2. Benji Smith
TWO
BENJI SMITH
I woke up feeling achy, stiff, and sore all over. Not the first time, either. But as I cracked my eyelids open, expecting to see the light in my dingy room, I realised I had no idea where I was. Or what time it was, or how I got here.
Wherever here was.
The room was big and dark. Expensive.
Dread snapped me awake and I jolted up, pain slicing through me.
“Stay there,” a smooth voice said. “You’re okay.”
A man was kneeling in front of me then. Sandy hair, soft hazel eyes. Mid-thirties, at a guess. Stubble, strong jaw, concerned, exhausted. He looked somewhat familiar, but then again, a lot of faces looked familiar to me. He put his hand to my shoulder, barely touching me before he pulled it back, unsure if he should touch me.
“How are you feeling? ”
I squinted my eyes shut, trying to remember...
Seeing two familiar faces on the street, certain they’d seen me. Certain they’d catch me... I remember running... I remember car headlights...
Shit.
I took stock of my body. I was still fully dressed—no sex, then—with a blanket pulled up to my waist.
“Where am I?”
“You’re at my place,” he said. “In Potts Point. My name is Nolan. You ran out in front of my car. I hit you...” His eyes flinched. “You have some cuts and scrapes. You asked me not to take you to hospital. I’m so sorry. Do you have pain anywhere?”
I tried to think. “Uh. Kinda.”
The truth was, I did hurt. I hurt everywhere. From being strung too tight, always looking over my shoulder. From sleeping with one eye open for two years.
“I’m fine.” I tried to get up again, but my body protested. As did Nolan.
“Please stay still. You’re welcome to rest some more,” he said. Then he gestured to the coffee table where there was a glass of water and a sleeve of pills. “I have some ibuprofen, but I didn’t know if you have any allergies, or... and I thought maybe you should eat something before you take anything. Would you like some toast? I can make some toast. And coffee? Juice?”
Toast, coffee, and juice.
Mm, food.
My stomach wouldn’t let me say no. These last few years hadn’t been easy, and I’d learned early on to let go of my pride and accept any offer of food.
“Uh, sure.”
He smiled, changing his whole face. The concern was gone for a moment, replaced by a light in his eyes, and there was the hint of a dimple.
I was always a sucker for a dimple...
He disappeared behind the couch, and I could hear him in the kitchen. A plate on a countertop, the toaster being pressed down, the fridge door opening and closing. Then I heard coffee beans being ground.
Real coffee?
I sat up slowly, taking in the room. Open plan, expensive furniture. My shoes were placed neatly by the couch, my phone screen down on the coffee table.
I checked my pockets for my key to the apartment, thankful when I found it.
I turned then to watch Nolan. He wore a long-sleeve Henley and some jeans that probably cost more than my rent. His kitchen was the fancy kind, and yeah, it was one of those expensive coffee machines with its own grinder.
I could smell it.
I’d grown up with all these riches, and god, how I’d missed good coffee.
Nolan turned, coffee cup in hand, and he smiled again when he saw that I was sitting up. “Here,” he said, bringing me the coffee. “Do you take sugar?”
“No, thanks,” I replied. I used to take sugar but hadn’t had the luxury in a long time. I was used to going without .
I sipped it and sighed at the taste.
My forehead felt tight, and a quick touch to my hairline found a Band-Aid. Oh.
Then I remembered... when I’d seen those men last night, I’d ducked so fast to hide that I’d cracked my head on the lid of a dumpster.
And then I’d ran . . . Across the unlit park and onto the street . . .
Fuck.
A second later, Nolan was back with a plate and a glass of orange juice. “Just plain butter,” he said with a grimace. “I wasn’t sure if you liked peanut butter or Vegemite.”
Oh my god.
Hot toast with butter . . .
I tried not to shovel it in. I tried to act like it was no big deal, but the way he was watching me, it was impossible not to be embarrassed.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, sipping the juice.
The juice was even better than the toast or coffee. Cold, fresh, and so good. The expensive kind. I remembered taking this shit for granted.
I could feel Nolan staring at me, so I avoided making eye contact. I knew how I looked—like I hadn’t eaten in days.
“I’ll make you some more,” he said, taking my plate and glass. When I handed the glass over, I caught his eye. I expected to see pity or loathing, but no. He was smiling. “Plain toast okay again? Or would you like peanut butter? ”
I was never saying no to peanut butter.
