“Not yet.” Noah kissed him, folding a hand around Benji’s jaw and squeezing comfortingly. “How is he?”
“Fine. Now that he’s had his horrible, fancy orange juice.”
Noah smiled. “Good. We’re almost out, I’ll put some on the list.”
He twisted to grab the pen that was magnetized to the fridge, right next to the list. It was yet another addition since Max and Benji had moved in, and Benji got the feeling that all of Noah’s comments about how useful it was weren’t even for show.
Benji leaned on the counter and watched Noah scribble, thinking back to Noah’s fist in his dad’s shirt.
Anybody who tries to screw with my people deals with me. And you bet your ass that includes Max.
He hadn’t even hesitated. There was still a tiny voice in the back of Benji’s head insisting that Noah didn’t actually care about Max, that it was all a ploy to get Benji’s guard down. But watching Noah write with that squeaky marker on a list that was, of course, covered in cartoon robots, it was impossible to think of anything but the truth: Noah took care of his people. And that included Max.
“And we’re getting takeout,” Benji added. “He’s choosing.”
“You got it.” Noah capped the pen and stuck it back on the fridge, then headed over to Benji and took his hands. “Is there anything else we can get him? It must be a lot to deal with, especially at his age. We could take him somewhere. Get him away from all of this for a while.”
Benji paused. He hadn’t considered goingaway.It was the perfect time for it, what with summer vacation.
“Not for long,” Noah clarified. “Just until things settle down. Let the gossip rags lose interest. I can do some PR while we’re gone, look into things with Mikey, make sure things are calmer when we get back.”
A voice piped up from the kitchen doorway. “Like a holiday?”
Benji turned. Max was standing in the doorway with an orange juice mustache, which was soon wiped away and licked off his hand.
“Ew,” Benji complained.
“You’re just a pulp hater,” Max told him. He looked up at Noah with none of the bashfulness or avoidance from earlier. “Could we stay at a fancy hotel again? Can it have a heated pool? Oh, where would we go?”
Noah looked at Benji pointedly. Benji narrowed his eyes. Surely he wasn’t suggesting what Benji thought he was suggesting. But Noah kept watching him, rubbing Benji’s hands patiently.
Benji sighed. “You can pick.”
Max’s excited whoop made up for any sense that they might’ve made the wrong choice.
CHAPTER 8
Max spotted the private jet and shrieked.
“Chill out,” Benji told him, even though he almost wanted to join in. His stomach was churning—part nerves, part excitement. It was getting a little easier to accept Noah’s lavish gifts. Especially if it was really for Max.
Noah slid an arm around Benji’s hip. “Sure, you don’t want me to carry that?”
Benji gripped his suitcase warily. “I’m fine, Prince Fucking Charming. I can carry my own bag.”
Prince Fucking Charming, Noah mouthed. He took Benji’s chin, keeping it gentle the way he always did around Max.
“Baby,” he said softly. “Do me a favor and give me the bag.”
Benji wanted to argue. But the nerves and excitement had combined into a riot of butterflies. He had already turned down so many of Noah’s employees who wanted to carry his bag, but this was different. Noah wasn’t doing it because he had to, or because he thought Benji couldn’t handle it. He just liked making life easier for Benji.
The weirdo.
“Twist my arm,” Benji muttered. He handed the bag over, and Noah hauled it over his shoulder.
But before Benji could do something stupid and mushy, like kiss him in thanks, Max was there, throwing his bag at Noah distractedly.
“Thanks, Noah,” Max yelled, then went back to staring up at the private plane in awe, running around the wheels and asking random employees mechanic questions, which, judging by their blank expressions, nobody knew the answer to.
