Page 8 of Benji

I groaned. Our apartment was dry at least and better than sleeping rough, but it was a shithole. No TV, no anything. “It’s just a muscle strain. Fitch, I need to work,” I said. “Or I won’t even have the shithole apartment.”

“Me and Ky will cover rent for you?—”

“No. I can’t ask you to do that,” I said. We barely had enough money for food as it was. “I’ll just...” I shrugged. “Hit Grindr or something.”

“You know how shady that gets.”

“What choice do I have?”

“You can stay here,” Nolan said.

Fitch and I both turned to see him standing near the hall. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he said. But then he walked over and stood by the coffee table. He seemed genuinely torn. “But it’s my fault you’re injured, and I feel bad. Stay here. Just for a week.”

Fitch and I both stared at him. I was shocked, but Fitch smiled slowly. “That’s perfect,” he said.

“I can’t,” I mumbled. “Thank you for the offer.” Then I stared at Fitch, so he’d understand. “I need to work.”

“I’ll pay you,” Nolan said, his brow furrowed.

He’ll what? Pay me?

What the fuck?

“Pay me for what?”

“I mean, I’ll cover your rent,” he corrected. He fidgeted a little and grimaced. “I didn’t mean it to sound as if I meant anything untoward.”

Fitch snorted. “Untoward? Who the hell uses words like untoward?”

I nudged Fitch with my knee to get him to quit being an arse when Nolan was being so nice.

“He’ll do it,” Fitch said. “Thank you, Nolan, is it?”

He gave a nod. “Nolan O’Brien.”

Wait, what? “I never said yes,” I tried. The offer was tempting, and over-generous. And offers like that never came without strings.

“Benji,” Fitch said seriously, patting my arm. “You need to hide out for a week, this place is a fucking palace, and he’ll cover your rent. You’re a hooker, he’s rich. What part of the Pretty Woman fairy tale don’t you get?” Then he looked Nolan up and down. “If he says no, I’ll stay for a week. You can cover my rent and do whatever you want to me.”

I nudged him again. “Fuck off, Fitch.” Then I sighed because as much as I didn’t like it, Fitch was right. “Fine. I’ll stay. If it will make you feel better.”

“It will,” Fitch replied.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

Nolan’s eyes met mine. “If it will makemefeel better?”

“Yeah. You said you feel guilty.”

“I do.”

“I ran out in front of your car,” I said.

Nolan shrugged one shoulder. “But still . . .”

Fitch clapped his hands together. “Then it’s settled. Benji, you’re staying here. For a week—” He looked around the room. “—in this luxury apartment with thehot-as-fuck rich guy. And he’s gonna cover your rent. Tell me, Nolan. Wanna run me over too? How do I get in on this gig?”

Nolan surprised me by chuckling, that dimple pressing into his cheek. “I’d rather not.”

---