Page 10 of Benji

I heard them having a somewhat heated whispered conversation in the bathroom before I knocked. “Uh, I just have some clean clothes,” I said.

The door opened and a smiling Fitch appeared. “Thank you.” He put them on the vanity, and I could see a now-shirtless Benji in the bathroom. He looked a little too thin and there was some red rash on the back and side of his ribs. Where he’d hit the road last night, by the looks of it.

I felt so much worse.

“Okay,” Fitch said. “Benj, you have as much hot water as you need here, I’m guessing.”

I nodded.

“Take as long as you need,” Fitch said to him, softer this time. “I’ll be in touch, pretty much non-stop, so you won’t have a chance to miss me.”

Benji snorted.

“And if the sexy, rich guy tries anything, you must call me,” Fitch added. Then he looked me up and down again. “Because I wanna watch.”

Benji shoved him out of the bathroom and closed the door. Fitch looked up at me. “Ready when you are.”

I wasn’t sure how ready I was to go shopping with Fitch. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I said.

It was hard not to like him. He was easygoing, charming, had a grin that was made of mischief, and he was also a very loyal friend to Benji.

He had the knack to talk, leading conversations without giving anything away. In the supermarket, he had no problem throwing things into my basket. “Benjilikes these,” he’d say, throwing in random items. Fruit and vegetables, cupcakes, and even a phone charger.

I didn’t even mind.

But I’d seen the way Benji had sighed and closed his eyes when he’d sipped the juice, so I grabbed some more of that. And some more bread and peanut butter.

Then I drove to Oxford Street, nabbed a park, and Fitch raced down the street. I didn’t see which apartment complex or alley he went into, but he was back just a few minutes later with an old backpack, grinning as he climbed into my car.

“All good?” I asked.

He gave me that grin. “Yep. I’ll come back and check on him one last time,” he said. “Before the no-visitor rule comes into effect.”

Figuring there was no point arguing, I began the drive back to my place. “It was a no-client rule. So unless you’re a client, it doesn’t apply to you.”

He laughed. “Hell no, I’m not a client. Not that I’d have to pay him, but I’m not inclined to deliver what he needs, if you get my drift.”

I did not, and apparently my face said as much.

“He needs a top,” Fitch explained. “And while I will partake if a john pays me to, I’d much rather let them do the work. Get what I’m saying?”

I nodded, feeling foolish. “I get it now, thanks.”

Fitch laughed. “Lucky you fit that bill. I mean, I assume.” He looked me up and down again. “You do top, right?”

My face burned, letting him know he assumedcorrectly, but I wasn’t saying it out loud. But then I thought about what he said. “What do you mean lucky I fit that bill? I’m not paying him for sex. That’s not... that’s not what I’m paying for. I’m paying him because it’s my fault he can’t work.”

Fitch chuckled. “Let me tell you something about our Benji. He has needs. Sexual needs. But I’ll let you two discuss that.”

I stared at him between glances at the road. “What? What do you mean we’ll discuss that?”

He sighed and waved a hand, apparently ending that line of questioning. “I do appreciate you offering him a place to lie low though.”

This conversation was . . . a lot.

“Can I ask who he needs to lie low from?”

“Well, you can ask,” he said with a sigh. “It’s just thugs on the street. We deal with them a lot. People trying to take our spot, that we’re too close to their corner, that kind of shit.”

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