Chapter 4
Desmond Fowler was a good guy. But more importantly, he was a fantastic lawyer.
So, Noah was going to overlook how obsessed he was with golf.
“Noah,” Desmond yelled, twirling his state-of-the-art club as he spotted Noah walking over the green. “Took you long enough! Where’s your boy?”
“He’ll meet us at the bar,” Noah replied. He didn’t add that, upon being asked if he’d like to come golfing, Benji had burst out laughing so hard he’d had tears in his eyes when he finally straightened up. Then he’d realized Noah was serious and laughed even harder.
I don’t care how much money I have, Benji said. I’d rather kill myself than play one match.
They’re called rounds, Noah had said helpfully. Or loops.
Benji had scoffed in his face. So now he was waiting back at the bar, sipping exotic drinks he’d seen in movies. Most of which the bartender had recognized, some of which he’d had to look up and then inform Benji that they were fictional.
Desmond jogged over, his golf club resting easily over his shoulder. “Hoo! Great day for it, huh?”
“You bet,” Noah said, squinting up at the hottest summer day they’d had so far. He hated golf in regular weather, let alone when it made his shirt stick to him. He didn’t even have Benji here to watch him sweat.
Desmond led him over to the next ball. “Let’s see if you’ve gotten any better since college.”
“Still good enough to kick your ass, Des.” Noah lined up the club and swung. The ball went sailing into the green, rolling to a stop a few inches away from the distant hole.
Desmond whistled. “Okay. Son of a bitch still has it.”
Noah stepped back to let him get the next one. He’d usually ease into a conversation like this, but he was getting impatient.
“So,” he said as Desmond placed another ball on the tee. “What do you think? Has he got a case?”
“Huh?” Desmond glanced over, like he was more focused on golf than the pressing matter Noah was paying him a fortune to fix.
“Oh, right. Noah, you have nothing to worry about. Dress up a pig, it still rolls in the mud. You dig for five seconds, and you see the guy’s story is full of holes. That kid—I mean, your guy—”
“Benji,” Noah supplied.
“Benji,” Desmond repeated, taking a few practice swings as he examined the target in the distance.
“Yeah, Benji’s a little volatile. Hard for the public to like.
But compared to his pops, he’s a fucking saint.
Sure, Chet hasn’t been to prison, but the amount of times he’s been arrested?
I don’t know why they picked this guy to be their spokesperson to turn the public against Benji, but whoever picked him majorly screwed up. ”
“Or they were desperate,” Noah said darkly. “And Chet was all too happy to play whatever part they wanted.”
Desmond gave him a curious look. “You really think someone’s trying to ruin your boy’s reputation?”
“I do.”
Desmond hummed thoughtfully. He had tried to pry earlier, but he’d backed off when Noah laid down the law. That didn’t mean he didn’t have theories. Noah could tell how much he wanted the whole juicy story.
“To ruin him,” Desmond said. “Or ruin you?”
Noah gave him a look. To anyone else, it would seem perfectly pleasant. But Desmond knew him well enough from his college days to know that it meant that it was time for Desmond to stop talking.
Desmond shrugged and swung the club. The ball went sailing, rolling past Noah’s attempt and coming to a stop a dozen meters away from the target.
Desmond sighed and wiped a sweaty forearm over his forehead. “That bar is sounding pretty sweet right about now. Raincheck?”
“You read my mind,” said Noah, relieved. He'd take any chance he got to shorten these golf games.
They headed to the golf cart, Desmond handing his clubs off to the caddy.
“Congrats,” Desmond said as they climbed into the backseat. “Always knew you’d end up in that CEO seat eventually. Always thought it’d be after Mikey died. But nope, he's leaving. What’s that about?”
“You read the papers. He decided to step down.”
Desmond clicked his tongue. “Sure. Mikey always did seem the type to give up all his power with no incentive.”
Noah tried not to smirk. He had forgotten how fun it could be to verbally spar with this guy.