“Uh, sure, that’d be great, thanks.”
He went back to the kitchen. “Take some ibuprofen,” he said. “You’ve got some scrapes; it will help with any aches.”
I snatched up the sleeve of pills, popping two and downing them with the coffee.
It was then I noticed another blanket on the single-seater, as if he’d slept there to keep an eye on me.
Probably to make sure I didn’t steal anything.
“You had a cut on your head,” he said. “I cleaned it up last night with some antiseptic and put a Band-Aid over it. It didn’t look too deep, thankfully. Do you have a headache?”
I did have a scrape on my elbow. Road rash by the look of it. And my side felt all tight, probably from where I’d hit the asphalt. I had no rips in my jeans, thank fuck. But my knee was sore, and my back. And my head.
“I’m okay,” I replied. I snatched up my phone. “What time is it?”
My phone said it was 7:43 am, and I had a lot of messages from Fitch.
“Oh, I kept the blinds drawn,” Nolan said, bringing me over more toast and juice. “I wasn’t sure if your headache would appreciate the morning sun.”
Peanut butter . . . oh, it was heaven.
The crunchy kind too. My favourite. After one big, mostly respectable bite, and tasting how fucking good it was, I shoved the whole slice into my mouth. “Need to check in,” I said with zero manners, as I quickly thumbed out a reply.
I’m okay
“Check in with whom?” Nolan asked cautiously. “I can drive you anywhere you need to go. You’re not stuck here or my prisoner or anything.” He cringed again. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You said no hospitals, which I can respect. Though you should know, in your line of work, you have rights and are due full respect and are entitled to free medical care—” He grimaced again. “Sorry.”
Well, I hadn’t expected all that. Especially the part about rights and respect.
“My line of work?”
He baulked. “Uh, yes. I’ve seen you working on Oxford Street,” he said quickly, putting his hand up. “If I’m wrong, I apologise. I don’t mean to offend or assume.”
He looked so horrified I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m not offended, and you’re not wrong. Well, we work Wylde Street, technically, not Oxford. It’s our spot,” I said. I wasn’t offering any explanation on the no-hospital thing. Instead, I showed him my phone screen. “I check in with my friends. We have a rule. We check in with each other. It’s a safety thing.”
He was clearly relieved. “Oh, that’s good. And smart.”
But then my phone vibrated with a call. It was Fitch and we rarely ever called each other, so I answered it straight away. “Hey.”
“Benji, thank fuck,” he said. “Where are you?”
“I um, I’m in Potts Point. Where are you?”
“At home. Look, I’m coming to you. Pin me your location.” It sounded as if he was walking, and he sounded panicked.
“What’s wrong?”
“He’s looking for you again. Those two men were asking questions.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face, hitting the Band-Aid on my forehead, making me wince. “Yeah. I saw them,” I admitted quietly.
“Did they see you?”
“I... I don’t know. I ran, but I got hit by a car?—”
“You what?!”
He screeched that so loudly, I had to pull the phone away from my ear, and I noticed Nolan cringe. Not at the noise. More at the getting-hit-by-a-car part.
“I’m fine,” I said to both of them. “I slept on his couch, and he just fed me breakfast.”
“I can drive you wherever you need to go,” Nolan said quietly.
“He said he can drive me,” I repeated to Fitch.
“No. You need to not be seen. I’m coming to you. We’ll figure something out. Send me your location.”
The line went dead.
I checked my screen, and yeah, he’d hung up. I sighed. “He doesn’t take no for an answer,” I explained. “He’s coming to get me. I can meet him out front. ”
His eyebrows furrowed a fraction. “Is he... are you safe with him? If he doesn’t take no for an answer, then?—”
I laughed. “No, he’s my best friend, well, one of them. He’s just the bossy one.”
I went to Maps and pinged my location to him.
Nolan seemed to school his face; his expression neutral. “I uh, I didn’t mean to overhear, but he said someone is looking for you?”
My stomach dropped and tightened all at once. “It’s nothing. It’s just... It’s no big deal.”
“If you’re not safe,” he said gently, “I can help you.”
“Help me?” He had no idea.
“I can get you help. There are services available for people in situations such as yours?—”
I put my hand up. “No, thank you. It’s fine. I don’t need any services.” The truth was, I couldn’t use them. I couldn’t use my real name. “Thanks anyway.”
