Daphne poked him in the shoulder. “Got you some paint.”
He looked over. While he was staring at the blank paper and freaking out about emotional intimacy, she’d gotten up and fetched him a palette. Soft colors: browns, yellows, oranges, muted greens.
“Thanks,” Benji said, taking the palette and pausing to consider where to start. Every image that ran through his mind was about Noah. His mouth. The way his eyes creased when he smiled. His cologne bottle, small and simple, catching the sunlight. The cufflinks he’d been wearing when he took Benji to the gala.
Benji squirmed, shame and arousal chasing each other as his ass throbbed. Maybe Noah was right about the ointment.
Noah texted him again as he was waiting for the bus in the rain.
Come over. Let me make it up to you.
Benji shivered, shielding his phone from the cold spring rain. He usually took the bus from the stop outside the arts building, which had a shelter. But going to the hotel meant a different bus line, and the bus was running late. Which meant that he was getting soaked while he waited for the bus that should’ve shown up four minutes ago. He could’ve taken the car, but Benji refused to pay the ridiculous parking fees. Also, he didn’t want the reminder of Noah, who was being so unrelentinglysweetthat it was making Benji mad.
Because even knowing Noah like he did, part of him had been expecting him to double down. To not apologize, to blame Benji, to tell him to get over it. Pulling out that asshole that Noah insisted he was back in college. But Noah had backtracked immediately. Benji didn’t know what to think. There was a part of him insisting that it was a momentary lapse, that everyone got mad sometimes, and he was apologizing straight away. Wasn’t Benji blowing this out of proportion? Shouldn’t he accept this as not a big deal and move on?
But then there was another part of him. Bigger, louder, infinitely older. It insisted that calling Benji a kicked dog was just the start, and it was inevitable that Noah would start treating him like shit eventually. That Benji should get out while he still could, before heproperlyfucked up and Noah blew up at him for real.
He sent a reply:i have stuff to do. not at ur beck and call 24/7, even if u do pay me.
Then he shoved his phone in his pocket. His bus was finally coming, and thank god. He’d been starting to tremble. He climbed on, scanning his card and sitting down in a damp seat underneath a subpar heater. He closed his eyes, waiting for it to warm him up.
He was still shaking when he got off the bus in front of the hotel. He ducked into the hotel with a miserable sigh, shedding his sodden coat. It was the deep green one Noah had gotten him, and it looked pretty ruined. Was Benji even allowed to put it through the dryer?
Before he could check the tag, his phone rang.
Benji dug it out.Unknown number.A hundred horrible things flashed through his mind: Michael, Dillion, Max’s school, loan sharks chasing up his dead aunt’s debts. As far as he knew, she didn’t have any. But he’d had too much good luck lately, so it would make sense.
He raised the phone hesitantly. “Hello?”
“Hiya. Is this Benjamin Caulfield?”
Benji blinked at the woman’s upbeat tone. She didn’tsoundlike she was calling to threaten him.
“Yeah. I mean, this is he.”
“Benjamin, hi. This is Lottie Hatfield. I’m calling about the Glenson Street apartment you applied to. Would you like to come for a viewing next week?”
Benji stopped in the middle of the lobby. He’d applied to a few apartments last week, so he only had a vague memory of Glenson Street.
“Sure,” he said. “I can do next week.”
She rattled off a list of times she had available. He nodded, suddenly aware of an ache at the back of his head. Maybe he wasgetting a tension headache. Noah said his headaches started in his teens, but Benji could be a late bloomer.
“Next Monday,” Benji said finally. “Okay. See you then.”
He shoved his phone back in his pockets. Strangely, his hands were still shaking, even though the hotel had its heaters on full blast.
There was a small box outside their hotel room. Benji’s hackles went up, imagining paint bombs,actualbombs, hate mail. Then he told himself to calm the fuck down and bent to examine it. The box was tiny. It had a ribbon around it, a card tucked neatly underneath. Nobody was going to hurt him with a tiny ribbon box.
He opened the card. Noah’s elegant handwriting made his heart cinch up.
Take care of yourself. Looking forward to seeing you. Noah.
Benji swallowed. His throat was oddly tender. He tore open the box to see a small bottle. He twisted it open, revealing a smooth, waxy balm. It smelled heavenly.
Benji’s asscheeks throbbed. He imagined Noah rubbing the balm into him, kissing away his stupid tears. Maybe running him a bath. He would’ve done it, Benji was almost certain. If Benji hadn’t been so livid, if he hadn’t run out. If he’dlet Noah in,like he wanted. He just felt so fucking stupid, so desperate to prove himself, and then Noah had called him a kicked dog, and Benji couldn’t do anythingbutleave. Benji never stuck around for hard conversations—he deflected, or he snapped, or he left. What had his aunt always said?Better to be the one leaving than the one left.
The only time somebody had been able to stop him was Noah. He pried deeper, forced Benji to meet his gaze, and stopped him from leaving.
