he was even more embarrassed that his classmates had seen it.
“What are you going to submit to the exhibition?” Mr. Jervais asked.
Benji blew out a breath. “Uh. I don’t know. Still coming up with ideas.”
Mr. Jervais made a disapproving noise. “Have you thought about that noodles painting?”
Benji squinted at him, uncomprehending.
“The orange noodles,” Mr. Jervais explained. “In the takeout containers. I saw you showing your friend. I assumed it was someone else’s until I heard you talk about perfecting the lighting. Why didn’t you bring that in?”
Benji shrugged again, eyeing the door longingly. He hadn’t brought that takeout painting in for the same reason he didn’t want people looking at his painting of Noah’s hands—it was too intimate. Which felt stupid, because he had classmates bringing in nude self-portraits or abstract art the painter insisted was their childhood dog if they were a vase of wildflowers. Besides, there was always some intimacy in making art. Benji was just used to disguising it until no one could recognize what he’d poured onto the canvas.
These new paintings felt like he’d cut a line through his torso and spilled his guts onto the canvas. Spelled them into big, embarrassing words for everyone to see.
“Don’t play it safe,” Mr. Jervais told him. “Whatever you care about,that’swhat you have to put on the canvas. Open yourself up and show us what’s in there.”
Benji cringed. “Right. Great. Sure. I’m gonna?—”
He hooked a thumb at the door, making his move before Mr. Jervais had a chance to protest. He had a date to get to. Hedidn’t want to worry about “opening himself up” any more than he already did.
Apparently, it was a trend that day to knock Benji off balance, because Noah took him to get fish.
Benji humored him. He’d never eaten a fish he liked. Granted, he hadn’t tried many. But why would he, when he knew he didn’t like it?
“I’m not going to suddenly like it just because it’s fancy,” he warned as Noah scooped a chunk of salmon onto his fork. “So don’t be surprised if I spit this out all over you.”
“Of course,” Noah said, trying to hide how his mouth was twitching. “Open up for me, baby.”
Benji glared at him, trying to ignore the frisson of heat that ran through him at the words. He still hadn’t come since Noah told him not to. It had been over a week now, and he was struggling. Not enough to use his safeword, but he was getting pretty damn close.
“I thought we were supposed to be keeping us quiet,” he pointed out. “This doesn’t feel too quiet.”
Noah looked around the restaurant. They were tucked in a quiet corner, hidden by the curtains.
“I thought about booking the place out for the night,” he admitted. “But that’d just cause more questions. Open.”
Benji obeyed. Noah slipped the fork in gently, easing the salmon onto Benji’s tongue.
Benji chewed.
Noah waited. “Well?”
“Goddamnit,” Benji muttered. The fish waslovely. Buttery and rich and coated in herbs. There were some other tastes he couldn’t identify, probably because he’d avoided fish for most of his life.
Noah broke out into a grin so soft and pleased that Benji had to look away.
“See? You just had to trust me.” Noah handed the fork over.
Benji took it grudgingly, stomach still somersaulting from that smile. “Yeah, yeah. I still hate caviar.”
“As you should.” Noah picked up his wine glass. He had a glass of red, some Italian brand that Benji couldn’t begin to pronounce. The rich crimson against his tanned skin made Benji breathless. He wanted to paint it. He wanted to capture so many moments with Noah, tuck them away somewhere safe. Hedidn’twant to shove them up for all his classmates to see.
“Benjamin?”
Benji startled. He’d been staring at Noah’s hands.
“Sorry,” he said. “What did you say?”
