22. Benji
BENJI
OUT IN THE OPEN
The road to Larkfield, the biggest city in the county, was the most leisurely ride you could wish for when you were driving with your crush.
It ran more or less in a straight line, with only a slight curve here and there, stretching through the never-ending, dust-covered desert.
A few houses clung together every twenty miles, but otherwise the road was quiet enough to drive most of the way with one hand, leaving plenty of room in my head for the person sitting beside me.
About twenty miles out of Red Creek, Sam’s hand settled on my knee. It was just resting there, letting me know he was with me and looking forward to the evening we were about to spend.
“Is that okay?” Sam asked. “Or does it distract you?”
“Whenever you’re around, I’m constantly distracted.” I side-eyed him and stuck out my tongue. “Because you’re so cute.”
“It’s still kinda weird to hear words like that from you,” he said, blushing. “Please, keep saying them.”
On the road before us, a black pick-up hauling an empty horse trailer swerved a little too much for my taste. I steadied the wheel, checking if I could safely pass. The one thing I didn’t need today was a car crash ruining my plans with Sam.
“If you want to hear more compliments, that’ll cost ya,” I joked, flicking on the blinker and easing into the left lane.
“What kind of business model is that supposed to be? I haven’t even paid for this one.”
“First one’s always free. Just enough to get you hooked.”
“That was hardly the first time.”
“First ones ,” I corrected myself. “As in several. Just long enough until you cave and buy the subscription.”
Sam let out one of those bright chuckles he only ever saved for me.
(Really. At work, he often engages in small talk with our colleagues, as we agreed not to spend too much time together at the farm to avoid drawing attention to ourselves.
When he talks with anybody, he laughs and smiles plenty.
But no matter who else made a joke, he never laughed this frisky except when we’re alone—and I can’t deny that I want to keep that for myself.)
“How do you buy a subscription?” Sam asked, squeezing my knee.
“Don’t be a nitpicker, you know what I mean.”
He side-eyed me—a move he learned from me, only that his cheeks glowed far brighter than mine ever did (I hoped)—and let his fingers slide an inch higher on my leg, close enough to slip beneath the hem of my green shorts, but far away enough to play off as an accident if I called him out on it.
“We’ll see if I’ll buy, or subscribe, or stick with the free version. ”
“Free version? There’s no such thing.”
“Because I at least have to pay you in kisses?”
“That’s definitely an accepted currency.”
“ Preferred currency. No need to hide it.”
I shifted back into the right lane, leaving the pickup truck in the rearview mirror, and finally took my right hand off the wheel and laid it on his.
This was exactly how I’d pictured our date. Ever since we found out our time together was limited, I’d tried to make every moment count—and today wouldn’t be an exception. Sam had been grinning all week, buzzing about his first official date; I wasn’t about to let him down.
For days, I’d worked on my outfit, trying different combinations until I landed on the green shorts and a light beige button-up that was easy to slip a hand under.
I ran the numbers to figure out how much of my nest egg we could blow on rides with still having enough left for food and gas.
And, yes, I even did some research about how to get the most out of the one (sexual) thing we still hadn’t done together.
Plus, Larkfield was the perfect choice: the fair’s noise and bustle gave us cover with the rides and food stalls pulling everyone's attention. No one there knew us, and if they did, they’d be too distracted to notice.
As you can see, I put a lot of thought into this.
The only part I hadn’t considered was the two-hour drive, but as we’d just proved, that problem solved itself.
Well, almost. There was still my phone.
I’d strung together a last-minute mess of adapters to hook it to the car so we could listen to something better than the radio.
I picked a pop song Sam had tapped his foot to last week, and created a station, expecting my phone to keep the upbeat vibe going.
So it was beyond me why my phone decided to play the saddest ballad I had ever heard.
The male singer breathed every note so hard it sounded like a cat had crawled its claws into his testicles and was slowly tugging.
Glaring at my phone, I let out a disgruntled noise I shouldn’t have made, because Sam immediately followed my gaze, tilting his head.
“Maybe I should’ve made a playlist instead of trusting my phone,” I said. “Aren’t those algorithms supposed to be smart?”
“Yeah, right? Sometimes they nail it, and sometimes you want to skip every single song.” Sam leaned closer to the screen. “I think there’s an option to only play all-time favorites.”
“Sounds good. Can you just put that on? Or whatever you like?”
