10. Upside-Down Penis
10
Upside-Down Penis
Ben sat with me— us —at lunch the rest of the week and, if the glares sent our way from the girls’ swim team were any indication, the change of seating did not go unnoticed. Ben studiously ignored their reactions, and I was thankful I wasn’t in his shoes. Being the sole desire of every female on the swim team was a terrifying prospect.
Saturday found me backstage as I directed my stage crew with a vengeance. Today was our last set day before tech week, and we were behind. It was my fault for skipping set day last month after Boyt… just after. Now I paid the price for my weakness back then. Backdrops still needed painting, and the tomb where Romeo and Juliet bit the dust was still in pieces! Needless to say, I was in a sour mood.
As I painted a background of trees for the garden scene, my gaze wandered and latched on to two freshman boys attempting to nail a simple box together. My temper, which had been bubbling on the back burner most of the morning, boiled over as the two stooges bent yet another nail. I threw my paint brush on the ground and stalked toward them. The blond one paled, smacking the redhead to get his attention.
“Thomas!” I shouted, and the blond boy jumped an inch off the ground. “You’re supposed to get the nails into the wood, not bend them into a pretzel. This isn’t some hippie art class, you nitwit. And you, Orphan Annie,” I continued as I turned on the redhead, “space your fucking nails out! If I see either of you break one more nail, I’m going to show you exactly how to use a hammer, using your kneecaps as my practice boards! Is that clear?”
My voice steadily rose to screaming level, and the pure terror in their eyes satisfied my irritation somewhat. The redhead raised his hand timidly as Thomas trembled. “Yes, Annie?”
“My name’s Greg, and he’s Timothy, not Thomas,” he managed to squeak, and I raised my eyebrows at him menacingly.
“As long as you’re on my crew, Carrot Top, you’re whoever I say you are.” I straightened and gave them both one last withering glare. “Is there anything else you’d like to add?” They both shook their heads. “Good boys. Now stop wasting my nails.”
I promptly stomped back to the tree I was painting to resume working. Not a moment later, a slow, sarcastic clap echoed through the room. I glanced over my shoulder to give Kim the finger, but it wasn’t Kim. Ben leaned against the wall, looking delicious in a pair of low-hanging jeans and a loose hoodie advertising California, his partially tamed curls dripping water onto the thick material.
“Wow, I think you literally scared the piss out of a couple of kids.”
His admonishment held no real heat, and I shrugged, motioning to the backstage area superfluously. “In here, I am the king and this place, my kingdom, and I rule with an iron fist. So best be careful how you speak to me, peasant.”
He chuckled, pushing off the wall and sauntering over with his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt. “Well, Your Highness, this humble servant requests admission into your great and mighty kingdom.” He finished off his sarcastic speech with an exaggerated bow.
“Well, pageboy, what kind of services can you offer me?” I grimaced at the possible sexual innuendo, and Ben grinned slyly but didn’t comment on the double entendre.
“I can help you if you want, though I’m not much of an artist.” He pointed to the background behind me, and I nodded.
I needed all the help I could get at this point and wouldn’t turn down an extra pair of hands. “I’m not an artist either,” I reminded him pointedly and rooted around in a bucket of brushes. “Just draw trees.”
“You’re not going to use my kneecaps as a cork board if I mess up, are you?” I chucked the paintbrush at him, and he caught it with a laugh.
“I haven’t decided yet. Your punishment may be more severe.” I continued with my half-finished tree. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I saw your truck in the parking lot, so I figured I would search you out.”
“Well, at least you didn’t come with pick-up lines this time.”
We worked side by side in silence, and I finished three more trees by the time Ben lowered his paintbrush. I dropped my own brush into the water bucket and inspected his tree. I balked, startling Ben with my horrified cry.
“What the fuck is that?”
“What do you mean?” He studied his painting with obvious bewilderment as I cackled at the deformed shape. “It’s a tree.”
“That’s not a tree! It’s like a disgusting lollipop or”—I cocked my head to the side and squinted—“if you look at it like this, it resembles an upside-down penis with severe medical issues.”
