Noah watched him walk to the bathroom, legs only shaking slightly as he went. Benji wasn’t inviting him for the shower; that much was clear. Noah told himself it didn’t matter, but it didn’t stop that same betrayed sting he’d felt when Tia said she didn’t want her job back, when Benji didn’t want to move in.
He closed his eyes. He was setting himself up for another sting, and he didn’t even care.
“My offer’s still open,” he said lightly. “We could turn one of the spare rooms into a workshop for Max. Another one into a studio.”
Benji appeared in the bathroom doorway, a shard of uneasiness breaking his post-fuck calm.
“Noah,” he said. “Come on. We talked about this.”
“I know.” Noah clenched the blankets, making sure his hands were out of sight. He’d done so well not begging Tia to come back; he’d barely put any pressure on Benji at all. He could feel himself being too much again, but he couldn’t stop.
“I just don’t think you need to be worried,” he tried. “About me getting tired of you, or about Max getting attached. I know it’s fast, but I think we’ll be okay.”
Benji bit his lip. It wasn’t chapped, even after a week of illness. Noah had been there to spread Chapstick on his lips, feed him honey, and keep him warm. He wanted to do that next timeBenji got sick. Wanted to do it all the time, for as long as Benji would have him.
Something flickered across Benji’s face. It looked like want. Or maybe it was something else, and Noah was wrong, yet again.
“I’m gonna shower,” Benji said.
CHAPTER 17
“So,” Benji said as he climbed into the car after the apartment viewing. “What did you think?”
Max shrugged. He’d been quiet tonight. For all his chatterbox tendencies, he could get quiet around strangers, especially if they didn’t match his energy. Besides, there wasn’t much he could say to a woman showing them an apartment. He didn’t care about floor plans or kitchen islands. The only time he showed any interest was when they got to the bedrooms, where Max had loudly called dibs on the bigger one and the woman had paused long enough to shoot him an awkward laugh and remind him they hadn’t signed anything yet.
But now that Benji thought about it, Max had been quiet before the apartment viewing. Benji had chalked it up to him being busy on his laptop or stressed about whatever was going on in his ever-growing nerdy friend group that he was now roping kids from the hotel into.
Benji pulled out into the street, trying to remember how to get to the hotel from here. He’d put Google Maps away, and now he was regretting it. It was close to the college, but not close enough for him to know the streets.
“Soooo,” he said. “Want to pick up dinner on the way home?”
Max shrugged.
“What do you want?”
Another shrug. This one came with a muttered, “Whatever.”
Benji narrowed his eyes at the streetlight-studded road. “Since when do you not have an opinion on what we have for dinner?”
Max didn’t roll his eyes like Benji expected. He didn’t shoot Benji an annoyed look or get out his phone or thump his head dramatically on the window. He just sat there, picking at his fingernails. He didn’t look grumpy, Benji realized. He looked… shy?
“Is everything okay with your friends?” Benji asked. “I told you it’s weird mixing friend groups. Your fancy hotel friends aren’t nerdy enough for your school friends.”
“Can I ask you something?”
The timid tone sent a bolt of genuine fear down Benji’s spine. Max was a ball of withering sarcasm or grinning enthusiasm. He didn’t getshy. Not with Benji, anyway. Even with the woman showing them the house, he didn’t getshy; he just got quiet and distracted and started playing on his phone instead of looking at the boring stuff she was pointing at. Like Benji cared about how many settings the oven had when he was only ever going to use one setting and forget what the rest of the symbols meant.
“Sure,” Benji squeaked, a thousand scenarios running through his head. He’d read the article. He knew about Noah. He wanted to talk about Aunt Nat. He was going to tell Benji he was doing such a bad job as a caregiver that he was going to get himself emancipated.
“Are you a hooker?” Max asked. “Sex worker, whatever.”
Benji laughed, high and pitchy. “Why would you ask me that?”
Max got out his phone. “Someone sent me this article—hey!”
The phone bounced into the footwell. Benji placed his swatting hand back on the wheel, squeezing hard so his hands wouldn’t shake.
“Don’t look at that shit,” he snapped. “I can’tbelieveyou read that. It was all crap.”
