Chapter 7 Ben
seven
Ben
God, this building is cold. Although I guess it has to be, since it’s a building with a sheet of ice in it.
Following the directions from the man I spoke with, George, I head to the basement of the arena. If I thought it was cold upstairs, it’s worse in the basement. The unholy racket from the cooling systems, random floating cobwebs and low-hanging ductwork throw massive horror flick vibes.
But apparently, the room for sweater repairs and now beaver costumes is down here. Like a fucking spy, George insisted I come after the players were gone and it was unlikely anyone would notice me. He’s all in with the secret identity thing, so I just agreed with it.
Finally arriving at the door with the poster of an old-time hockey player missing teeth on it, I push it open.
Inside a giant sewing machine sits in the middle of the room, and the man, who I assume is George, sits up. His white hair puffs up in haste to greet me, and he lets the reading glasses hang around his neck on a chain.
“Good, you found it okay!” He offers me a hand to shake.
“I did. Thanks for meeting me. I’m Ben.”
“George. Now what can I do for you?”
Yesterday I spent a few hours in the suit at my studio. Any kind of move I could think of, I tried and made notes. If Christine wants me to succeed, I need drastic changes to this thing.
“Well, the first, and maybe the easiest one, is the tail. It’s too big if they want any kind of tumbling or circus stuff. Can you make it floppier and add a hook so I can keep it out of the way?”
George lays out the costume on a nearby table, inspecting what he has to work with.
“I can remake the tail with something softer and lose the stiffness. I’ll sew a snap right onto the top of the suit here.” He smooths the area around the waist. “Or what if I make it removable? I can make a line of snaps along the waist, and you can just take it off?”
“Taking it off would be safer. I was told I had free rein to do what I wanted with adjustments. Let’s do that.” I can work it into the show somehow when I lose the tail, so kids don’t freak out.
“Okay.” He grabs a pen and paper, making his notes. “What else?”
“This one is a lot harder. But you said you’re the best, and I’m asking if this can happen.” Pulling out the giant beaver head, I thrust it at him. “Is it possible to make a new head?”
“I suppose it depends on what you need.”
“Okay, so…I’m a former circus performer. There’s a level of expectation for me to do some kind of acrobatic routine, and this head is…well, it’s too big.”
We both stare at the giant set of vacant eyes on the head with big buck teeth just hanging there, and honestly, if I were a kid, it would scare the fuck out of me.
“Could you make something more like a mask? Maybe it covers my face like Spiderman or something? I’d need mesh over the mouth, of course, to breathe. I just don’t know how they expect me to do anything with a head that big other than walk around in it.”
George nods and rubs his hands over the costume beaver head.
“Most mascots, that’s all they do—walk around the crowd. You have other plans then?”
“Oh yeah. Lots of them, and if they want a show for families, I can’t do it with that. Trust me, I tried.”
And I hit the wall multiple times. Fell over, and once my head even hit the floor before my hands did. So it wasn’t good.
“So you need more of a hood, maybe?”
“Or a pull on? I know I’m supposed to hide my identity, but anyone can walk around with a beaver head like that and schmooze the crowd. I’m supposed to wow them.”
George nods as he rubs the beaver head again while his bushy brows furrow in thought.
“I have an idea, but it will take me a few days. Leave it with me and I’ll call you?”
“Of course. But I need it for an appearance at a rally this weekend. So that’s only a few days.”
“I’m not the best for nothing, son.” He winks at me with a gruff laugh. “I’ll have it ready.”
And what else can I do other than trust him he’ll do as he says?
After finding my way back out of the basement and into the darkness of the night, I pull out my phone and hover over Lukas’s contact. We exchanged numbers and have yet to even text each other.
Instead, he shows up at my studio twice unannounced.
Biting my lip, I take the plunge and text him, not for sex but for food first, with the hope of sex to come after.
Ben: I know this is short notice, but I’m hoping to stop by that hot dog cart we never got to try tonight. You really should try it.
I get in my car, hoping the cart is still open this late, and my phone chimes with a message.
Lukas: I could eat. Meet you at the studio?
Ben: Sounds good. I’ll be there in about thirty mins.
Lukas responds with a simple ‘K,’ and I point my car towards downtown and my studio. I should think about what type of hotdog I want to eat and not if I should change into another pair of skimpy underwear before he arrives.
But that’s what I’m doing. Mentally going through the clean clothes at the studio and wondering if I have the leopard print jockstrap there or not. Rarely do I think about sex over food. Okay, no, that’s a lie I’m telling myself.
