Chapter 10 #2
Beck’s are blue, I think? But I couldn’t tell you about anyone else’s, not even my parents’.
Except for Benji’s. Benji’s were the color of chocolate, flecked with gold and bright despite the deepness of the brown.
Benji’s were expressive, but I was never any good at reading faces, so what those bright eyes conveyed as he looked at me I couldn’t tell you.
I also couldn’t do anything but keep our eyes locked as his hand dropped back to his side.
We stared for over thirty seconds, almost forty, technically, before a number of things happened simultaneously. My coaching from Beck made me think that I needed to say something to break the tension as thirty-four turned to thirty-five, then to thirty-six.
Repeating his motion, I needlessly tucked my hair in again. “Beck keeps pestering me to get it cut,” I shared.
Benji’s No! seemed to mirror the way I had shouted in the lab less than an hour earlier, but before he could elaborate or do anything but blush, my phone rang, his name was called from behind the counter of the food truck, and mine was called from behind Benji’s back.
“Anson Day. Holy fuck, you’re Anson Day!
Dude, I literally just sent my buddy money using your app.
Holy shit! Dude!” The stranger, in a Boston College ball cap, held out his hand to shake, but I focused on pulling out my phone instead.
I knew from the ringtone that it was Beck calling, but I stared at the phone anyway until Benji was at my side with a paper bag in hand.
Benji looked between the guy in the ball cap and me, patted his pants pocket with his free hand, then ran back to the food truck. He returned, waving a marker in my face.
“Sign the man’s ball cap, Anson. We really do need to get back in time for our next meeting.”
The man whipped his hat off and handed it to me.
I may have been slow to accept it, but Benji wagged the pen in my face, and his eyes, those deep-brown eyes that I couldn’t afford to get lost in, went wide.
I signed the cap and handed it back. Benji plucked the marker from me and ran to return it to the food truck.
The fan took a few backwards steps, still shaking his head at me in wonder, before saying, “Thanks, man!” and turning.
I barely heard him. My eyes wandered to see who else might have noticed me in their midst. A handful of people were looking my way, some pointing, some taking pictures, and my heart began to palpitate until a weight on my arm stopped me from spiraling.
“You okay?”
Was I? Since when did I leave the office to walk the city, or visit Boston Commons, or eat street tacos?
I knew the answer to that last one; I’d never had a street taco before.
And since when did I worry about getting lost in a set of eyes, eyes that were somewhat blocked by the reflection of the sun as I tried to make out their expression?
Benji took my hand and dragged me from the sidewalk to the edge of the park.
Swiveling my head around again to see who might be looking, I started, “Benji, I don’t think …”
“I know. I know. And we can take the tacos back to the office. But first I need you to bend down.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Benji’s smile was worth my confused response.
He wrapped his left hand around my right and started to bend from the knee until he could press his right hand in the grassy patch in front of us.
He tugged at me with his other hand until I followed suit and bent next to him.
Only, my hand didn’t land in the grass, it landed on top of his.
Without losing touch, he slid his hand from mine until his was on top, pressing my hand into the earth.
“Touch grass,” he whispered, our faces close.
I knew Benji wanted me to focus on the feel of the grass beneath my palm, but all I could concentrate on was the warmth of his hand atop mine, the tug I felt as if a cord ran from my hand to my heart, and Benji was pulling it tight.
My hair had flopped between our faces, which were so close I could feel his breath, my hair tickling my cheek with each puff.
My phone rang again, and Benji and I rose as the man in the Boston College cap walked behind us as part of a group. As I rose, I watched him tap his friend on the arm. “Get some, Anson Day!”
The friend responded, “Whoa! Younger guy. Get that sugar daddy, curly!” Then louder, “Way to go, Anson!” The group was laughing as they exited the park.
I could sense Benji watching them as was I.
When they were out of sight, we turned to each other, Benji’s cheeks an adorable shade of pink, my phone incessantly ringing in my hand.
I started walking, leaving gawking pedestrians and fresh grass behind as I answered my cell phone.
“Beck.”
Benji followed behind me. As I assumed, Beck was freaking out, wondering where I was.
“I’m just grabbing a bite.”
“At the café?”
“No, the Commons.”
“The Commons? The Boston Commons? You drove to the Boston Commons?”
“No, we walked.” Benji was at my side, and I turned to find him concentrating on my conversation, his flush deepening with the pace of our walk.
“We, of course. Anson …”
“Beck, it’s fine. We’re heading back. We have street tacos.” I smiled at Benji, and he smiled back before lowering his eyes and picking up his pace.
“Street tacos?”
“Let me go so I can keep up with Benji. We can talk quarterly projections or whatever you need when I get back. We’ll be there in a few minutes. You can meet us in my office. I’ll share my tacos.”
“We’re not talking projections in front of your new assistant, Ani. Eat your tacos and get rid of the kid for one day. Anson, we really need to meet.”
“Fine.” I sighed, hanging up the phone.
Benji was a few steps ahead of me, but he slowed down until we were walking shoulder to shoulder when I tucked my phone back in my pocket.
“I’m sorry,” he began.
“For what?”
“I should never have suggested that we do this. Between Beck, who already hates me, and that fanboy, and all those people staring …”
I thought about Benji’s hand in mine as we’d kneeled in the park.
None of the rest of it mattered to me, but of course, to Benji, those were all important factors.
I was the weird guy who couldn’t even manage a walk to the park without it turning sideways, the famous guy who couldn’t figure out how to interact with a fan.
The boss who couldn’t order tacos or even touch grass without someone guiding him.
A grown man whose best friend, he realized, was really more like his keeper.
And perhaps Beck was right to run interference because I didn’t want Benji to see me as any of those things. I just wanted him to see the real me, and that was a dangerous thought.