Page 46 of The Legend Next Door
He’s on the swing, in his usual spot, and he’s particularly beautiful this morning. He’s shaved the scruff he’s been sporting since I met him, and his smooth face is something to behold. Something that makes my knees start knocking.
His jawline is defined, angular and hard. I was ready for that. I expected it as I’ve seen a beardless Ben on my TV screen countless times. What I wasn’t expecting was the effect the cleft in his chin would have on me. It’s decisive, cutting, and so masculine that Superman would feel insecure if he saw it, so you can only imagine what it does to me.
“Hi,” Ben replies.
His voice is full-bodied and deep, sane and in touch with reality. It should give me the nudge I need to return to the real world, but it does no such thing. Instead, the rich, warm sound pools in my balls and sends errant signals shooting up my dick.
I take my seat on the swing, handing Ben his coffee and adjusting my top, tugging it so it covers my bulge.
Boy, if ever Ness was right, it was last night. She called late, right before I got ready for bed, and had a lot to say to me. I don’t think she appreciated what I said about Ben, and I didn’t even tell her about the massage or the toy or that I’ve never felt like this about anyone else. All I said was that I’m pretty sure he’s a perfect human being, and let me tell you, that set her right off. She all but insisted I get on Grindr and plan a hookup. Her only criterion was for the candidate to be a man who is sexually interested in men. She felt so strongly about it she came over to oversee the selection process. She spent most of the visit on my sofa, arms crossed tightly, as she peered down her nose at what I was typing. Now and then, she said, “Good,” though I could tell she didn’t mean it.
She only left when a plan to meet for a drink was locked in. I can see now she was right to do it. I’m all for being a bit of a fool, but there’s playing with fire, and then there’s playing with Ben Stirling.
Only one of those things is survivable.
Since I appear to be entirely unable to help myself when I’m around him, I need all the help I can get to take my mind off him.
Beside me, Ben sips his coffee and lets out a tiny sigh that sounds like sex to my addled mind. He’s sitting closer to me than usual, I think. It’s hard to tell as the space between us is electric. The problem with being the one generating the electricity is that you’re so busy buzzing and spewing energy from every pore that you can’t tell if it’s going both ways or only one. You can’t tell if it’s crossing more distance than usual or less. Or even the same amount it always does.
As I ponder that, Ben moves closer to me. He factually does. I know that because his shoulder presses against mine. It’s no accident, and it’s not a fleeting touch. It’s firm and deliberate.
It paralyzes me down one side of my body.
His face is close to mine and his smooth jaw is doing all kinds of things to me. Silver-blue eyes blink, pupils expanding and contracting from the subtle change in light.
He’s not smiling. His expression is passive. Neutral. He’s comfortable and relaxed.
“I kind of feel like I should apologize for yesterday,” he says after a while. He keeps the weight of his shoulder against mine, and maybe he nudges me slightly, but I could be wrong about that. “But I don’t want to. I’ve been struggling with…things…on my own for a while now. A long time. What happened… It was something I needed but couldn’t do on my own. I don’t know why. I think maybe I needed someone to be with me when it happened.” He nudges his shoulder against mine again, definitely and distinctly this time. This time, the gesture is steeped in easy comradery and friendship. “So, I’m not sorry…and I’m glad it was you,” he says with a smile that absolutely, categorically can’t be read as anything but sex.
Unless you’re sane, of course.
While I frantically attempt to sort through that, plus what Ben just said, plus the fact that Ben’s shoulder is still touching mine, I hear myself say, “So, how’d you know I was gay?”
Ugh. Fuck.
I don’t love the question. It’s not my best work, but in the grand scheme of everything I could have said, it’s not the worst, so I suppose I should be grateful.
When he doesn’t answer fast enough for my liking, I jump in and attempt to answer for him.
“It’s ’cause my house looks like a tube of glitter with a fairy light shoved up its ass, isn’t it?”
“Actually, I think it was rainbow-shitting unicorn T-shirt that gave you away,” he replies without skipping a beat.
“Ah, yeah, I forgot about that.”
Ben chuckles and adjusts his position. When he first moves, I think he’s doing it to get a little space from me, or so he can turn and face me, but instead, he leans in a little harder. A solid wall of muscle and bone digs into my arm. In addition to the right side of my body, which is still paralyzed from earlier, I’ve lost the use of both legs now.
“Nah,” he says lightly. “I’m kidding. It wasn’t that. I knew you were gay when I met you.”
I look at him quizzically. He looks awfully pleased with himself. And playful.
Playful Ben is the last thing I need because Playful Me is flirty as fuck.
“Well, well, congratulations, Mr. Stirling,” I say. “Looks like you’re the lucky owner of a highly functional gaydar. Not everyone can tell that about me.”
He harrumphs and cocks his head toward mine. I take a careful sip of coffee.
“So, what’s it like?” he asks.