Ben huffed in indignation. “I tried my best, okay?”
“Well, A for effort, I guess,” I conceded as I reclaimed Ben’s paint brush before he could do any more damage.
I did my best to fix his monstrosity of a tree and, eventually, blended the thing into the background. Ben watched in embarrassed amusement as I dropped my brush into the water when I finished. I showed off his better and improved tree with a flourish of my hand.
“Now this is a tree!”
“I thought you said you weren’t an artist?”
My chest warmed at the cloaked compliment, and I hid my pleased grin by squatting before the bucket and cleaning our brushes. “I’m not an artist, but when you’ve been doing this as long as I have, you learn a few tricks to make trees not look like lollipops of death.”
“Hey, I warned you I wasn’t good.”
“True, and I should’ve listened to you.”
The paint fumes made my head swim, and I shook the excess water from the brushes before laying them on the newspaper spread over the ground. Paint dried on my face, cracking and flaking from my cheek, and I scrubbed at it with my moist palm. I could paint a whole set without getting a drop of paint on me, but, of course, Ben catches me messy.
“So,” he said as I straightened with hands on my hips, “should I fear for my knees?”
I understood the reference, but my brain hated me, filling with a series of different, more naked scenarios where he would worry about his knees. My heart jumped to my throat, and I flitted my gaze around the room, banishing the tempting imagery.
“Uh, no.” I cleared my throat noisily. “Your, uh, knees are safe.”
With a worried look behind me, Ben pointed over my shoulder. “So, uh, those kids don’t know what they’re doing.”
Timothy smashed his hammer into the nail, bending the metal to a ninety-degree angle, and my temper rose. “Ted!”
Ben put his hand in front of my chest—without actually touching me—to stop me from charging over there. “I’ve got this.” He approached the two trembling freshmen, and they watched him with wary awe as he squatted to their level. “Hi, there, I’m Ben. Don’t worry about Silas. He’s a little hormonal right now.”
Ignoring my silent outrage, he proceeded to explain the best way to use the tools without crushing their tiny, freshman fingers. After a few instructions, they handled the tools better, and he gave them each a thumbs-up. I glowered hatefully as he rose and meandered his way back to me in the wings of the stage. The moment he was close enough, I punched him in the arm with as much strength as I could muster.
He leapt back and kneaded his arm, clearly unaffected by my outburst. “Hey, now, no need for violence.”
“Hormonal? Really?” I lunged at him, but he danced out of reach, an infuriating grin plastered on his stupid face.
“Careful, Si,” he warned. “You don’t wanna start something you can’t win.”
I aimed to punch his chest, but he dodged. “You’re just afraid I’ll mess up your perfect face.”
“Did you just compliment me?”
“No!” I growled as he side-stepped my next punch, sending me staggering.
“If you don’t watch yourself, I’m gonna stop being gentle,” he threatened, his eyes sparkling with enjoyment at our terribly mismatched sparring session.
I scowled and waved my middle finger. “Bite me.”
“If you’re into that sort of thing,” he said with a wicked grin, and I rolled my eyes as I dispelled the idea before it took root in my masochistic brain.
“Shut up, Ben.”
I made to walk by him, feigning innocence until I rounded on him in a last-ditch effort to hit him. He expected it, of course, and I quickly found myself pressed against the wall, my spine protesting the hard surface as Ben imprisoned my wrists on either side of my head with his hands. His playful grin darkened to one of arrogance as I struggled against his hold to no avail.
“Didn’t your parents ever teach you to play nice with the other kids?” he reprimanded me as I squirmed to get away, secretly enjoying his proximity. He didn’t touch me anywhere except my wrists, but his body heat seared through our layers of clothes as his spearmint breath puffed between us.
His blue eyes twinkled at my unsuccessful escape attempts, and I kicked at his shin like a child. “Shouldn’t you pick on someone your own size, you bully?”
“You’re particularly feisty today, aren’t you?” He released my wrists, his fingers grazing over the sensitive skin of my pulse points, and I inhaled sharply at the tingle sparking across my flesh.
