He’s right, but I don’t feel like admitting it. “Who doesn’t enjoy hot dogs?”
“Me!” Eli pipes up. “They’re the leftover parts of the pig.”
Colby chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Baby, so is sausage.”
“What?” Eli asks, voice full of heartbreak.
“Just pretend no one said anything, Eli. It’s okay.” Trevor reaches over to fondly pat Eli’s head as Eli stares into the fire with a sort of glazed, terrified look in his eyes. “You broke him,” Trevor says to Colby.
Colby’s smile is bittersweet. “Sorry, baby.”
I pull the hot dog from the fire when it just starts to burn slightly, crinkled and gnarled around the edges. It’s hot, and my mouth fills with saliva from the rich flavor. God. It’s been forever since food just… tasted good. For so long, nothing had flavor, and everything was miserable. And I don’t think I realized just how sick my brain was until that fateful day on the balcony. The day I almost stole myself from the world, from Benji.
When I look over at Benji, he’s staring into the flames, a contented grin tugging at his lips, and there’s warmth splashed across his cheeks. He’s so effortlessly beautiful, so kind, and so very mine. If I can keep him. I want to tell him I love him, I want to scream it, I want to clutch his cheeks between my palms and tell him I’ll try my best to never hurt him again, but I can’t promise that I won’t. And the beautiful thing about Benji is that it would be more than enough for him; just the fact that I promised I wouldtryis enough to make him think rainbows come out of my ass. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.
I’ll be damned if I tell the man I love him at a fucking redneck bonfire, though.
With two men I’ve previously fucked sitting beside us, no less.
Benji speaks softly with Jackson beside him as he busies himself, roasting a marshmallow. Without even asking me or looking at me, he makes a s’more and then hands it to me. My fingers graze his as I take it, and he glances at me out of the side of his eyes, then returns to Jackson with that little, soft smile on his lips.
Okay, the s’more is way fucking better than the damn hot dog. Jesus Christ. I all but moan as I eat it, licking my fingers clean.
“Oh,” Harper says quietly. When I glance over at him, his cheeks are flushed as he stares at me. “That was pornographic.”
I wink at him. “It was a good s’more.”
“You should say the thing about the foursome to Jackson,” Harper whispers, an edge of trouble to his voice. He sits back in his chair hard as he eats his own hot dog. “I’d like to see it.”
“You’re trouble.”
Harper shrugs. “Maybe so. Do it.”
“Jackson?” I call out.
Jackson leans forward in his chair to look at me, one eyebrow raised. “Yeah?”
“We should have a foursome, me, Harper, Benji, and you.”
Jackson stares at me blankly for one long moment, jaw clenched, before he leans forward even more to look past me and straight at Harper. “Stop starting shit, punk.”
Harper grins at him. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Nolan,” Benji says with a laugh. “You guys are bad influences on each other.”
Benji leans over to kiss me, sighing softly at the taste of the s’more on my tongue, and I don’t think it’s too bad if that’s the response I get by starting something.
“So,” Harper asks as he leans over into my space. “Do you know any hot athletes?”
“Uhm.”
Harper groans. “Give me something.”
“Well, a few hockey guys came to one of my shows. Big fans I guess? This big guy Grayson, I wanted to climb him like a tree. I even hit on him, he just flushed and ignored me.”
“I’ll google him when I get home. When you say big, how big?”
I take a look over at Jackson, considering him. “Bigger than Jackson I think.”
