Neighbors With Benefits

20 - Jazz

20

Jazz

I couldn’t believe I just blurted that out. Complimenting Bash’s physique like I was discussing the weather. And he complimented me right back!

Normally, I would have wanted to crawl into a ball and die of awkwardness after an interaction like that. But any weirdness I felt disappeared within minutes. Bash and I had been neighbors, and friends, for a month now. We knew each other, and were comfortable together.

It was nice.

We ended up finishing the living room that evening, and tackled the spare bedroom the next day. We skipped our regular Sunday dinner since we were both exhausted from painting, but jumped right back into regular game nights the following Tuesday. Any awkwardness about it being just the two of us was long gone now; I found myself looking forward to those nights every bit as much as when Aiden was here. Maybe even more so, since it was totally innocent.

Okay, maybe not totally innocent. Bash flirted with me, and I flirted right back. Nothing too explicit—a small comment here, a knowing smile there. It all felt so natural, like we had known each other for years rather than weeks.

We made eggplant parmesan the following Sunday. Or at least, we tried to make it. Neither of us were great cooks, and this was a new recipe. The instructions had us sear the eggplant in a pan before moving it to a baking dish, but Bash must have had the heat on too high because he burned it. And when I cut up more eggplant for our second attempt, I sliced my finger open on the knife.

“Shit!” I hissed while clutching my finger. A bead of blood quickly appeared.

“I got you,” Bash said, taking my hand in his and squeezing a paper towel to the cut.

“Sorry. I don’t know how I did that. I’m normally good with a knife.”

“You wouldn’t have had to chop another eggplant if I hadn’t burned the first batch,” he replied with a laugh. “So really, it’s all my fault.”

“I like that. Can I blame you for all of my fuck-ups?”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “How often do you have fuck-ups that require a scapegoat?”

“Last week, I accidentally ordered 10 cases of pint glasses at work.”

“Is that a lot?”

“There’s a hundred glasses in a case,” I explained. “I meant to order one case.”

“Ouch. I don’t think you can blame that one on me. But if you ever order too much beer, I’ll happily take the blame—and a bunch of beer.”

“You’ve got a deal.”

He held my hand a few seconds longer, then cleared his throat and let go. “I’ll cut the rest for you.”

The finished product was extremely mediocre, so we cut our losses after one bite and ordered pizza instead. Neither of us minded; pizza and beer suited our mood while we watched the Sunday night baseball game.

“Thanks,” I said as he handed me another beer in the fourth inning. “And thanks for failing at making eggplant parmesan with me.”

“It was still fun!” he said, plopping down on the couch next to me, leaving about a foot of space between us. “I’m glad we’re still hanging out while Aiden’s gone. Sometimes it’s tough when the other guys are out of town for work.”

“You don’t like the solitude?”

“It’s nice… for a day or two.” He shrugged. “I’m a people person. I’m happier when I’m around other people, even if they’re boring.”

“Ouch,” I said.

He looked sideways at me. “What I mean is I’ll settle for boring people. But you’re a treat. I feel like we won the lottery when you moved in next door.”

“I feel that way too!” I replied.

We clinked our beer bottles together and went back to watching the game. His comment was nice to receive because I also felt lonely while Aiden was out of town, and hanging out with Bash helped that. I was glad he didn’t know I was sleeping with Aiden, or we definitely wouldn’t have had this friendship.

Aiden’s second baked good delivery was simple, but effective: brownies. But they weren’t the regular brownies I made from a mix—these were the most moist, flavorful brownies I’d ever had in my life.

A week after that, he sent me chocolate-covered peanut brittle. That wasn’t my favorite, but they were still insanely good.

“You ought to open a bakery,” I said over Facetime that evening. We had already spent half an hour having phone sex, and were both in that wonderful post-orgasm lull.

Aiden snorted. “No way.”

“I’m serious! Everything you’ve sent me could be sold to customers. People would pay premium for this kind of quality. Call them artisanal and you could charge way too much. You’d make a killing.”

Aiden was shaking his head. “What I meant was no way, I don’t want to turn this into a business. I enjoy cooking and baking for fun. Trying to monetize my hobby would turn it into a chore.”

“True. I guess I’ll continue reaping the rewards of your master craft.”

“Besides,” he said, “I already have a job I enjoy.”

“Even though it takes you away from your fuck-buddy for weeks at a time?”

“In spite of that, yes,” he admitted. “But hey! I fly back to Philadelphia on Monday! Not this Monday, but the week after. I’ll be home for a week before I head out on another trip.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” I replied. “I put it on my calendar and highlighted it in red.”

Aiden flashed an easy smile on the screen. “We’ll have to make the most of our time, even if it means playing fewer Scrabble matches.”

“I can’t wait.”

It was true: I couldn’t wait for him to get back.

But a part of me, a very small part, was going to miss my solo time with Bash. And that realization made it tough to fall asleep that night.