Page 43 of Candy Hearts
Thirty minutes later, they were both showered (showering with only a kerosene lantern for light seemed veryLittle House on the Prairieto Benji—he was not a fan) and dressed and en route to coffee. Benji plugged his phone into a charger in William’s dumb Alfa Romeo Giulia. It lit up with a handful of notifications, but he ignored them to open his photos from the night before.
Static filled his ears and blood rushed to his cheeks. The images were shadowy and dark, but the candlelight had sent licks of light over random parts of his body—the round jut of his hip, the arch of his foot, the point of his elbow. Benji’s favorite was one with William’s hand on his thigh under the garter. He never got pics this sexy and evocative on his own, and he had a whole backdrop and lighting setup.
“What do you think?” William asked.
William was driving, relaxed with one hand on the wheel and one on the gearshift. His ease with a car would normally turn Benji on and take his whole focus—he was a motorhead, after all—but he was too distracted by the images.
“They’re hot.” He was amazed and frustrated that William had been able to take such good pictures with so little effort.
“Yeah, you are.”
Benji snorted. “Thanks, booger bear.”
“Oh God. Don’t call me that. It’s worse than Wren calling me Willie.”
“I honestly disagree with that assessment. Willie is pretty bad,” Benji said very solemnly.
William laughed, his face lighting up and the cutest crinkles forming on his nose. Benji wanted to kiss them. He refrained.
“Are you going to delete the pictures?” William asked.
“Nah. I’ll add them to my secret Benji-in-sexy-underthings folder.”
“You have a secret folder for that?”
“Yes.”
“How many pictures are in it?”
Benji shrugged. “A bunch. Fifty maybe? I only keep my favorites.”
They arrived at the gas station, which was, in fact, named Kum & Go. Benji’s phone had only reached a twenty percent charge.
William turned in his seat to face Benji. William’s color was high on his face, and his eyes were a bit wild. “What do you do with them?”
“Look at them.”
“You don’t show them to people?”
“No. Why would I?”
An almost feral smile tipped William’s mouth. “Because you’re sexy. You don’t think about showing that off?”
Benji’s breath stalled out in his throat. His mouth went dry. It was like William could see right through him. “I do. I actually have a blank Instagram profile I created that’s not associated with my name for that purpose.”
“What’s holding you back?”
“This feels like therapy,” Benji joked. He didn’t know what was holding him back. Maybe some misplaced fear about putting his body out there on the Internet. His grandma had once warned him that “the Internet is forever, and no one wants to see your dick, Benji.” But his photos weren’t nudes, and most of his favorite pics were safe for work. Orjust aboutsafe for work.
“Sorry,” William said. “Mostly, I want to see them, so I’m trying to wrangle this conversation so you give me a glimpse.”
“Oh. Here.” Benji handed over his phone. “You can look.”
William scrolled backward through the images, starting with the ones he’d taken last night. He lingered over one in which Benji was sporting a white, high-leg, wide-weave mesh brief.
“Oh, hon,” William breathed, and a delicious ache spread through Benji, pulsing out of him from every pressure point, like one big nerve ending. William handed the phone back without thumbing through more photos. “Don’t want to spoil it.”
“Spoil what?”
