Page 21 of Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang Us, Daddy

“I donothave a mole, and how dare you? Honest to God, Bennet. Is this what our friendship’s come to? Telling lies just toget a rise out of me because you’re sick and sexy and bored out of your mind?”

“Sexy?” My heart fucking flutters, because the ease with which he let the word slip out was effortless. Like the word has only ever existed to be directed at me. “You think I’m sexy?”

Benji’s cheeks are burning red. Seriously, I’m pretty sure I could put a wax melt on his face and he’d have the whole room smelling like pumpkin spice in no time. “You’re the sexiest man I know.”

“You’re sexy too,” I whisper. I’m not trying to keep the words from Nate—I know he’s heard them—but it feels like if I say it any louder, I might be testing fate. My heart’s racing faster now, and whether it’s down to the fever or the fact my best friend thinks I’m sexy, I’m not sure. I mean, he wasn’t lying—I’ve always known he thinks I’m pretty, but after what we did last night, every word he says has new meaning. It’s like looking at a work of art from a whole new angle. Like if that guy with the cut-off ear repainted the picture of the starry sky, but he drew it during daylight instead. There’s sunshine and warmth coating each of his words now, and I think I kind of want to stand in his light.

These new feelings—this new, potential version of us—scares the hell out of me. I’ve never (and I do mean NEVER) thought about Benji as anything more than what he’s always been. As my best friend. My brother. My fucking everything. I’m the man who promised to take care of him forever; I want to sweep all of these icky feelings under the rug, out of sight, out of mind. The easiest way I can think of doing so is by making him the shining star of this conversation.

“So, about your mole—” I begin, but I’m cut off by a hiss. An actual hiss. He’s just hissed at me.

“I don’t have a dang mole. Stop lying to make me look bad.”

“Benjamin,” I say, my voice sterner than it’s been in a while. It immediately stops him in his tracks before he can fall into a meltdown. “This morning, you said you wanted to show Nate the mole, because Nate knows everything.” I peek up at Nate and smile. “You really do.” Nate’s too busy staring at us like a proud, supportive father to be of any use to me right now, so I focus on Benji. “You wanted to show him the mole, remember? Nate’s probably going to have to look at it for a while to figure out what’s wrong with it. He’ll have to study it. It could take up to ten minutes if you take enough pictures. Ten minutes. Staring right at it.” I blink at him. “At the mole. On your bare penis. Don’t you want that, babe?”

Benji’s eyes bulge, and any trace of worry or upset he may have just been feeling vanishes. “Yes!” he shouts, though there’s no need to yell so loud, especially when my head is throbbing as bad as it is. “My mole. That’s right! Sorry, I don’t know where my head is right now. I must not have slept right last night.”

“You’re not used to sleeping away from your own bed,” Nate agrees. “Maybe our slumber party was a bad idea.” He sighs softly, looking like a guilty dog that was caught pissing on the Christmas tree. “I’m really sorry if you’re tired because of me.” He’s giving Benji an apologetic smile, but before he can get another word out, Benji ends the call. I know what he’s doing—probably running to the employee restroom for a photo shoot to showcase his lower level.

“I have no idea what just happened,” Nate muses, dumbfounded.

I inch closer to him, just wanting to feel a little more of his warmth. We’re knee to knee, almost forehead to forehead, and he’s staring at me with a look I’ve never seen before.

“Bennet,” he whispers, feathering his fingers through my hair. “I’m so sorry you feel bad, and I’m worried that this is my fault. I can’t stand the thought of being the reason you’re sick.”

I quickly shake my head, which is a mistake, because it feels like it might explode. “Don’t care whose fault it is, just don’t leave me. Okay?”

“I won’t.” He uses his thumb to brush the hair out of my eyes, but when it’s done, he lets the touch linger, right on my brow. “I just don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand what?” I ask.

“How that monster could hurt you the way he did. How anyone could ever want to hurt you.”

It’s a question I’ve been asking myself all my life. It started when I was a kid. My mom wasn’t mean like Benji’s parents. She was always really happy, but she had her demons, and she just couldn’t seem to shake them. Not even for me.

“When I was little, my mom was on drugs really bad,” I say, reaching for the top button on his button-down shirt. I’m not really sure why he’s still got it on. He took the time to change out of his slacks and into pajamas. Maybe his fever’s as bad as mine and he forgot. Or, maybe he knows I like the way he looks when he’s all dolled up like this. Something about it makes my tummy tingle. I unhook the first button, then the next two. Tufts of reddish-brown hair poke out the gap, and I twirl a few strands around my finger. “I think she always was, ever since I was a baby.”

He leans in and kisses my forehead, making it feel like my skin’s tingling. “I’m really sorry you had to grow up around that.”

I shrug, because honestly, I’m not. I mean, it’s sad and all, but if I hadn’t grown up where I did, when I did, I never would have met Benji. “Thank you. It wasn’t all bad though. When she was sober, she was really something. She used to dance around our little house, singing old nineties songs.” I twist a tuft of his chest hair and gently tug. “It’s probably why I don’t mind so much when you insist on listening to Hootie and the Blowtorch.”I know I fumbled the band name, but I only did it because I want to see Nate smile again.

“Blowfish,” he corrects, poking me in my hip. “But I think you knew that. Silly boy.”

God, I love when he talks to us like this. I’m not really into age play—Benji probably could be, but it’s nothing we’ve ever explored—but I like when he talks to me like a kid sometimes, because it makes me feel like I don’t have to be in control. I’ve had to take care of people my entire life, and Nate makes it feel like I don’t have to anymore.

“I know,” I say. “I just wanted to make you smile again. You’re really pretty when you smile. You should do it a lot more; it suits you.” I cup his cheek, my fingertips like static, twitching and stinging at the touch, because I know I shouldn’t be touching him like this. Not without Benji. So, with a heavy heart, I pull my hand away and flash a warm smile at him. “There was this one song my mom really liked. Celine Dion, I think. She would sing it sometimes, when she was trying to fill the silence. I like to think back to those times when I start feeling sorry for myself.”

“Do you feel sorry for yourself a lot?”

“A little,” I admit. His eyebrows furrow together, and I’m worried I might seem ungrateful for everything he’s done for me. Well, for Benji and me. “Just a couple of times since we’ve been here. I’m getting better, and I think it’s because of you.” His hand reaches forward, and instinctively, I flinch, remembering the way Nito used to reach for me like that, but his aim was always lower, usually angled toward my throat.

“When you get lonely,” he finally says, touching my cheek. “I want you to come find me, Bennet. You come to find me, and you let me be lonely with you.” He kisses my cheek. It’s such a simple action that barely requires much effort at all, but somehow, Nate’s managed to make me feel like he just caught a shootingstar for me and tucked it in my pocket. “You’re not alone anymore. Neither of you.” He takes my hand and guides it over his heart. “You’re both in here now, right where you belong.”

The words are enough to make me tear up, and try as I might, I can’t stop my tears from falling. I feel like absolute death, and I really, really want Benji here beside me. I want my mom back. Desperately, I want to have never met Benito Blankenship. I want a whole lot of things, but there’s something—this new thing—I can take for myself. I can hold Nate’s promise close to my heart and save it for a rainy day. His breath is warm on my face, sending little gusts of cinnamon-scented air right into my nostrils. It’s an intoxicating aroma, and I really want to find out what it tastes like upon exhale.

“Nate,” I rasp, my hand gripping around his wrist.

“I’ve got you, Bennet. You and Benji. For as long as you still need me. I’m not going anywhere.”

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