Page 10 of Ben

“So, tell me about your dad. Has he found out yet?” Tatum asks, slurping on his poop soup.

“No, no way. God, he can’t ever.”

“Shame, but really, Dean is a hunk of man meat.”

“Ew, no. Don’t talk about my dad.”

“Well, you’re doing two dudes who are the same age. Don’t judge me.”

Yeah, he’s right, I can’t, but I can judge him for his choice in soup.

Quietly, I place a napkin over the top of his bowl, and he stares down at his covered soup.

“For real?”

“It’s nasty. I can’t watch another minute of you eating it.”

He smiles, setting his spoon down and then picking up the burrito. “Fine. It wasn’t even that good. Tasted like nut.”

I don’t even want to know what he’s talking about, so I just dig into my pasta and finish it off, my mind a hundred places at once. It’s so damn hard to focus when I’m juggling so much. There are times when I feel like I’m just going to crash and burn. Maybe one day I will, but the adrenaline of it has propelled me forward.

It propels me to Ford’s place later that night, my entire body thrumming with need. I watched him at work, saw those thick thighs in those jeans, the way his hands flexed on the tools, and I knew I needed him.

And it couldn’t come soon enough.

I trudge up the steps to Ford’s house, taking note of the neatly trimmed bushes lining the walkway and the two wooden chairs on his front porch. He’s sprawled in one, those thick thighs that propel him into me so roughly spread out before him.

He looks good, like sex. Like need. I need him on me, in me. All around me.

I let out a shaky breath, already ready for him to do what he wants to me.

“You’re late,” he says, and I nod and then shake my head. “You know I hate waiting for shit.”

“Had some homework to catch up on.”

He pushes himself up, and I bite back a groan. Fuck, he towers over me. He and Cash both do. I love how much bigger and stronger they are than me, how much more capable. They could easily lift me and throw me around a room.

Oh hell, I want that.

“You eat already?” he asks, and I nod, letting him lead me into the newly remodeled kitchen. The cabinet doors are dark wood and the counters are a lighter granite. I love it—sleek, masculine. And knowing that he did this all himself is so damn sexy to me. I’m sure Cash helped him too. The two of them working together in here.

Two best friends helping each other out.

I push that thought aside and look at Ford. He has a grape soda in his hand and he’s sipping on it slowly. I just watch the way those lips move and feel my entire body shudder.

This is becoming quite the problem.

“You want a beer? Some wine?”

“I probably shouldn’t.” I can’t because I need to drive, and if I drink I’ll have to stay. And if I stay, things change.

Fuck, they can’t change.

This can’t ever be more than it is because of my dad.

And yet, when has that ever stopped me?

He sets the can down and cocks his head at me. “You look tired. Have you been sleeping?”

---