Page 78 of Dean

“I can’t tell you details, but I can tell you I’m in a bit of a pickle.”

“Oh, I love pickles,” I reply, leaning my elbow on the table and taking a large sip of my drink.

“I do too.”

“Especially when they’re dick pickles.”

Ben snorts a laugh, and I grin widely as well.

“So, whose pickle are you on?” I ask.

“Two pickles,” Ben replies, and I nearly choke on my drink. I mean, I had my suspicions, but holy shit. It’s true. I knew it. I won’t ever question myself again.

“Two?”

He nods. “You cannot tell my dad.”

I pretend to zip my lips and wave my hand around.

“Two. How is it?”

“Oh god. I mean, yes, two but not together, not yet, but…oh hell.”

“Not yet?” I catch his slip-up.

He gulps down some more lemon drop. “I wish.”

“Oh, Benjamin. I know.”

I make the sign of the cross over my chest.

As we continue to drink, Ben opens up a little more, giving vague details about what his predicament is. And I can piece the rest of it together. He’s fucking both of Dean’s best friends, and shit, now that I know…well, I know.

I’m not quite sure what to do right now except just listen.

“Oh god, youdohave a predicament,” I finally say as I bring us our third set of drinks. I wobble a bit as I go and some sloshes over onto my hand. No need for that to go to waste. I lick at my skin after I setthem down and look at Ben, who is listing to the side in his chair. I’m really not much better off. Should have offered him some chips and salsa to help with the alcohol. Should have eaten some bread.

“I do. Told you. Two pickles. And one doesn’t want me anymore. And I think the other one doesn’t either. They don’t want to stick their dick pickles in me.”

“You know what you need to do?” I ask, waggling my finger around his face with a hiccup.

“What?”

“Communicate.”

“Pfft,” Ben snorts and closes his eyes. “What I really need is a straw. The cup is too far away.”

“I know. Who made these? Not alcoholics,” I say as I wobble toward the kitchen, but it’s farther than I think and I slump to the ground. My legs are not legging.

Just as my butt hits the ground, the front door opens and Dean strolls through.

Finally home, I think but don’t say it out loud. At least, I don’t think I do. Who knows anything anymore?

“Jesus,” he says and moves toward me, staring down at me. I’m currently sprawled out on the floor, arms askew, eyes closed.

“Hello, handsome man. What’s your name?” I slur, hearing Ben snort a laugh. But everything else disappears when Dean bends down and picks me up, carrying me to his room. And as we go, I may nestle into the side of his neck and inhale.

I shouldn’t have done that.

---