Page 21 of His Every Move

“Try me.”

“Waverly?”

“No fucking way. Waverly, Iowa? Seriously?”

“You’ve heard of it?”

Benji cocked his head and shot me a playful smirk. “No, never.”

“Asshole,” I said. I playfully slapped his chest. It was literally a second’s worth of contact, and yet I could still feel the muscular pecs underneath Benji’s blue T-shirt.

So fucking hot. Jesus.

“What brought you out here?” Benji asked as we continued our walk. We were reaching the edge of the park, near the Upper West Side of the city.

“My hopes and dreams of becoming a Broadwayactor.” I said the last bit with a dramatic flair. It helped ease the sting of my statement, something that felt more like a dumb fever dream than an actual goal.

Benji smiled as we came to a stop at a crosswalk. The electronics shop was another fifteen minutes away, so there was plenty of time for us to keep chatting. “I didn’t know you wanted to act. How’s that going?”

“It’s not. I pretty much gave up on it.” The sting in my chest expanded into a dull ache. “I had a few bad experiences with casting directors. Plus, I just wasn’t landing anything and was having a tough time paying the bills. I started camming and made more in a week than I’d ever made before, so I kind of shifted focus.”

Benji shook his head. He had one hand resting casually in the pocket of his black shorts and the other holding Lucky’s yellow leash. Both his veiny forearms had me in a trance as we walked, I was that damn into this man. I had a difficult time looking at him without trying to picture him naked. “What happened with the casting directors?”

“One said I couldn’t act my way out of a paper bag—which, okay. Uncalled for. And another one said I needed to rethink my entire career trajectory before it was too late. That one hit harder than the first insult. She sounded like she was actually warning me. So… I don’t know. I guess I listened.”

“Fuck them.”

“Huh?”

“Fuck ’em. No one has a crystal ball. No one should have that kind of power over you.”

“But these are the gatekeepers. They hold all the power.”

“If they keep trying to shut the door in your face, you just have to keep trying to kick it down. Eventually, you’ll get in.”

I chuckled at that. His optimism and hope was refreshing, but not strong enough to revive the spark. It still lingered but definitely wasn’t as bright as it once was.

We crossed the street, Lucky walking between us with his tail wagging. “It just sucks, you know?”

“I can imagine. That kind of shit is brutal to hear. But I do think you should keep going. Maybe take some more classes, focus on what you know your weak spots are so that the next time you go into an audition, you’re basically bulletproof.”

“Maybe…” I chewed on my bottom lip. The sidewalk started to get crowded as we passed a busy restaurant, patrons waiting outside for a seat to open up. This pushed Benji and me closer together. My hand brushed against the back of his, and I was struck with another lightning bolt. “I guess I just lost the spark. Which does suck because acting was my first true love. I remember my mom buying me recorded tapes of big Broadway shows and promising me she’d take me and my sister to see a show. Unfortunately, she passed before she could ever take us.”

“I’m so sorry,” Benji said. There was genuine sadness there. I pursed my lips. Talking about my mom was never easy, no matter how many years separated me from her death. It always felt like it had happened the day before.

“It was aggressive lung cancer. Pretty much came out of nowhere. She had a cough one week, and then a month later, she was dead. It was… it was really fucking hard.”

“Fuck, Eli.”

“Yeah. Still doesn’t even feel real. It’s been five years now. I miss her every single day.” I rubbed my earlobe, a habit of mine that developed shortly after I lost my mom. “How about you and your parents? Close to them?”

My question had two goals. First, I wanted to get off the topic of my own hardships. It made me feel like shit. Second, I wanted to get to know more about Benji. This meet-up was helping me get over the ever-present shitstorm that had been swirling around me these last couple of months. Gave me something else to focus on.

Benji let the silence settle between us, not uncomfortable but weighted. He exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “My father died when I was in high school, but my family was broken way before then. They both had struggles. Dad was a gambler, and Mom is an alcoholic.”

I glanced up at him, surprised.

“I don’t speak to my mother, not after a fight we had where she said I was her biggest regret,” Benji continued. “It was one of the only interventions I tried having for her.” His jaw flexed. “Didn’t work.”

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