“You haven’t seen him in a long time,” he reminded Desmond as the golf cart careened toward the bar. “Maybe he changed.”
“Who, Mikey?” Desmond smiled, his white teeth flashing in the heat. “No one changes that much.”
Benji was chewing on a pineapple rind when they found him, crouched in a hot, dark booth at the back of the bar. His hair was damp with sweat, and he was rolling an ice cube between his fingers.
Noah watched a drop slide down Benji’s thumb hungrily. They’d had sex this morning, but Benji was all sweaty and rumpled, and it was doing something to him.
“You must be the man of the hour,” Desmond said as he slipped into the booth seat opposite him.
“You must be the guy who’s going to sue the shit out of my dad,” Benji replied.
Noah snorted in amusement as he sat down next to him. Benji looked over at him, annoyed. It was fake, Noah could tell. Benji got squirrely around rich people, and Desmond was no exception.
“I’m the guy who’s going to fix your public image,” Desmond corrected. “Get these vultures off your back.”
“My image,” Benji repeated. He rolled the ice cube down his palm, and Noah had to stop himself from grabbing his hand and sucking the icy drops off.
“Of course. Woo the public, and everyone else will follow.” Desmond leaned back, fixing his collar uncomfortably. The AC was on, but it was blowing in a different direction, and the windows had been flung open, letting in waves of heat.
“They can’t do anything about the sex work rumors,” Desmond continued. He paused, looking over at Noah. “Which is all complete slander, of course.”
“Of course,” Noah said evenly.
Benji kicked him under the table. Noah kicked back, letting his shoe linger on Benji’s lithe calf, gratified when Benji’s breath hitched. If Benji wanted to tease him with that ice cube, he would tease him right back.
Actually…
Noah pointed at his finished drink. “Pass me that, babe?”
Benji pushed it over. It was full of ice cubes, condensation beading on the glass.
“Thanks.” Noah took a handful of ice cubes. Most of them went into his mouth, cool and icy as they crunched between his teeth. But he kept one, dragging it absentmindedly over his lower lip.
“You were saying?” he asked Desmond.
Desmond hesitated. Only for a split second, but long enough to let Noah know that he’d picked up on whatever was happening on the other side of this table, and he wasn’t going to ask about it.
“We need to shut this guy down, obviously,” Desmond said. “But the best way to do that is undermine him completely. Turn the tables, show them Benji’s a little saint and daddy dearest is a—”
“Fuckhead,” Benji said, tearing his gaze away from Noah’s gleaming mouth.
“I like your energy. But this is what I’m talking about when I say public perception,” Desmond explained. “You can come across as a bit… prickly. Which is great! But it makes it harder for people to get on board. People like… meek. Personable.”
“The typical sugar baby,” Benji muttered.
“I didn’t hear that,” Desmond said.
Benji was still frowning. Noah slid his shoe higher up Benji’s shin, then he placed the ice cube between his teeth and sucked.
“I don’t—” Benji paused, obviously struggling not to look at Noah. His pupils were bigger, a line of sweat beading on his hairline. His own ice cube was gone, melting down his wrist.
Desmond raised his brows. “You were saying?”
“Right,” Benji said hastily. He swiped his sweaty hair out of his face, his cheeks going even redder than usual.
Noah frowned. “Are you okay? You’re a little flushed.”
Benji glared at him. Noah gave him his best innocent look and reached under the table to press his hand against Benji’s thigh.
“It’s the heat,” Benji gritted. “It’s boiling in here.”
“I think you need a break,” Noah said. He tucked several ice cubes into his palm and stood. “Come on, the toilets are cooler. One minute, Des.”
“Take all the time you need,” Desmond said, averting his eyes with a smug smirk. “I need a drink.”
Benji was on him before the bathroom door closed behind them.
“You’re such a dick,” he panted. “Quit getting me hard in public places, jackass.”
Noah grinned against his mouth and ground against Benji’s hard cock, which was straining against the shorts Benji let him buy for him several days prior.
