13. Boink?!?!
Chapter thirteen
Boink?!?!
“T hat race must have been quite the experience,” Ben said as he walked up to me.
I leaned forward, my heel resting on the seat of the wooden bench and the muscles along the back of my leg burning through the stretch. “Why do you say that?”
Amused lines appeared in the corners of his eyes. “I thought you said once it was over, you were done with any cardio that didn’t involve orgasms.”
I finished stretching, shaking out my leg and standing up straight. “I did. But I figured it would be nice to hang out before you go see your ex-wife for a week and then leave me forever.”
“Not forever,” he said with a chuckle. “And I’m planning to see you in the two days I’m back before I leave for California.”
“Well, yes, but then how am I supposed to be dramatic about it?”
He shook his head, still grinning.
Ben had taken me running on a few different trails, but when I’d texted him earlier that day, I’d suggested we jog along the Rideau Canal. There were trails on the Rideau River that I preferred, but they were farther from my apartment than the one I liked at the canal and I’d just wanted to get out as soon as I could.
“So the run went well then?” Ben asked as we started to jog along the path.
“Pretty well,” I replied. “I might do it again, actually.”
“Really?”
“Maybe. It was fun. We did a Jello shot at the start line. The foam pit was fun. JP and I fucked in the bushes. Bruno fell into a garbage can. It was my kinda race, you know?”
He almost tripped. “You did… what?”
“A Jello shot,” I said. “At the start. It wasn’t technically part of the race, I guess. It’s more of a toast for this guy who died. I think JP probably knew him. But it’s always nice to start with a shot, you know?”
“Right, of course.” He half-coughed. “And the, uh, other thing you said you did?”
“The foam pit?” From the corner of my eye, I caught his unimpressed look and I laughed. “JP?”
“You hadn’t mentioned he would be there,” he said.
“I didn’t know he would be.”
The conversation faded and we ran in silence for a while. It was the good kind of silence, or at least, as good as silence can be. It wasn’t awkward or tense or heavy; it was just there, accompanying us the same way as the footsteps on pavement and the gentle rush of water in the canal and the constant murmur of thoughts in my mind.
Normally while we ran, I had to remind Ben a couple of times that he was a weirdo who trained for marathons and this all started because I lied about jogging so I could get laid so he would slow down a bit. That time, though, I didn’t say anything, just did my best to keep up with him, panting for breath as my heart rate rose in time with my footsteps.
When we reached a couple of benches, Ben looked at me.
“Quick break to catch our breaths?” he asked.
I nodded and he slowed down, pulling his water bottle out and handing it to me.
“Thanks,” I said, trying not to gasp as I opened it to take a sip before passing it back.
“You’re quiet today,” he said before taking a sip himself.
I snorted. “I don’t think I’ve ever been described as quiet before in my life.”
He offered me the water bottle again. “Quieter than usual, then.”
I shrugged as I took it. “I like to give people a break from my voice once in a while.”
“Well, I enjoy listening to your voice,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing really,” I said. “Just the usual eight million things.”
“Eight million?” he repeated as I took another sip of water.
“Give or take.”
He chuckled. “Want to tell me about some of them?”
“It’s not anything interesting,” I said.
“I bet that’s not true.”
“I am capable of being boring, you know.”
He scoffed, almost offended. “Well, I know that’s not true.”
I laughed again, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to say anything. Instead, I handed Ben back his water bottle. He took another sip and with a natural sort of ease, silently agreed to start walking down the paved path. The quietness fell again and I scratched at the side of my thumb.
“So this weekend my dad made me pick a restaurant for brunch even though I hate picking restaurants,” I said after a cyclist zipped by in the other direction.
“I see,” Ben said, though it was pretty obvious he had no idea where I was going with that. Neither did I, to be fair. It sounded as stupid out loud as it did in my head.
“Then he threw out half my clothes,” I said.
“He threw out your clothes?” Ben repeated.
“Or donated them, maybe.”
I wasn’t looking at him, but I could hear the frown in his voice. “Did he give you a reason for that?”
“Because my date cancelled on me for the event I was attending this weekend.”
“Uh…”
“And I couldn’t find another date,” I continued. “So I dressed Sydney up in a tuxedo and fake mustache and told everyone her name was Sid Cunnilinginton.”
