Chapter 5
Benji charged into the lobby, shaking with rage.
“Benjamin,” Noah called after him. He paused to hold open the door for an elderly lady, shooting her a distracted smile that Benji wished he could be mad at. Why did Noah have to be so goddamn decent all the time?
“I’m fine,” Benji called back, stalking into the elevator. “Stop coddling me. Everything’s fine.”
Noah followed him into the elevator. “You hardly said a word in the car.”
“I don’t have to talk every second of every day, Noah!
” Benji stabbed their floor number and then the Close Doors button, his mind bubbling with all the thoughts he hadn’t wanted to say on the drive home.
Then the doors slid closed, and he realized that he was, yet again, trapped in an enclosed space with the guy he wanted to yell at.
And Noah wasn’t leaving it alone anymore.
“Benji,” Noah said.
Benji whirled on him. “Did you put him up to this?”
“No, of course not.”
“Are you…” Benji swallowed, stepping back until his back hit the wall. “Are you not letting me come to punish me for not saying yes?”
Noah stared at him, appalled. “No.”
Benji sagged against the wall. He hadn’t seriously believed it, but he still had to ask. That stubborn little voice was still in the back of his head, hissing that everything was gonna go wrong and he had to get ahead of it before it crushed him.
“I’m not marrying you for a PR stunt,” Benji said. “I’m—I’m not—”
He faltered. He couldn’t say it. Especially not with Noah looking at him like that, hiding his hurt under that faux-impassive expression.
“We haven’t even known each other for a year,” Benji burst out. “Are you crazy? I could be anybody!”
“But you’re not.” Noah stepped toward him and then stopped, hands clenching at his sides. Holding himself back, Benji realized. He didn’t want to be too much, even if Benji could see every part of him screaming to grab Benji’s face and kiss him senseless.
“You’re Benjamin,” Noah continued. “You’re mine. You’re sweet, and you’re protective of your brother, and your friends, and your soft heart. I know I ambushed you with it, but—”
“Oh god, please don’t propose again.” Benji stared up at the ceiling, eyes burning with furious tears.
If Noah kept up this romantic speech right now, he would lose it.
With tears or with a temper tantrum, he didn’t know.
And if Noah told him to say yes, Benji didn’t know if he had the strength to say no.
“I’m not,” Noah said, too fast. “I just… want you to think about it. I think we could have a really beautiful life together.”
“You said you weren’t doing it,” Benji warned.
“I’m not,” Noah repeated.
Benji nodded, eyes still burning. “Good. Because I’m still— I’m not saying no. But I’m not saying yes. Okay? I can’t say anything right now.”
“Got it,” Noah said quietly.
The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open onto their floor.
Benji strode out. He wanted so badly to turn around, to reassure Noah that he still loved him, that he was just scared. But the fear was so big, and it felt easier to call it anger than stop and deal with it.
A voice rang down the hallway. “Excuse me! Mister Artiste!”
Benji turned around. An elderly woman was climbing out of the elevator next to them, smiling genially. She looked familiar, but Benji couldn’t figure out why.
“Mrs. Presley,” Noah said. “I didn’t know you were coming by.”
“In the olden days, we would all just ‘drop around.’ You should try it.” Mrs. Presley slowed, her smile dimming as she took in Benji’s guarded posture. “Is this a bad time?”
“No,” said Benji and Noah as one.
Noah looked pointedly at Benji.
Mister Artiste, she had said. She was here for him.
Noah set them up in the main living room.
Mrs. Presley perched on the couch like she belonged there. She looked like she had walked out of a fashion magazine, all elegance and grace and giant sunglasses that somehow didn’t look stupid.
“I’ll get you something to drink,” Noah said. “Sparkling water?”
“You know what I like.” Mrs. Presley said.
Noah looked over at Benji.
“You know what I like,” said Benji flatly.
Noah nodded, his mouth twitching. Benji liked tap water. Once, Noah had accidentally brought him sparkling water, and he’d spat it all over the table.
Mrs. Presley watched Noah head out of the room and turned to Benji, smiling warmly.
“It’s good to get a proper introduction,” she said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Benji cringed. He hoped she meant Noah and not the gossip sites.
“Is there something wrong?” Benji asked cautiously. “Noah said you were thinking of, uh, buying my… thing.”
“Your painting, yes.” She rocked forward and slapped his knee with such energy that he jumped.
That was a lot more enthusiastic than he had expected from a woman so frail.
“Stop looking like I’m going to make you drink your paint water!
Noah mentioned you weren’t used to the high art life; he didn’t say you were so squirrely. There’s no trouble! Relax!”
“I’m relaxed,” Benji argued. He forced his shoulders down and pulled up a stiff smile.
She laughed. “You look like I’m going to eat you! At ease, young man. My dentures aren’t that good.”
Benji expected to feel patronized, but surprisingly, it actually made Benji relax.
Usually, people in Noah’s high-society circle put him on edge with their unrelenting glibness.
But despite all her elegant trappings and posh accent and her habit of ridiculously overspending on art, Mrs. Presley seemed surprisingly down to earth.
Like that “new money” lady in Titanic who gave Leonardo DiCaprio a tux.
Maybe that was why she had that thrift store painting Noah had mentioned—she wasn’t used to all this wealth. Just like Benji.
“That’s more like it,” Mrs. Presley said when his smile turned more solid. “So! You’re the young man behind that wonderful piece I saw the other night.”
“That’s me,” Benji said.
She clapped. “Well! I must say, it blew me away. I can’t use all that fancy-pants language they teach you folk at art school, but I know gorgeous when I see it. The vulnerability in their poses, and the colors—mwah!”
Benji twisted his hands in his lap, uncomfortable and flattered. He never knew how to respond to compliments. Especially about his work, which was so personal since he met Noah.