“I don’t know,” Noah mused. “You don’t seem that angry.”
Benji’s frustrated retort trailed off in a desperate moan as Noah held up the melting ice cubes and trailed them down his sweaty neck.
“Shit.” Benji shuddered.
Noah licked up the icy trail. “Good? Bad?”
Benji squinted up at the ceiling, his head thrown back to allow Noah more access to his neck. “Can’t tell. Try again.”
Noah repeated the process: melting ice, followed by a broad stripe of tongue.
Benji sighed happily. “Only if you do that after.”
Noah got on his knees and pushed Benji’s shirt up to his nipples. The bathroom tile hadn’t been cleaned as recently as he would like, but it was hard to care with ice melting down Benji’s soft stomach, his skin shivering against Noah’s mouth.
“God.” Benji’s hair was a mess against the wall, head thrashing. “Can I come? Please let me come, you didn’t let me this morning.”
Noah mouthed at the icy line he’d trailed over Benji’s hipbone, considering.
Benji was so hard that there was a wet spot forming on his straining shorts.
He did want to let him come; god knew he deserved it.
But there was something so delicious about knowing Benji was so desperate for it and had been denied again.
That he wouldn’t touch himself, even with how badly he wanted it. Because Noah told him not to.
“Not yet,” Noah said into his skin.
Benji groaned, head thunking back against the wall. “Bastard.”
“Ah-ah.” Noah stood, rolling the last ice cube in his fingers. It was almost gone. He took Benji’s jaw and pried it open, marveling at how easily Benji let him do it. Then he placed the ice cube on Benji’s tongue.
“Suck,” he ordered. “Don’t swallow.”
Benji obeyed, his pupils huge and glassy as he stared at him.
“Good,” Noah said softly. He kissed Benji, slow and deep, tongue catching the last traces of the ice cube as it dissolved between them.
Noah wiped a cooling line of sweat off Benji’s brow. It really was cooler in here, with the bathroom being smaller and the AC more powerful.
“You alright to head back out there?” he asked, pulling Benji’s shirt back down.
Benji snorted, looking down at their raging erections. “Give me a minute, man. I just got ravaged, and I didn’t even get to come about it.”
Noah nodded and pulled Benji’s damp forehead onto his shoulder. Benji clung to his shirt, and Noah hoped that this golf course had made good on their promise not to let any paparazzi on the premises. They would come out of this bathroom looking like they just fucked over the sinks.
Noah kissed Benji’s curls. “Are you sure you don’t need to safeword?”
Benji shook his head. His fingers tightened in Noah’s shirt, rumpling it horribly. Noah hoped he left sweat prints.
“No,” Benji said. “Just… stay here.”
Noah stayed. By the time they were decent enough to head back out, they were almost cool.
Desmond had several buttons undone by the time they got back. There were two empty glasses in front of him, both with the same pineapple wedges as Benji.
“Hey,” Desmond said as they sat down. “Bartender said you’d been ordering a bunch of weird drinks. These blue ones are really nice.”
“I know,” Benji said.
Desmond chewed the last of a pineapple rind and stuck it into an empty glass. “Anyway, as I was saying. We need the public to see you guys as a big ol’ love match. And a crucial part of that is changing their perception of Benji. You can start with interviews—”
Benji cut him off. “I don’t want to be a public figure.”
Desmond looked at Noah. Noah stared impassively back at him.
“Oookay,” Desmond said. “Fine. We can make up some wholesome shit for Noah to say in his interviews. And you can get strategically papped doing cute things as a couple.”
“Cute things,” Benji repeated. “Like… what? Farmers’ markets?”
“Things that people can root for,” Desmond said. “Things that let them know you’re serious, and they should like you.”
“Like what?” Benji asked.
“Farmers’ markets aren’t a terrible idea. We could get you two volunteering together, or doing something schmaltzy the people can coo over.” Desmond paused, and for a horrible, thrilling second, Noah knew exactly what he was going to say.
“Or,” Desmond continued. “You know. You could get married.”