“Sid Cunnilinginton,” he repeated.
“The Third. Which I thought was better than showing up alone because earlier in the day he told me I absolutely couldn’t show up alone to any events because he wants me to get together with the creepy son of one of his clients, so he decided I can’t be trusted and took anything he thought might be inappropriate for the Diamond Gala out of my closet. Including some bikinis and my volleyball hoodie, except Kimberlee secretly gave those back. Because oh yeah, he did this in front of his girlfriend, who even called him out on it.”
“The girlfriend you don’t like?”
“Yeah.”
“It sounds like things might be going better with her, though?”
I rolled my eyes. “No way. She’s gotta be hiding something. There’s no reason anyone decent would be with my dad.”
There was a hint of anger in his voice. “Given what you’re telling me right now, I can’t exactly disagree with that.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “So anyways, now I owe JP anal.”
Ben tripped.
Like fully tripped and nearly went down on the pavement, but I reached out and grabbed him before he fell. He steadied himself, then looked at me with wide, semi-frantic eyes, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“He’s going to be my date for the gala,” I explained. “Because there’s no one else my dad would approve other than Clinton.”
Ben’s eyebrows knitted together. “Understandable, but if he’s saying you owe him—”
“I’m half-messing with you,” I said. “I want to do it.”
“Okay, but did you offer? Or did he ask for that in… ah… exchange?”
“I mean, he asked, but—”
“Nellie.” His voice was firm, but the touch on my arm was gentle. “That’s not okay.”
“He wouldn’t actually make me,” I said. “I thought his eyes were going to fall out when I said yes.”
He didn’t look convinced. “You’re sure?”
I nodded. “He was totally thrown off by me saying yes. And you know that any time I can have the upper hand on JP is a good day. He might be a sleazy lawyer and arrogant dirtbag and an annoying bastard, but he’s not the kind of guy who would ever make someone do something like that.”
“He better not be,” Ben said, and I was almost surprised by the heat in his voice. Just like I was almost surprised by the warmth that heat put in my chest.
“Why? Would you go beat him up for me?” I asked.
“I’m flattered you think I can beat up a guy who’s, what, fifteen years younger than me?”
I frowned and tilted my head. “No, only like… twelve. Or eleven, maybe. But you run and stuff.”
“It barely makes up for the hours of sitting around I do.” He pulled out his water bottle and took a sip, then offered it to me. “And given that you saw him at the race, I’m guessing he does as well.”
“Yeah. And he goes to the gym.” I rolled my eyes as I took his water. “The weirdo.”
“But he’s a weirdo who would be good to you?”
I started to say yes, then re-processed what he’d said. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That.”
He half-laughed. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Say he’d be good to me .” I slugged back a sip of water. “Like it’s some kind of thing . It’s not.”
“I wasn’t saying it was.”
“Good.” I handed the water bottle back to him more aggressively than intended. “Because it’s not.”
“Mmm,” he said, lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a sip.
The warm feeling from Ben’s protectiveness sparked into annoyance. “You better believe me.”
“I certainly do.”
“Right. And the reason you sound so skeptical when you say that is…?”
“I’m not skeptical, Nellie.” He put his water bottle back in his running belt. “I know you and JP are only friends.”
“I don’t even think we’re friends,” I said, and that was a bit more aggressive than I wanted it to be, too. “JP and I just fuck. But it’s different than you and me. Like, you and I fuck too, but we’re also friends. Or at least, I think we are.”
He stifled a cough. “Yes. Of course we are.”
I wrinkled my nose in realization. “Oops. Right. You don’t like calling it fucking. You and I… is ‘boink’ a better word?”
“ Boink ?!” he repeated.
We’d just started walking under a bridge, so the sound of my relatively formal former professor’s voice saying the most ridiculous word in existence echoed. I cracked up, grabbing Ben’s arm so I didn’t accidentally trip as the “ boink…oink…oink ” bounced around us. His laughter joined mine as he steadied me.
“Or do you prefer ‘bone’?” I said through giggles as we walked out from under the bridge.
“I prefer whichever gets me inside you, honestly,” he said.
My laughter stopped as I looked at him in impressed astonishment. “ Ben .”
He glanced back at me, eyebrows raised. “Yes?”
“We’re in public.”
“That’s never stopped you from making jokes like that.”