“And you’re obnoxiously annoying.” One of his wet curls fell over his forehead when I pushed against his chest, and I resisted the urge to return the lock of gold to its place. “I don’t even know why I hang out with you.”
“Well, it’s clearly not for my artistic talent, that’s for sure.” He stuffed his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt and stepped back to add a foot of air between our bodies. The heat followed him.
“Clearly,” I deadpanned before an idea tickled my brain. “How are you with arts and crafts?”
Less than five minutes later, we entered the theater room, hot glue and melted plastic burning my nose. A few cheers rose from the table in greeting, and Ben waved self-consciously as I led him to the edge of the chairs.
“What is Sir Benjamin doing here on such a fine Saturday afternoon?” Caroline asked with a pompous air, connecting two artificial vines together with hot glue.
“He’s here because we’ve been playing a very drawn-out game of hide-and-seek. As you can see, he’s found me.” I waved my hands half-heartedly, and a finger poked my hip.
Ben mouthed, “You’re It,” with a goofy yet adorable grin, and I shook my head, smothering a smile of my own.
“You’re an idiot,” I mouthed back, and his dimple carved a crater into his cheek.
I turned to Kim, her ever-watchful eyes flitting between Ben and me suspiciously. “I’m pawning him off on you since he can’t paint worth shit. Jordan, you’re supposed to be helping me anyway, you dickhead, so get your ass backstage.”
Jordan abandoned his seat next to Caroline, grumbling the whole time as Harris avoided eye contact with me. I could complain until he helped, but he was almost as useless as Ben when it came to stage prep. I would leave him here with Kim, Caroline, and a couple other familiar faces from my lunch table.
Kim smiled grandly and motioned Ben to the now-abandoned seat next to Caroline. “Welcome, Benjamin, make yourself at home. Crafts are much more fun than working backstage, anyway.”
Ben brushed my shoulder, his fingers curling around my elbow as his spearmint breath fanned over my ear. “Be nice to the freshman, Si,” he instructed playfully, “or else your knees will pay the price.”
I swallowed thickly, my mind wandering into forbidden territory as I contemplated the extent I was willing to go to make that happen. I wouldn’t mind sore knees, not at all.
“Okay,” I squeaked as I backed away from him before I had a situation in my pants to deal with. “I’ll come check up on you later.”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Be a good boy, Benji,” I called over my shoulder, chuckling at the bitter furrow to his brow as he flipped me the bird. I sent him a finger-wave in return as I left the room and made my way backstage.
After an hour, we managed to throw together the remaining set pieces necessary for Monday’s first dress rehearsal, and I left Jordan to finish the construction of the tomb as I checked in on Ben. I stopped beside the door to eavesdrop on their juicy gossip, but I was disappointed and mortified to find the juicy gossip about me—specifically, me and Eli. God, that was definitely a part of my past I did not want Ben to hear.
“Thank God they broke up,” Caroline said, and Kim nodded passionately. “He was such a tool, and he treated Silas like shit.”
My chest warmed at the protective tone they adopted as they defended me, but they painted me in a better light than was accurate. Sure, Eli was kind of a dick, but I knew what I was getting myself into with him. I wasn’t innocent; no one ever was.
“How long did they date?” Ben’s tone sounded nonchalant, and I entered the room, giving Kim a glare as I answered his question.
“Almost a year, though technically we weren’t dating,” I supplied, sitting down opposite a curious, albeit confused, Ben, and I explained, “He made it clear right away that we weren’t together, so he wasn’t actually my boyfriend.”
Kim huffed and shook her head, her curls shaking from the movement. “He was an asshole, and you deserved better. You shouldn’t be anyone’s booty call.”
I shrugged as I fiddled with a few stalks of fake flowers on the table. “I knew what I was getting into.”
“You didn’t know about Sam,” Caroline sang, and I cringed, wishing we could leave him out of the conversation.
“Who’s Sam?” Ben’s blue eyes x-rayed me from across the table.
