Benji wanted to tell him he’d just realized he wanted to have dinner with Noah every night. But that might open up the moving-in talk, which still made Benji freeze up with fear.
“Nothing,” he said instead.
Something flashed from the next table. Benji looked over and saw an embarrassed middle-aged man shoving his phone in his pocket.
Benji glared at him. He could feel his face harden into something especially hostile, trying to make up for the flood of anxiety. That guy had read the article. He had this whole idea of Benji in his head, that Benji was some asshole who screwed with people’s hearts.
“Who still has a phone flash in this day and age?” Noah asked mildly. He was still smiling.
Benji tried to force his face into a smile to match. But Noah had already noticed his hands in fists against the tablecloth, his smile fading.
“Right,” he said, pushing his chair back. “I’ll take care of this.”
Benji grabbed his hand, stopping him from standing up. “What are you gonna do? Kick him out? Who cares if he’s taking pictures? We’re not… we’re not doing anything wrong.”
Noah sat back down slowly. Still watching Benji like he could see right through his flimsy facade to his churning stomach. The waitress, the front of house who had stared a second too long when she greeted them, the people at the other tables… How many people had read the article? How many people had this weird, warped version of Benji in their heads? They thought theyknewhim. They didn’t knowshit.
“Benjamin,” Noah started.
Benji cut him off. “Max knows about us. The truth, I mean. He’s cool with it.”
“Oh.” Noah blinked. “Good. You’re sure?”
He picked up his wine glass. He needed something to do with his hands, too, Benji realized. He was nervous about Benji’s answer.
“I’m sure,” Benji said. “As long as we like each other, he’s fine with it.”
“Good,” Noah said, softer. He took a sip of wine, lips devastatingly pink around the glass. “Did you hear back about that apartment?”
“Yeah. We’re gonna move in if the reference clears.”
“It will,” Noah said easily.
“Yeah, because I have a billionaire bribing them. I’m not complaining,” he added when Noah gave him a curious look. “Wouldn’t have gotten anywhere if I had to rely onJerry’sreference.”
He picked up the menu again, rubbing it anxiously. Hewasn’tcomplaining. It was getting easier, letting Noah do shit for him. Even if it still made him worried that everything was going to come crashing down around him the second he let somebody help.
Something tapped on the window. Benji turned.
A man with a backwards baseball cap and a giant camera grinned at him.
“Benjamin,” he called through the glass. “Is it true you’re a heroin user?”
“Fuck you,” Benji said, knee-jerk. Then, still running on instinct and the adrenaline suddenly bursting through his system, “Only he gets to call me that.”
But the man was still talking. More drug questions, questions about his apartment, questions aboutMax. Another man showed up in the window: better dressed, with an iPhone. Asking the same invasive questions,stupidquestions, thinking they knew who Benji was.
“No comment,” Noah told them. “Benjamin?—”
Benji stood, almost bumping into a waitress. He didn’t apologize, too caught up in his own raging head. His clothes were too tight. His shirt stuck to his back. People were staring,people were seeing him, and they were seeing him all fuckingwrong.
Benji burst into the bathroom, the door banging off the wall. It was empty, thank god. He would’ve yelled at any poor guy who was in here.
He braced himself against a sink, panting. His heart was racing. He wanted to punch something, and the mirror looked far too tempting. If he were a few years younger, he would’ve gone for it. But getting glass out of your hand was a bitch, and more importantly, he didn’t want Noah to see him like that. Didn’t want Noah’s pity or frustration or exasperation. He wanted to be good for him. He’d fucked up so many things—he’d just ruined a perfectly nice dinner—but goddamnit, he wasn’t going to dig this hole any deeper.
The door creaked. Benji tensed.
“Just me,” Noah said, hands up. “They’re gone. I took care of it.”