He frowned at that and sighed. “Look, I feel terrible about what happened. I’d been drinking and I shouldn’t have driven. I know better, and it was stupid and irresponsible. And dangerous. You could have been seriously injured. Are you sure you’re okay? Would you like a hot shower before you leave? Is there anything I can get you?”
He’d been drinking? I hadn’t known that. Not that it made any difference.
“Pretty sure I was the one who ran out in front of your car,” I said. “Thank you for not involving the cops.”
He barked out a laugh. “Uh, I should be thanking you.” He squinted his eyes shut and shook his head. “Jesus Christ. This is so bad.”
He seemed to be taking this so much harder than me.
“We’re all good,” I said. “No harm, no foul.”
But then I stood up and my back twinged. I couldn’t stop the wince. And I had to pick up my shoes, so I bent slowly. Yeah, this wasn’t good.
It was just a twinge. An ache. My hand went to my back, and I bit back a groan.
Nolan was quick to grab me. “Okay, you’re not fine. Lie back down. Take some more ibuprofen. Maybe after a hot shower, you’ll feel better. I have some heat rub too. That might help.” He helped me lay back down and he took my phone. “I’m going to tell your friend to come up.”
He texted his apartment number to Fitch and showed me the screen before he put the phone on my chest.
“I feel so bad,” he mumbled.
“It’s just a strain,” I mumbled. “I’m sure I’ll be fine in a bit.”
But yeah, that hot shower sounded really freaking good.
He sat on the coffee table, watching me. And I dunno why, but his worry for me was nice. He was a decent guy, and that was a rare trait to find.
“So,” I said, trying to lighten the mood, “you’ve seen me on Oxford Street, huh?” Then I remembered something else. A super gorgeous man in a suit heading into 180... Hmm. That’s where I’d seen him. Just last night. It seemed fitting, given how exclusive that place was and how expensive his apartment was. He’d been interested, but his friend had led him inside.
We were lucky that our spot on Wylde Street was close to 180. It meant higher paying customers. Didn’t always mean we’d get treated any better, but the money was good.
“No, not Oxford. Wylde Street, huh? You go to 180.”
He nodded slowly. “I saw you last night,” he said quietly.
I liked that he admitted that.
“Right. Before, you know, you hit me with your car.” His face was a horror show, and it made me laugh. “Sorry. Still too soon?”
“Yes. I think it will forever be too soon for that to be funny.”
“So, was it a nice car at least?” I smirked at him. “Because if I’m going to get hit by anything, can it at least be a nice car?”
He almost smiled. “Still too soon for jokes.”
Then something occurred to me. “Shit. Is your car damaged? I can’t pay for that?—”
He shook his head and again went to reach for me but stopped himself. “No damage. And the car isn’t important. I’m more worried about you. Is your back feeling any better?” Then his eyes lit up. “Oh, I have a heat pack. Let me go find it for you.”
He disappeared, muttering something about where he’d last seen it, and I found myself smiling. Despite everything that had happened last night, despite the twinge in my lower back. Nolan was a sweet guy .
He came back out carrying a wheat pillow. “Found it. I had a hamstring injury a few years back,” he said. He put it in the microwave just as something else chimed. “Oh,” he said, going to a monitor by the door. I hadn’t noticed it before. “Hello?” he asked.
A familiar voice replied. “I’m here for Benji.”
“Ah, Benji,” Nolan said, glancing my way. I realised then that I hadn’t given him a name.
“That’s Fitch,” I replied. “You can let him in.”
Nolan buzzed him through, and I considered sitting up again but my back said no. A few moments later, Nolan opened his door and Fitch stepped in.
“Hi,” Fitch said. Then he saw me and rushed in and sat on the sofa with me, his hand on my arm. “Jesus, Benji, are you okay? What the fuck happened?”
“I’m fine. I’ve just strained my back. It’ll be right in a few hours.”
Or a day or two.
He put a gentle hand on my hair. “And your head. You got hit by a car? What the fuck?”
“’Twas my fault,” I said quietly. “I saw—” I glanced at where Nolan was in the kitchen, not wanting to say too much. I lowered my voice anyway. “Those guys, and I hit my head on a dumpster, of all things. Then I took off through the park and ran into the path of a moving car.”
Nolan came back then with the heated wheat pack. “Here,” he said quietly. “Lean against the sofa with this pressed against your back. Where does it hurt?”