“Thanks,” he said. “So… is that why you’re here? To thank me?”
“In part. I—” Mrs. Presley cut off with a satisfied gasp when Noah came back into the room with a tray of drinks.
“I love a man who delivers his own drinks,” she announced. “There is nothing less appealing than a man who never lifts a finger in his own house. Don’t get me wrong, I love my maid. But my husband can pour his own damn bottle!”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Noah said. He sat down next to Benji, squeezing his leg. “So, what do we owe the pleasure?”
“I was just about to tell Benjamin,” Mrs. Presley said, adjusting her giant sunglasses. She turned back to Benjamin. “I’ve fallen in love with your painting. I want you to make me more. How does ninety thousand per painting sound?”
Benji’s stomach lurched. His heart slammed into overdrive as he contemplated that amount of money.
Noah squeezed his leg. The pressure dragged Benji back into the moment, and he looked over to find Noah watching him steadily. Not letting Benji freak out, like always.
Benji blew out a shaky breath. “I’d say… ninety thousand? That's a lot. What if you don’t like it?”
“Then paint me another one.” Mrs. Presley sipped her sparkling water, smacking her lips with an approving noise.
“I read this history book about the olden days, rich patrons used to have their pet artists whose lifestyle they funded. That’s how we invented the helicopter! Leonardo Da Vinci had a patron.”
That didn’t sound right, timeline-wise. But Benji was too busy reeling to correct her.
“Not that you’d be my pet,” Mrs. Presley said, laughing. “You seem to be doing perfectly well for yourself! Noah’s always been a very generous man. I’m sure he’s buying you everything you want—and even some things you don’t want!”
Benji’s hands clenched against his legs. If he had money independent from Noah… he didn’t need to worry about Noah leaving. He could make a life without him if he needed to.
A Noah-less life flashed before his eyes. Before, it had always been penny-pinching, wondering when the money would run out. Now it looked completely different. He could still send Max off to college, still buy a nice house, still spend time on his art. Still… live.
It felt shockingly empty. What the hell did he want with a nice house if Noah wasn’t in it? Sure, he didn’t want to marry the guy right now. But he wanted to be with him. Picturing a future without him felt wrong in ways he didn’t want to think about.
“I think Benji might need some time to think it over,” Noah said.
Benji blinked. He was sweating. How long had this silence been stretching?
“He’s pretty busy,” Noah continued. “With school and other commitments. You understand.”
“Of course!” Mrs. Presley beamed, and Benji realized something else that set him at ease: one of her teeth was crooked.
Every other rich person he’d met had absolutely perfect teeth.
Her snaggletooth made him feel less self-conscious of his own teeth, which weren’t very snaggly, but could definitely do with a whitening.
Noah walked her to the door. Benji sat motionless on the couch, clutching the tap water Noah had brought him.
Mrs. Presley was offering him what he’d always wanted: security. A backup if Noah left. He expected it to make him feel… safe. He’d spent all this time worrying about what he’d do when things blew up with Noah, and now he had an answer.
It did make him feel safe. A little. But mostly it made him feel like absolute shit.
“Hey,” Noah said as he came back in. He sat down next to him on the couch and plucked the glass out of Benji’s hands. “You going to tell me what’s going on in that head?”
He said it evenly, almost mildly. No gripping Benji’s chin like he might have done. Still thinking of their argument and Benji yelling at him as they came up the elevator.
He thinks I’m going to freak out, Benji thought guiltily. And why shouldn’t he? I keep blowing up at him.
“Benjamin,” Noah said, his voice lower. “Talk to me.”
Benji wanted to deny him. To tell him he wasn’t a wind-up toy, he didn’t talk on command. He even wanted Noah to grab his chin, force him to look his way.
But Noah didn’t. Because he was worried he had pushed too far, again.
Benji tried to come up with a way to make Noah grab his face without asking for it. He settled on dropping his forehead—still tacky with golf course sweat—on his shoulder.
Noah huffed a laugh. His hand came up and brushed Benji’s cheek, far too soft.
“Baby,” he said, full of relief and concern that made Benji ache. Why couldn’t he just be easy? If he could just stop being so scared about everything and give Noah what he wanted, everything would be perfect.
Benji dug his head pointedly into Noah’s shoulder.
Noah’s fingers paused. Slowly, they migrated down to Benji’s chin and squeezed.
Benji sagged with relief as Noah tugged him up, his fingers hard around his jaw.
“Baby,” Noah repeated. “Tell me.”
“I like being yours,” Benji said, slurring around his tight grip. “It’s scary as fuck, but I love it. I don’t mean that like— I’m still not saying yes, y’know, to your crazy thing. But I like…”
He trailed off, wincing. He’d only realized it a minute ago, and the words were still slow and clumsy. He’d been so lost in the fear that he had barely noticed all the desire underneath it.
“I like knowing you bought me these,” Benji said, plucking at his soft shorts.
They’d had to splash water on them before they left the bathroom, to hide the precum stain.
“I like walking around and feeling the clothes on my skin and knowing you got them for me. Makes me feel like yours. If it’s my own money, if I get them— I mean, I want my own money!
Independence, yay! But it’s not the same. ”
He stepped closer. Noah’s grip moved with him, letting Benji close enough to skim their noses together.
“I like wearing what you want,” he mumbled. “Like being what you want. Doing what you want. Like being yours.”
He stopped, holding his breath. He waited for Noah to point out that Benji had ruined every one of those things by turning down his marriage proposal—by not answering his marriage proposal, anyway.
But Noah’s eyes were full of nothing but heat as he pulled Benji closer, his fingers tightening so hard around Benji’s jaw he thought they might bruise.
Noah leaned in, breath ghosting over Benji’s squished mouth.
“Follow me.”