He chuckled like I’d made a joke, staring at my phone, then at me, without lifting a finger.
“Problem?” I asked, giving him a side glance before focusing back on the road.
“Wait. Really?”
“Yeah?”
“Wow,” he said, his voice softer than before. “I can’t believe it.”
“Why?”
“Because!” He spread his hands and made a little explosion sound, as if that explained anything.
“Just put on some music, will you? I can’t watch the screen and the street at the same time.”
“Lots of people do. My Dad does it all the time.”
“But it’s not safe. Skipping one song, fine. Digging through the menu for a playlist, nope.” I shook my head, tightening my grip around the wheel. “Mama didn’t raise a reckless driver.”
Sam finally reached down, picking up my phone like it was a treasure chest.
“Come on, it’s just a phone,” I said, not getting why he made such a big deal out of it.
“It’s not just a phone . It’s your phone,” he said, smirking. “First, I need your code, which I will then know forever. Second, what if I decide to look through your photos instead?”
“Oh, so that’s where the wind is blowing.” I shot him a glance. “Code is 987123. And knock yourself out. There’s nothing on there you haven’t seen already.”
“No nudes?”
I bit on my lower lip, as I couldn’t say for sure whether there were any in my photo album or not. “As I said, nothing you haven’t seen already.”
“So there are nudes!”
“Maybe,” I smirked, lifting my chin like I could stretch it to the windshield. “See if you dare to find out. But remember, you’ll have to live with the consequences. What has once been seen cannot be unseen.”
I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the pick-up truck we’d passed five minutes ago, trying to take us over again.
“I’ve seen your dick so often, I will never unsee?—”
And right then, fate decided to crack a joke: a motorcycle shot between me and the truck, doing at least double the speed limit through the gap barely wide enough for it.
I eased off the gas and gripped the wheel tight.
My shoulders jumped to my ears, every muscle tensing.
The bike swerved into my lane, the rider driving like he didn’t give a damn about anyone, not even himself. I slammed the horn.
“Stupid fucker,” I yelled. “What are you doing?”
I slowed down, let the truck pass, though I wanted to scream at him, too, because there was no reason for him to get ahead of us again. The motorcycle had already become a speck at the end of the road, recklessly weaving through the next line of cars.
“See?” I said, shaking my hand at the vanishing dot. “That’s why I don’t look at my phone. Even on a straight road, there’s always someone trying to screw it up for everyone.”
I glanced over and found Sam pressed into his seat, his neck stiff, as if this had been a little too intense.
“Are you okay?” I asked, sliding my hand onto his knee and giving it a squeeze.
“Yeah. Just...” He pointed at his chest, miming his heart racing, then rested his hand on mine.
“Anyway, feel free to look through my photos,” I said, trying to distract him from that little shock. “You might have to scroll, though. Haven’t taken nudes in a while.”
Sam looked back at my phone, tapping for half a minute, his breath evening out. His eyes were fixed as he clicked and swiped like he was tunneling toward the deepest cores of the Pandora’s box that my phone seemed to be.
“Found something?”
“Who knows?” He chuckled mischievously until it snagged in his throat. “I, uh,” He tapped once more, frantically. His head shot up. “Oh no!”
“What?”
“No, I... Benji, I’m sorry?—”
“What is it?”
He took a deep breath, and his exhale trembled like his chest was the epicenter of an earthquake. “You got a couple of texts, and—I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to read them. They popped up when I was about to start the playlist, and I accidentally clicked on them.”
“That’s what you’re freaking out about?” I sighed, letting my head sink against the headrest. “Man, I thought you deleted all my photos or something!”
“No. Still?—”
“Who were they from?” I asked, keeping my voice calm so it would hopefully reach him.
“Gordy. Asking if you’re free tonight.”
“That’s all? Just ignore it. I’ll text him when we arrive.”
It was sweet how he tried to do everything right when just being himself was enough. I patted his leg three times until his shoulders finally eased. He looked so freaking cute in that moment; the urge to kiss him hit me hard, but that would have to wait until we arrived.
“Music?” I reminded him.
“Oh, yeah.”
Five seconds later, a blasting eighties rock song that I used to play on repeat last year filled the car. Sam dropped my phone back into the little nook in the center console, his hands shooting away from it like he’d never touch it again.
“Looks like you found the all-time favorites,” I said.
“Took me long enough.”
“So no snooping at my nudes?”