I tried to reach around to show him, realising too late that arm had the scraped elbow. “Down low. ”
“Please, allow me,” Nolan murmured. He placed the wheat pack against my lumbar area and gently leaned me back so the sofa would keep the pack in place. The relief was almost immediate. Then he pulled up the blanket. “Can I get you anything else?”
I don’t know why, but his kindness touched me. I was sure I blushed. “I’m fine.”
Fitch looked between us, questioning, smiling, and far too obvious.
“I’ll give you guys some privacy,” Nolan said, fidgeting, unsure, before he turned and walked down a hall.
Fitch’s eyes met mine. “What the fuck was that?”
I chuckled. “He’s a nice guy. He feels bad.”
“Considering he hit you with his car, he probably should.” Then he double-checked that Nolan was gone. “Did you fuck? Because he’s hot.”
“No,” I said. “Considering, you know, he hit me with his car.” Then I sighed. “How the hell am I supposed to work tonight? I already missed making money last night.”
“Benji, that’s the least of your worries. You-know-who was looking for you last night. Those two guys must have seen you because they spent the rest of the night searching up and down Oxford for you. You can’t work the street. You shouldn’t even go back there, not for a few days at least.”
“The fuck am I supposed to do? Not even about working, Fitch. But I live there.”
“We’ll have to get you inside. I should have brought a hoodie with me. I’ll go back and get it. Then you’ll just have to hole up for a few days. Give your back some time to right itself.”
I groaned. Our apartment was dry at least and better than sleeping rough, but it was a shithole. No TV, no anything. “It’s just a muscle strain. Fitch, I need to work,” I said. “Or I won’t even have the shithole apartment.”
“Me and Ky will cover rent for you?—”
“No. I can’t ask you to do that,” I said. We barely had enough money for food as it was. “I’ll just...” I shrugged. “Hit Grindr or something.”
“You know how shady that gets.”
“What choice do I have?”
“You can stay here,” Nolan said.
Fitch and I both turned to see him standing near the hall. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he said. But then he walked over and stood by the coffee table. He seemed genuinely torn. “But it’s my fault you’re injured, and I feel bad. Stay here. Just for a week.”
Fitch and I both stared at him. I was shocked, but Fitch smiled slowly. “That’s perfect,” he said.
“I can’t,” I mumbled. “Thank you for the offer.” Then I stared at Fitch, so he’d understand. “I need to work.”
“I’ll pay you,” Nolan said, his brow furrowed.
He’ll what? Pay me?
What the fuck?
“Pay me for what?”
“I mean, I’ll cover your rent,” he corrected. He fidgeted a little and grimaced. “I didn’t mean it to sound as if I meant anything untoward. ”
Fitch snorted. “Untoward? Who the hell uses words like untoward?”
I nudged Fitch with my knee to get him to quit being an arse when Nolan was being so nice.
“He’ll do it,” Fitch said. “Thank you, Nolan, is it?”
He gave a nod. “Nolan O’Brien.”
Wait, what? “I never said yes,” I tried. The offer was tempting, and over-generous. And offers like that never came without strings.
“Benji,” Fitch said seriously, patting my arm. “You need to hide out for a week, this place is a fucking palace, and he’ll cover your rent. You’re a hooker, he’s rich. What part of the Pretty Woman fairy tale don’t you get?” Then he looked Nolan up and down. “If he says no, I’ll stay for a week. You can cover my rent and do whatever you want to me.”
I nudged him again. “Fuck off, Fitch.” Then I sighed because as much as I didn’t like it, Fitch was right. “Fine. I’ll stay. If it will make you feel better.”
“It will,” Fitch replied.
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
Nolan’s eyes met mine. “If it will make me feel better?”
“Yeah. You said you feel guilty.”
“I do.”
“I ran out in front of your car,” I said.
Nolan shrugged one shoulder. “But still . . .”
Fitch clapped his hands together. “Then it’s settled. Benji, you’re staying here. For a week—” He looked around the room. “—in this luxury apartment with the hot-as-fuck rich guy. And he’s gonna cover your rent. Tell me, Nolan. Wanna run me over too? How do I get in on this gig?”
Nolan surprised me by chuckling, that dimple pressing into his cheek. “I’d rather not.”
But Fitch was right, again. Maybe a week here in this luxury apartment with the hot-as-fuck rich guy wouldn’t be so bad. He was even gonna cover my rent. If it made him feel less guilty, then I wasn’t gonna say no.