Page 8 of For the Love of Scott
Ben lets his head drop for a moment. “Fair enough. So I wasn’t very good at concealing my feelings. I never actuallysaidanything to anyone.”
“Why did you never say anything to me?”
“Well…” He’d wanted to, many times, but something in Scott’s demeanor always held him back. Ben mirrors Scott and tucks his hands into his coat pockets; his pulse picks up. “You were so busy with the kennel. Focused and…” Kinda closed off, but Ben doesn’t want to say that. The guy had dealt with a lot over the last year and a half. He has a right to be closed off. “…I just wasn’t sure.”
“That I was gay?”
Ben snorts. “No. That I knew.” He sends Scott a half smile. “I wasn’t sure you were interested in a relationship. And I didn’t want to ruin our working rapport, much less our friendship, such as it is.”
Scott pulls his hands from his pockets and crosses his arms, tucking his fingers into his pits, and sighs. “I wasn’t, you know. Interested. In a relationship, I mean. The thought of it hadn’t even occurred to me. And then someone said something, and it’s been rolling around in my head ever since.”
Ben glances skyward and chuckles. “I have a feeling your dinner invite to Chez Thompson wasn’t a random twist of fate.”
“Oh, you’re kidding.” Scott’s gaze skims the road. He looks as though he’s considering and discarding suspects. “Miss Maple?” he finally asks, eyebrows arching.
“Probably. Ma said something about talking to her at the post office last week.”
“Geeze…” Scott swipes a hand down his face and tucks it back under his arm. “Yeah.”
“So how did you end up being invited to dinner anyway?”
“Saw your mom at the gas station.”
“Ah.” Ben lifts and lowers his shoulders. “Well, I’m glad you came.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The air brakes from a semi up on the highway rumble through the night air. Cars line up in the drive-through of the taco place across the street.
Ben zips up his leather jacket and shoves his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans. “So…how’re you feeling about a relationship now?”
“I’m not sure. I, uh…I told Miss Maple I’d be open.” Scott sighs. “But it’s been a long time since I’ve been with anyone. The prospect is a bit daunting, to be honest.”
Ben can’t look away from the anxious expression on Scott’s face. Ben has been interested for a few months now; another few weeks, maybe months, of waiting aren’t going to kill him. Not now that he’s gotten Scott’s attention and Scott hasn’t slammed the door shut in his face.
“How about we take it slow then?”
Scott quits leaning on the side of his truck and shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat again. He stares at the ground for a long moment.
At least he seems to be giving it some thought, but the longer he takes, the lower Ben’s stomach sinks. Scott’s probably trying to word his rejection. “Look, Sco—”
“All right,” says Scott, his head shooting up.
Ben blinks. “You what? All right?”
Scott nods. “Yeah. Let’s go slow.”
On the inside, Ben is doing cartwheels, but he doesn’t want to freak Scott out with a crazy display of excitement. The man looks like he’s just gotten a letter from the IRS.
Which is no way for a guy with a possible new boyfriend to look. Ben needs to replace his expression with something a little more positive.
He steps forward and cups Scott’s face, brushes a thumb over his plump bottom lip. Scott’s mouth opens slightly in surprise and his wide brown eyes flick from Ben’s eyes to Ben’s mouth and back. Want and lust ward with apprehension. A first kiss has never been so important, and Ben’s heart hammers in his chest.
Ben closes his eyes and gives Scott an Eskimo kiss before brushing their lips together, feather soft. Everything in him wants to deepen the kiss, but he’d said slow, so he increases the pressure a moment and leaves it at that. They stand forehead to forehead, breathing in each other’s air, and then Ben lifts his head. He skims Scott’s lower lip with his thumb again and then drops his hands before he forgets himself. “I’ll call you, okay? Maybe in a day or two.”
Scott nods, looking a little flummoxed. “Sure. Yeah.”
“Night then.” Ben jogs over to his motorcycle and straps on his helmet. His blood doesn’t stop thrumming until he falls asleep, the memory of Scott’s lips against his keeping him awake far past his bedtime.
