Chapter 10
TEN
Benny knew he had gone viral after a Google search had showed him several articles telling him exactly that.
#TheOneWhoSaidNothing was trending on social media with thoughts, quotes, and relatable me-toos from the blog.
Though most people seemed to have been focused on the whole Guy aspect more than the rest. Hundreds of comments had users admitting that they too had someone like Guy in their lives.
Someone they liked or loved but never said a word to or about.
When some of those hundreds started to slide into his DMs with encouraging words and stories, a few others started to slide in with their own form of trying to connect.
Benny had stopped checking his inboxes after the tenth dick pic.
Then it was the people from his real life, suddenly risen from obscurity, who tried to become close all at once.
From Raphael at the catering company to Nancy, the neighbor down the hall who sometimes had her mail sent to Benny's mailbox on accident, to a customer at the florist shop who had been alerted to Benny's sudden internet fame by his granddaughter.
Everyone in his Nashville circle had suddenly become interested.
When the listicles started—his least favorite had been “Ten Times I Truly Wouldn’t Have Said Anything”—Benny had decided to stay off of the internet altogether.
The phone calls and texts had come next.
And when his ex-boyfriend, Lyle, had shown up at his door wanting to know why he was barely mentioned in the blog?
That's when Benny had left the city.
It was either lose himself on purpose, back in his hometown, or lose his damn mind.
He'd told Mrs. Baker and Raphael that he would be back in time to work the Saunders' wedding but, if they needed him before that?
Well, maybe try not to?
Because Benny now had a dislike-hate relationship with his phone.
It buzzed, chirped, or lit up, and he automatically worried the internet had somehow gotten a hold of his porn search history.
It was gut-twisting anxiety at the worst of times, eyes-wide panic during the rest.
So, when his phone vibrated in his pocket between Jack’s truck and the curb outside of Roger Norman’s front porch, Benny’s already-high anxiety nearly made him throw it instead of check it.
Instead, he took a breath and tried to be momentarily brave.
He had already survived Jack the Beanstalk and his little washcloth.
Surely nothing else could topple him today.
Benny slowed his steps until he read the caller ID.
He reached out to tug on Jack’s shirt.
“Hey, wait a second,” he said. “I need to take this call.”
Jack said something but Benny was already dancing backwards to the driveway.
In all the huff and gruff of the last few days, he’d only talked to his best friend twice. That was mostly on him, partly on Ethan being swamped by the festival prep. Now, though, seemed an odd time to reach out.
“What's wrong?” Benny answered, immediately worried. “Are you okay? Aren’t you in class? What’s—”
“The mayor wants to talk to you.” Ethan always knew when to interrupt to stop a Benny spiral.
His tactic this time, however, was strange.
Benny blinked at the concrete.
“Say again?”
Ethan was whispering. It was probably nap time for his kindergarteners.
“The mayor wants to see you. He pulled me out of class just now to tell me so.”
“He pulled you out of class?” Benny asked, matching his whisper.
“Yeah. I thought I was in trouble somehow but, nope, he wanted you.”
Benny’s panic meter rose a level. He had never been in trouble with an authority figure before. Certainly not an elected official.
“How am I in trouble? I don’t even live here anymore!”
“You’re not in trouble. Apparently he wants to talk about officially sponsoring the kickoff party at Cassidy's. Good optics for him, I suppose. He gave me his card to give to you.”
Oh.
So he wasn’t in trouble.
“Why not come to me instead?” he asked, panic lowering.
“He said he tried to swing by your place earlier and ask, but no one was home. Wait—” Suspicion sprung up into Ethan's voice as quickly as the grumpiness had lit across Jack's face at being left alone on Roger's front porch. “What have you been up to all day if you’re not home? Or did you just not answer because you were writing a new blog post that Rizzie wants?”
Benny turned to the sound of the front door opening.
Roger Norman.
And Jack.
Alone.
Together.
“Just running around, prepping for the festival,” he hurried. “Jack and I are actually seeing a man about a boat right now, so I gotta let you go.”
“Seeing a man about a boat. Is that some kind of sex euphemism?”
