Page 25 of When Ben Loved Tim
I watch him repeat the ritual over and over. “Nope. Still there. A little to the left. Try again.”
He finally squints in suspicion. “You’re messing with me.”
“How could I not? You make it so easy.” He’s rolling his eyes and I’m laughing as I stand to collect his plate. “Want more to drink?” I offer.
“Yeah! Thanks.”
I’m all aflutter when leaving the room, like I’ve just gone on a dream date, when in reality, I’m the worst paid waiter in town. Cleaning up doesn’t take long. I’m eager to rejoin him. On the return trip down the hall, a shrill ringing sound falls silent just before I reach the den.
“Krista!” I hear Tim say. “Hey!”
When I enter the room, he has a phone pressed against his ear.
“No, I’m okay,” Tim says into it. “I took a spill and messed up my ankle, that’s all. Huh? No, I was out jogging. I must have tripped over a rock. Lame, right?”
My heart is in my throat as I quietly sit, and it plummets right down to my stomach when Tim notices me and mouths an explanation.
“My girlfriend.”
I nod in understanding, because it makes perfect sense. Of course he has a girlfriend. Who else would it be if not Krista? Me? I’m not pretty or popular. They’re two of a kind. I’m nobody, my role in the story replaced by a rock that Tim purportedly tripped over. When it becomes obvious that he isn’t going to call her back some other time, I stand to leave.
Tim tries to communicate something with his face.
I ignore him and collect my things, surprised when a hand wraps around my wrist to stop me. Tim has gotten to his feet, the phone pinned between his ear and shoulder as he balances himself against the back of the chair I’d been sitting in.
“Hold up,” he says into the phone. “Be right back.”
He lets go of my wrist so he can grab the phone and toss it on the couch. “Where are you going?”
“Home,” I say, without offering a reason.
“Will I see you tomorrow? Like in the morning?” His eyebrows are raised in anticipation of my answer, as if it matters to him.
I sigh inwardly before offering a reassuring smile. “Yeah. I’ll see you then.”
“Cool.”
He sits back on the couch. I hightail it out of there, not wanting to hear more of their conversation. Although one last snippet reaches my ears.
“Sorry, a friend stopped by. What were you saying?”
It’s not a bad consolation prize. He considers me a friend. Which is a timely reminder of the facts: Tim is straight and taken. I’m gay and lonely. Nothing I didn’t know when going in, but the dream was so intoxicating that I nearly lost myself in it. Even now, as I climb into his car and run my hands along the steering wheel, I can’t help hoping that it’ll still come true somehow. Maybe that’s why I feel the need to take part of him with me like this, instead of making the short walk home.
* * * * *
The rest of the school week is the most wonderful rerun. I’ve been stopping by Tim’s house every morning before class. And um…duringschool, because I haven’t been going to PE. I don’t think the coach can tell me apart from the other underperformers, or else I wouldn’t have gotten a solid ‘B’ in the class for each of the previous years. I make sure to show up for second period, when attendance is taken, but otherwise I begin each day by getting ready and rushing over to Tim’s house.
Sometimes he’s still asleep on the couch when I arrive. Which is all sorts of tempting. I want to pull back the blanket to see if he’s got morning wood, or crawl on top of him and go back to sleep, or any number of fantasies. All I know is that, when he stirs and sees me, Tim always smiles. Afterwards I make sure he’s got something for breakfast before I fetch fresh clothes for him to wear. From there it’s usually a mad dash to get to school. Then the hours drag by until I’m free to see him again. At least Allison’s car is back from the shop. I no longer need to drop her off, which means at the end of each day I can drive directly to Tim’s house.
And it’s so good when I’m there that I’m tempted to barricade us in. We always hang out in his father’s den, often sitting on the couch together while watching TV. Tim is the kind of guy who gets sucked in by the screen. When he’s watching something, I have to say his name a few times to get his attention. Which is great, because it means I can get away with staring at him, equally transfixed by what I see. So far I haven’t found a single part of him that I’m not fascinated by. His ears, for instance, which have detached lobes, unlike my own. I want to nibble them gently before kissing him on the neck. I like the way his adam’s apple bounces when he laughs, and the deep husky sound that emanates from his throat. I’m dying to touch his dark hair, which I’ve noticed is always styled by the time I visit in the afternoon. I choose to read into that, considering I’m literally the only person he sees as of late.
Krista hasn’t been coming around. I’ve dreaded the possibility of her stopping by, or one of his other friends, but so far it hasn’t happened. I made an offhand comment about that the other day. Tim merely shrugged and said, “I only want her to see me at my best.” Which makes me wonder about his hair. Is he vain? Or does he want to impress me as well? If so, why? I’m wondering that now as I stare at him. I honestly have no idea what’s on the TV screen. Tim finally notices, and as usual, I smile or laugh in embarrassment before looking away. Except in the corner of my eye, I could swear that he’s still watching me. When I check…
Our eyes lock, and I feel like he’s the one rummaging through my underwear drawer, but it’s one-sided because I still can’t read him. All I know is that it’s intense. Tim doesn’t look away. He’s not smiling or making a silly face. Instead it’s like he wants to take me right then and there. My entire body is reacting—my heart, my lungs, my cock… Then he lowers his gaze, his brow furrowing before he looks away, and it just about wrecks me, because it felt like a kiss that he changed his mind about halfway through. I want to touch his hand to get his attention again, or slide across the couch to be closer to him. The words that come to mind are either too clumsy or too direct to actually say aloud. Instead I focus unseeing on the television until a commercial with a catchy jingle comes on.
Tim looks over at me with transparent hope.
“I’m not singing tothat,” I tell him with a laugh. “Let’s get our homework done, so we don’t have to worry about it during the weekend.”
