Page 65 of The Legend Next Door
I make an unpleasant sound. It’s a ghastly bastardization of a squeal and a gurgle. I hate it. Fortunately, I’m saved from having to scrutinize it by a commotion across the street.
“What the…?” Ben says, craning his head to get a better view of Ant and Robbie’s house.
There are arms and hands visible in one of the ground floor windows but no faces or bodies. It’s odd.
“Did something break? I thought I heard a crash,” I say.
“I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure there was a blind on that window before. Looks like it came down.”
“God, I wonder what happened. Should we go over and see if everything’s okay?”
“Nah,” says Ben with a grin that gives me the distinct impression that even though he’s the sweetest, loveliest, kindest man I’ve ever met, he has the potential to turn into an animal. “You’re not going anywhere.”
34
Jeremiah Blake
It’sbeenadreamyday. A day of dreams. A daydream without interruptions or an abrupt ending. I’ve spent the day with Ben. We’ve chilled and talked and kissed. We must have also done other things, but I’m not sure what they were. At one point, we hung paintings that had been leaning against the wall in the living room above one of the sofas. We struggled to work out the right height for them, so I’m pretty sure it happened. At another, he made me a sandwich. My recall is blurry, disjointed, and overly clear, the way daydreams often are, but I’m absolutely sure about the sandwich because when I got in his way in the kitchen, he lifted me by the hips, plonked me onto the counter, and planted a blistering kiss on my lips.
He lifted me as though I were weightless.
I know it happened. I remember it for a fact because it turned me into such mush that I had to hold on to the beveled marble surface with both hands and breathe slowly through my nose to stop myself from sliding to my feet, dropping my pants, bending myself over the counter, and begging him to fuck me as hard as he could.
So, we’ve had moments like that, but we’ve also had moments of complete normality. We’ve laughed about silly things. Ben talked at length about starting a vegetable patch. I’ve talked about the dragon book, which I seem to be reading despite not being a fantasy reader.
Hours have flown by. It’s getting late, almost time for dinner, Ben’s rumbling something about takeout, and while I’m listening and invested in what he’s saying, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s absent. There’s an emptiness in the house. A missing. A lack of something.
“What do you think the little man’s up to?” I ask when the lack of Luca becomes too loud to ignore.
“Not sure.” Ben’s expression changes from nonchalant to hopeful. “D’you think we should call him?”
“Definitely.”
“A two-night sleepover is a bit much, don’t you think?”
“It’s way too much. He’s only six. He’s probably having an awful time and wishing he was home.”
“He probably feels too bad to call me to come get him because Rory and Cam are there. He hero-worships them.”
“Peer pressure is a terrible thing, isn’t it? Even at this age.”
“Should I call?” he asks.
“Yes.” I tap his shoulder with urgency. “Call, call, call.”
Ben makes small talk with his mother-in-law for a couple of minutes. It’s a video call, so I stay out of sight, but even so, I can tell Ellen is reluctant to admit that Luca isn’t having fun. I suppose no one wants to admit things like that when they’re the one hosting the sleepover. Eventually, she says, “Will you feel better if I put him on?”
A trio of boys thunder down the hall, and Luca’s face fills the screen in Ben’s hand. “Best sleepoverever,” he bellows. His face is ruddy with joy. It’s a sentiment shared by his cousins, and no amount of careful cajoling can shake a confession of wanting to come home loose.
“Hmph,” says Ben, ending the call after receiving strict instructions not to fetch Luca before ten tomorrow morning because, and I quote, “Granny makes pancakes on SaturdaysandSundays.”
“Guess he’s not completely hating it,” I say.
“No. Guess not.”
“That’s nice, isn’t it?”
“So nice.”
