15. Benji #2
He didn’t move, staring at me as if waiting for permission.
“What did you want to say?” he asked.
I wanted to apologize, to tell him I didn’t know what had come over me, that I hoped he wasn’t mad and had a fun night despite—or maybe because of—everything that happened.
More than that, I wanted to rewind, to pick up right where we’d left off and see how far this would go. But knowing now of the potential risk of getting interrupted again (at a point that wouldn’t be so easy to recover from) made it impossible to even entertain the thought.
“Nothing,” I replied. “Just that my promise still stands to drive you home.” It was the right thing to do, even if it wasn’t what I wanted.
Sam looked at the shirt, then back at me with a smile. He opened his mouth and closed it again—as if he wanted to say ‘thank you,’ but then remembered my outburst about it earlier.
We sat there for a moment, both of us holding the silence, until he eventually nodded and pushed himself to his feet.
The night felt darker than other nights, and the two cars we passed on our way through Red Creek all had their high beams on, blinding me more than usual. The town was as dead as it always is after ten, and somehow, that was a relief.
The radio played a Spanish ballad, and though we hadn’t spoken much in the last five minutes, it wasn’t uncomfortable.
We’d had plenty of moments throughout the evening when we didn’t talk, and none had felt awkward to me.
It was almost as if I could be quiet with Sam around, something most of my friends and family couldn’t stand.
I put on my right blinker to change lanes and glanced over my shoulder to check for cars, but, instead of more high beams, I caught Sam quickly looking away. I couldn’t blame him. If he were the one driving, I would’ve been sneaking glances at him the whole time, too.
We shouldn’t have left my place without acknowledging what had happened. Not because we were two guys, but because you don’t kiss, feel like the whole world finally makes sense, and then just ignore it.
A red light at the end of the street made me slow down.
“Where to?” I asked.
“Um, to the left, now.”
I moved back into the left lane and came to a halt.
Turning toward Sam, I found him already looking at me.
His face was bathed in the red glow of the traffic light, though it turned green almost immediately.
Still, I couldn’t tear my gaze away from him—not from the light in his eyes, his narrow brows, or his lips.
“It’s green,” Sam said, tilting his head.
“I don’t care.”
“Okay?” His eyes twitched to the road ahead for a second, but then right back at me. “Everything alright?”
My head shook automatically. I needed an answer—not next month, not tomorrow, not when we got to his place, but now. Was what we did just a slip-up? A one-time thing? Or was it truly the foretaste of a new me I hadn’t seen coming?
Without thinking, I leaned in, pursing my lips—but he drew back enough to make me pause.
Our eyes locked, his wide open, unsure what to make of me, mine pleading for an answer.
His stare deepened by the second, and just as I was about to retreat, his lips parted and he closed his eyes, giving me the okay to go for it. And I did.
Our tongues greeted each other, like they’d wanted nothing more. His fingers found my right cheek—timid at first, then committing—as if he wanted to make this moment count, show me that he could do this a million times more with me.
My chest grew so light, I could’ve flown him home.
Only when the traffic light turned red again did I peel my lips from his.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just needed to know something.”
“And?” He asked, biting his lower lip. “Any... revelations?”
“I think so.”
“Good ones?”
“Yeah.”
I sat back up, and Sam did the same, fastening his seatbelt.
I focused back on the street, this time not ignoring the green light.
I rolled through the intersection, unable to concentrate.
His taste still lingered on my lips, making me want to savor it over and over again.
I peeked at him, and he at me. We both smiled, acknowledging that the answer we’d been looking for didn’t need any words. At least not right now.
“This is my parents' house.” Sam pointed to a red brick house on the right. It was about the same size as my home, but with a garage and a new wooden fence around it. The whole street looked like this. Healthy trees rose from each lawn, stretching over the driveways and giving everything a dreamy touch. I knew that the people living here weren’t rich.
No one in Red Creek really was. But now that I’d come to know Sam better, it no longer drove me mad that he was a little better off than I was.
“We have to turn right at the next stop sign.”
I quietly followed his directions, steering us away from the nice houses and toward the other end of town.
We eventually pulled up in front of a three-story house right beside the post office.
The facade looked like it had recently been given a fresh beige paint job, but it couldn’t hide that whoever owned it was merely maintaining appearances.
The sidewalk leading to the entrance was cracked in places.
Only the stump of a tree remained out front, long dried out from the heat.
Rust had eaten holes in the metal gate, and the two planters on either side of it held nothing but dried soil.
“This is me,” Sam said as I turned off the engine. The radio turned off with it, leaving us sitting there in total silence. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but thank you for driving me.”
“Of course. It’s no problem.” I turned my head toward him, letting it rest against the seat. “If you hadn’t been so stubborn, I would’ve picked you up earlier, too.”
“To be fair, you did pick me up in some sense.” He stifled a smile, winking at me.
I lifted my hands from the wheel without knowing where to put them. For a moment, they hovered in the air, aimlessly, before my left arm dropped against the door and my right—and if I knew why, I would tell you—landed on Sam’s left knee.
His eyes darted to my hand, staring at the unexpected touch, his breathing quickening as his gaze climbed slowly until it met mine.
“I, uh,” I stammered, pulling my hand away and resting it on my own knee instead.
“I just wanted to say that I enjoyed our evening.” It was the best I could come up with, and I could’ve hurled myself in front of a driving car for not thinking of anything better.
“So much so that I wish our night wouldn’t end already. ”
Strangely enough, that made Sam’s chest ease.
“Me too,” he replied.
“Me too, as in: you also enjoyed the night, or... that you wish it wouldn’t end?”
“I mean,” he said, looking at my hand on my knee again, but then shook his head. “No, it’s probably not a good idea.”
“What is not a good idea?”
His breath quivered. He slowly nodded, as if trying to convince himself to say whatever he had on his mind. “Well, if we both don’t want it to end... I could show you my apartment.” He glanced at me. “Not that it would take that long.”
Not taking that long, my ass. Going up there definitely meant more making out, and this time, no one could interrupt us. I probably shouldn’t have agreed, should’ve just said goodbye, gone home, let us both cool down and think about it for a while. But that’s not what I did.
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay?”
“Yeah, fuck, let’s do it. It’s not even midnight.”
A smile spread across his face, one that was genuinely surprised, but in a good way. His eyes blinked heavily, and with a confident nod, he said, “Okay,” again, his right hand already darting to the door handle.
Without needing more convincing, we both unbuckled and climbed out of the car. I went around, opened the trunk, and pulled out his bike. It bounced a little when I put it on the asphalt, Sam’s hand taking over right away.
“It’s tiny, though. My apartment, I mean.”
“At least you don’t still have to live with your parents.”
“Still... don’t expect much.”
I slammed the trunk shut, the thud echoing into the night, and with a quick click of a button, locked the car.
The gate squeaked like it was agony for the metal to be moved as Sam led the way to the back of the house, where a narrow metal staircase climbed to the two top units.
Sam swung the bike onto his shoulders, and though my hands shot forward to help, he didn’t need it.
He carried it with ease up to the third floor.
Without setting it down, he unlocked the door, propped it open with his left hand, and strolled inside.
Only then did I help, reaching past him to hold the door.
“Thanks,” he said. “It’s a bit unhandy, but they don’t want me to leave it downstairs.” He heaved the bike off his shoulders, flicked on the bright white ceiling light, walked inside, and leaned it against the wall to our right.
I stepped over the threshold, and nothing could’ve prepared me for how strongly the whole apartment smelled of him. Within seconds, my body went through every reaction again: the tingling, the head spinning, and the boner.