“Well, yeah, but it’s always stopped you.”
He half-shrugged, though there was almost a look of pride on his face. “Yes, well, friends make jokes like this together. Don’t they?”
I tried not to smile and failed. “Yeah, they do.”
And maybe that was weird. That we were friends, I mean. On the surface, we didn’t have a lot in common. He was a tenured professor with an ex-wife and a career taking him to work with some of the most renowned psychologists in the world. I was a student who didn’t want a relationship beyond friendship and fucking.
And from the outside, it probably looked like something different. Neither of us were ignorant to what an older guy hooking up with a younger girl looked like. What people would assume he wanted from me and what I wanted from him.
But it was deeper than that while not being deep at all. We knew where we stood and it was refreshing to have that confidence with someone.
“You would tell me, right?” I’d asked one night a few weeks after the whole thing had started. We’d been lying in his bed, naked of course, and he was trailing his fingers up and down my arm in a lazy, hypnotizing pattern.
I hadn’t said anything else, but he’d known what I meant. “If I… what did the song say? ‘Catch feels’ for you?”
I’d let out a short huff of laughter. “Yeah.”
“I’m still impressed you knew every word.”
“I’ve been listening to it on repeat for, like, a month now.”
“Just that song?” he’d asked, amused.
“Yeah. I’ll get sick of it soon and never listen to it again.” I’d yawned. “Then it’ll be something else with completely opposite vibes.”
He’d made a knowing noise. “A stim song.”
I’d frowned. “A what now?”
“It’s a term Isabelle—my ex-wife—uses. Or used to use, at least. I don’t think it’s an official term but it’s something she talks about with her patients.”
“What patients?”
“Children, mostly. She’s a pediatric psychiatrist.”
“Do I want to know where you’re going with this?”
He’d chuckled. “It’s just a characteristic of some types of neurodivergent disorders. Stimming is a type of repetitive behaviour that some use to cope with emotions or stress. To lean on stereotypes, something like hand-flapping or rocking would be a ‘stim.’ And since some songs seem to ‘itch’ part of the brain, as it were, listening to them on repeat can be a type of stimming.”
“Oh. Does that mean there’s something wrong with me?”
“No. Partly because neurodivergence wouldn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you, but mostly because it’s not a behaviour exclusive to neurodivergent disorders. The term just carries over well.” I’d nodded slowly and he’d walked his fingers up my bicep. “Back to your original question, yes. I’d tell you if I developed feelings for you.”
“But for real?” I’d pressed. “None of this ‘Oh my God I have the feels and now I have to hide them because that historically goes well in every book, movie, and sitcom that’s ever existed’ shit?”
He’d chuckled again, his hand moving up to my hair and twirling the end of it around his finger. “Yes, for real, I’d tell you. But I don’t think you have to worry.” A beat passed before he’d tensed. “I mean, as lovely as you are, and as fun as this is—”
“No offense was taken,” I said. “You know that.”
He’d sighed. “I know. But it still seems weird to tell someone you don’t think of them as relationship material. Especially given our current, ah… position.”
“Trust me, I’d be far more offended if you told me I was girlfriend material. I’ve worked hard to make a relationship with me as undesirable as possible.” I’d twisted my mouth to the side. “Well, I guess aside from the fact that I definitely put out.”
He’d laughed again and reassured me again that he wasn’t expecting more from me. And maybe not everyone would have taken that at face value, but I did. Ben and I agreed that we wanted a good time, not a long time, like that Trooper song my mom used to blast on repeat said. Of course, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to losing a regular source of face to sit on, but it wasn’t tearing me up inside or anything.
“We’re near your apartment,” Ben said, breaking me out of my thoughts again.
I blinked, surprised by how far we’d walked in relative silence and seemingly without me being aware of it. “I guess we are. Are you tired already?”
He chuckled. “No. But you’re tense.”
“Uh… thanks?”
His mouth twitched. “You’ve had a lot going on lately. And as good as a run is for, ah… stress relief, it’s also important to make sure you’re not overexerting yourself.”
A knowing smile spread across my face. “I see.”
“Mm-hmm.” After a quick glance behind us, a daring hand ended up on the small of my back and he guided me off the path and towards the sidewalk. “I think a post-run treatment is in order, Ms. Belanger.”