I licked my lips as I fought the ashamed blush crawling over my neck. “Uh, Sam was Eli’s boyfriend, hence why I wasn’t.”
The table went awkwardly quiet, and when I finally lifted my gaze, Ben’s frustrated stare zeroed in on me. “He cheated on you for a year?”
I laughed mirthlessly. “Didn’t you hear what I said? I was the cheater.”
“Not if you didn’t know about it,” he countered, and I shifted in my chair, plucking the fake leaves from the vine Kim had so studiously glued together. “If you thought you were exclusive—”
“We weren’t exclusive, and I knew that going in. He was very clear from the get-go that we were just hooking up. Don’t sugarcoat it to make me sound better.”
I never wanted to lie about who I was. It didn’t change the past or the choices I made back then. Why hide it? I would rather he hear it from me than believe a lie to save face. But I never wanted to see that expression on his face again.
“You cared about him,” Kim piped in, taking my focus from Ben’s pinched features as I shot her a scathing glare. “Don’t give me that look, Silas, you know I’m right. You cared about him, and he took advantage of that. He cheated on his boyfriend, not you, and when you found out, you broke things off. You don’t have to sugarcoat things, but you shouldn’t paint it worse either.”
I shook my head bitterly. “You already said it. I was his booty call.”
I knew from the start it was nothing but sex, but what I did to Sam still burned me. I wasn’t good with emotional shit, and relationships were uncharted territory. But I would never willingly screw someone by fucking their boyfriend. I wasn’t a completely unfeeling bastard.
“You didn’t know about the boyfriend, so it wasn’t your fault,” Ben spoke decidedly, his voice gentle, and I searched his face.
Blue eyes dissected me too for several seconds, and I allowed it. I didn’t know what he saw or what he would find at the end of his search, but I would let him explore. I hoped he would be satisfied, not horrified, by whatever he discovered in my eyes. When he finally finished his perusal, he smiled softly, pleased with what he’d found.
I wanted to ask him what he saw when he looked at me, but I was too afraid of the answer. I didn’t want to know if he saw how ruined I really was. I didn’t need him to pick up my broken pieces, but I didn’t want him to shy away from them either. Maybe I needed him to bear witness to my wreckage and not flee from it. It was probably too much to ask.
A shrill ringing broke the moment between us as his eyes lowered to his pocket, releasing me from their spell, and I slowly exhaled. Ben was calm and soothing, funny and a little quirky at times, but he was also intense. A turbulence existed in the icy ocean of his eyes; it sucked me in and threatened to drown me, but I wasn’t afraid. I would gladly sink, knowing his demons couldn’t be worse than mine.
He frowned at his cell, rising from the table and shuffling to stand near the wall as he spoke in hushed tones. I watched him, wanting to allow him some privacy but unable to grant it as his body stiffened and concern etched itself across his face. He turned his back to us, his shoulders tight as his whispers deepened with urgency. As worry swirled in my gut, I tried to focus on the conversation at the table, but my attention jumped back to Ben.
After a few minutes, he sighed, and slipping his phone into his pocket, he walked over to our table. “I gotta go, sorry.”
I stood, studying his anxious expression. “Is everything okay?” I asked quietly as I walked him to the door. “Is someone—”
“Everything’s fine.” He cut me off with uncharacteristic rudeness, and I tucked my hands into my pockets to keep from reaching out to him. Normally, I was the rude one brushing off his concern. The strange turnabout was disconcerting.
“Okay.”
Ben grimaced, clearly apologetic for his short reply. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay,” I repeated as he jerked his head in a short nod.
He turned to leave as his jaw ticked a mile a minute, and my hand moved on its own accord, my fingers wrapping around his forearm. I opened my mouth wanting to say something to help but having no clue what words to use.
“Let me know if you need anything,” I said eventually, and a grateful smile flitted over his face so quickly I almost missed it.
“Thanks, Si.”
He reached out and squeezed my elbow in reassurance before hightailing it toward the gym. He would be parked back there, his car a couple spots away from mine. I watched him walk away until he disappeared from sight, my worry deepening with every step he took.