Sex is always what I think about. It’s only moved down the list when hunger shouts at me to eat first, then fuck. I’m pretty sure there’s a model of basic needs where sex shouldn’t rank over food, but I’ve never been one to follow rules and expectations.
Even the rules surrounding basic survival, apparently.
After parking in my space at the studio, I’m jogging to the door, intent on going commando if the leopard print isn’t here when I almost run into Lukas standing there.
“How did you get here so fast?” Lukas turns his head, and the street lighting catches his profile. “Shit, Lukas, are you okay?”
The skin around his eye is purple and swollen, and I reach to touch it but pull my hand back.
“Oh yeah. Just another day at the office.” He laughs, but I don’t think it’s funny.
“Um…come on in. I have something that might help.”
He remains quiet but follows me into the studio. After I disarm the security system, I flip on the light. Lukas winces, and I immediately turn it off and lead him to the office, where I flick on a lamp instead.
“I thought we were going for hot dogs.”
“We were until you showed up looking like you just fought with the heavyweight champion.” I turn to the mini-fridge tucked in the corner and remove a bag of oats I keep chilled for when I hurt myself. “I use this when I get a nasty bruise with routines. It’s better than an ice pack.”
Lukas doesn’t move to take it from my hands. Instead, he widens his legs after sitting on the chair, allowing me to step between them. Gently, I place the bag against his bruised face, and he puffs a quick breath. “Thank you.”
He sounds…surprised. Maybe I’m just projecting my feelings onto him, but I’m surprised, too.
If he were a fellow circus performer, I’d toss them the bag and go about my day while they tended to themselves.
Why I didn’t just shove the bag into his hand isn’t something I want to pick apart right now, either.
“We can still get the hot dog, you know. It’s just a bruise.” Lukas’s hands land on my hips, and my heart rate quickens.
“I can order something in here if you’re not up to it.”
He lifts his gaze to mine, and it’s such a puppy-dog look I want to curl in his lap and assure him everything is okay. Which is…different. I’m not a big nurturer, like, at all, and yet I want to make Lukas feel better.
His lips tilt in a soft smile. “Be careful, Ben. Sounds like you like me.”
“Am I not allowed to care if you’re hurt? If you want to go to the cart, we need—”
Lukas’s hand covers my mouth. “I’m fine. This isn’t the first time I’ve had a black eye. I appreciate your concern, but in full honesty…I accepted your invitation because I wanted to see you. No other reason.”
He removes his hand and runs a finger from my collarbone to my belly button.
“Wanted to see me naked, you mean?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Well…if you’re offering. You had a meeting to get to last time.” Lukas’s gaze meets mine, and even with the bruising on his face, lust burns in his hazel eyes. “I really liked the private show.”
Am I hungry? Yes.
Am I ready to strip for this man and have his hands all over me until we come so hard we can’t see? Also yes.
Lukas takes the cold pack from his face and tosses it aside while spreading his legs farther apart.
In the dim light, his scar and bruises don’t glare, and he emits a soft danger.
Like he’s a man you don’t want to cross, but he will absolutely stop at the store on his way home just because you mentioned you were in the mood for ice cream.
He doesn’t need to be erect for me to notice the bulge in his pants either.
With a step backwards, I glance around my small office. With Lukas sitting I can totally make this work.
“Okay. Private show it is.”
His answering smile is both joyful and sinister, and I swear to god, I might self-combust with the heat in his gaze as he licks his lips and adjusts himself in the chair.
Scrolling through my playlist, I find a track I love that’s perfect for a slow yoga routine that’s about to get sexed up.
“You said you wanted to take a yoga class, right?”
“Yeah.” He swallows hard, and my gaze lands on his throat. It’s a sexy throat. The whole man is pure sex, and I have to remind myself to stop thinking about licking his neck and get to the show he requested.
“Well, this is about to get X-rated, so prepare yourself.”
He sucks in a breath as I remove my clothes until only my tight boy-short underwear remain.
“Do you ever wear anything under your clothes that covers your ass?”
“My clothes cover my ass. Why should my underwear do that too?” Lukas shakes his head with a huff. “If you weren’t already here before me, I had plans to wear a super sexy leopard print jockstrap.”
“Next time.” His hands move to his crotch as he squeezes himself through his jeans. “Show me, Ben. Show me how you make yoga X-rated.”