Chapter 27
Benji
Iwasn’t entirely sure what I was seeing.
No, that’s not right. I knew exactly what I was seeing.
Peter. Naked.
His body was pale in the way a man who hides in his apartment or clinic all day lacks color, though not in an unhealthy way. His frame was lean, a bit of a runner’s build, though I had yet to see Peter run anywhere except out of the kitchen when I’d posted a particularly funny note. I could see the shape of his muscles and a dusting of light brown hair scattered across his chest. Small patches of hair clumped around each perfectly pink nipple, like furry shorelines ringing the beaches of itty-bitty islands. His hair was mussed, as it always was when he relaxed at home. For once, his glasses were not slipping down his nose.
My eyes drifted south, taking in the slight pooch of his not-tight-but-not-flabby stomach. He was average in so many ways yet extraordinary in others. My heart, jolted awake by the surprise of a naked man greeting me, was now racing for a land-speed record.
Only then did my gaze land on his . . . um . . . manly bits.
Sheesh, that was a terrible thing to call his most precious part.
Cock sounded too vulgar. Dick was too simple, like something a third-grade boy would say, then giggle all afternoon for having said it.
I needed a different name, something uniquely him.
Little Peter?
Yes!
Oh, God, yes!
That would forever be his name.
Little Peter was dangling off the side of him like a fluffy yet limp earthworm who was too tired from digging all day to look at me properly . . . through his one good eye.
“You could stand there and stare all night, or you could come over here and unwrap your present.”
I’m pretty sure my eyes blinked faster than myheart beat.
Peter scooted upright and patted the couch beside him. Little Peter flopped as he moved, as they tend to do. He still didn’t look up at me.
I dropped my keys in the bowl by the door, kicked off my shoes, and shed my jacket. By the time I reached the couch, there was a trail of outerwear that would, in any other circumstance, earn me a stern talking to from the naked man nownotstaring at me with his one good eye.
He reached out, his hand finding mine and gripping with a certainty I wasn’t sure either of us felt. He tugged me down, toward the couch, toward his naked body.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he said.
I gulped.
“I just got home.”
His mouth quirked. “Take your shirt off, Benji. I want to feel your skin against mine.”
And just like that, Little Benji hopped off his chair, came to attention, and saluted the flag. He might’ve even sung an anthem while doing it. I felt him spit a little as he sang.
When my hand didn’t leave his, his other hand rose and gripped my shirt’s top button.
“Is this okay?” he asked.
I nodded, a swift, terrified motion that made him chuckle.
“Benji Kwon, are you nervous?”
