Page 96 of When Ben Loved Tim
“Sure,” he says, moving toward me. “Just don’t get any ideas about how we could use this place.”
“Is it too sacred?”
He laughs. “There’s usually a security guard. He knows who I am. But if he hears you moaning…”
“Hey, you’re just as loud,” I counter before dodging a kiss. “So you’ve really never shown this to anyone else?”
He shakes his head.
“Not even Krista?”
“Nope,” he replies, his lips nearing mine again. “This is the sort of thing I’d only show to my boyfriend.”
I pull back, already wounded, because that’s not a joke. It’s important to me. Then again, he’s not laughing. Those silver eyes of his are filled with affection.
“Are you serious?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah. You’re my boyfriend.”
I continued to search his eyes. “Are you mine?”
Tim laughs, but not cruelly. “Yes, Benjamin. I’m definitely yours.”
When he kisses me, I wrap my arms around him, a sob escaping my throat, but I can’t help it. I’m just so happy! His expression is gentle when he leans back to smudge the moisture on my cheek.
“Can I paint you?” he asks. “I almost never have a live model.”
“Sure!” I say, taking a few steps back to strike a pose. “What do you think?”
“Take off your coat,” he suggests. “And your sweater,” he adds soon after.
“Okay,” I say while complying.
He moves to an easel and sets up a fresh canvas. Then he leans to the side to look at me again.
“Get rid of your shirt too,” he says.
I laugh. “Is this going to be a nude painting?”
“Are you cool with that?”
I blink a few times. Then I shrug. “I guess so.”
I’m undoing my pants when he walks around the easel, already pulling the sweater over his head.
“Do you usually paint shirtless?” I ask in confusion.
“No,” he says, unbuttoning his pants. “I’m not in the mood anymore. Because I’minthe mood.”
“What if someone hears us?”
“It’s the holidays. Nobody is here. And besides, I’ll make sure your mouth is full.”
I laugh again, and after kicking off my underwear and jeans, open my arms which are soon filled to capacity… with my boyfriend.
* * * * *
I love being in Allison’s room. Posters of her favorite singers cover the walls. She’ll be a pop star someday, I’m sure of it. A busy quilt of mismatched patches covers her bed. We found it at a vintage shop, where she often buys decorations, like the ornate lamp next to her bed with beads woven into the shade. Small planted pots soak up sun on her window sill. Music plays from an old turntable. I love it here, although I don’t usually feel this comfortable. Not with her dad around, but he’s returned to work while we’re still on winter break.