Benny didn’t have time to heat at that.
“No, it’s not a sex euphemism. We’re— Wait, what would that even mean if it was one?”
Roger and Jack turned to Benny, who gave an I’ll be over there in a sec wave.
“I don't know,” Ethan responded. “Maybe the boat is a penis?”
“Why would we need to see Roger for that? Do we want to see his penis?”
“Maybe the boat represents the idea of sex instead?”
“So we're going to see another man about the two of us having sex?”
Ethan groaned.
“Dammit, man. I just called to let you know the mayor wants a piece of you. I'll text you the number, but I have to go now. Dante just woke up and I have two point five seconds to get him to the potty before both of our afternoons are ruined.”
The call ended in a laugh from Benny.
The sound drew Jack's and Roger's attention back to him.
Roger wasn’t a bad guy, but Benny wasn’t sure he’d be the one he’d come to for help when he wanted to have sex with Jack.
Because you don’t want to have sex with Jack, Benny quickly mentally amended.
But you’re thinking about it, his own thoughts shot right on back.
Benny didn’t give the too-familiar heat any time to sprout in his cheeks before he was standing with his hand out to Roger with a smile.
“Hey, Benny. Long time,” the man greeted. He grinned. “I heard you've been setting the internet on fire lately.”
“I guess someone has to do it,” Benny joked. “I just wish it was under less embarrassing terms.”
Benny gave Jack a quick, questioning look. The bartender seemed more tense than normal. Annoyed? He was smiling, sure, but it wasn’t a Jack special.
When he caught his eye, he explained what Benny had missed.
“So, I told Roger here about Ms. Peggy referring us to him for his boat and he says he's game. But, wouldn't you know it, there's a catch.”
Ah. There it is.
Benny turned to Roger.
“A catch?”
Roger held his hand up, phone with it, to explain.
“Not a catch, really, more like I need a favor first.”
“A favor,” Benny repeated.
“Aren’t we here because Ms. Peggy called in something you owed her?” Jack asked.
Roger was sheepish with it, at least.
“Yeah, she did—that’s the boat thing. But listen, before you take it, I’m desperate. Zelda is due in three weeks and I'm swamped with work because of the festival and, well, the boat is all yours for however long you want it, if you help me with something first.”
His smile turned truly apologetic.
Benny’s panic meter rose once again.
“Okay, so what's the favor, then?”
* * *
Jack had a handful of Benny’s ass, a mouthful of wood, and was questioning a lot of his choices.
The wood was from the handle of the paintbrush they had just found in Callum De Carlo’s garage.
Jack slightly regretted not just dropping the thing when Benny asked for a boost, so into his mouth it went, just like the flashlight usually did when he was working under the hood of his truck.
But this wasn’t him working on a truck. This was him now grunting around the old, weird-tasting wood, in someone else’s home. A product of his own making.
The ass was less of a bad decision and more of a consequence of one.
It belonged to Benny. Because of course the shorter man needed a box tucked to the back of a high shelf. And the only way to reach the box was to get a boost from Jack.
A boost that required two full hands of compact-cute cheeks for the best stability.
Could he have done that by interlocking his fingers and letting Benny step into them instead? Maybe. But using his hands as a chair was a lot easier to control.
At least physically.
Mentally?
Well, Benny might have been compact, but his ass definitely had some curve.
The word juicy came to mind.
And juicy was rarely a bad thing.
Though that didn’t mean Jack wasn’t frustrated as hell at the reason why that juicy ass was in his hands in the first place.
Why was he standing in Callum's garage trying to get a box of painter's tape, a pan, and a roller?
Because the favor they'd been asked to do by Roger Norman was to paint his future kid's nursery.
Manual labor outside for the craft hoarder, manual labor inside for the boat holder.
“I—I got it!”
The guy wiggled like a drunk on the dance floor. Jack lowered him and the box he was holding. Benny wasn’t a heavy guy, but Jack felt some pride in being able to maintain his hold. He wondered what other positions he could hold when the smell of something citrusy caught his nose.
“Wha—Wha ith at?”
Benny turned, steady on the ground, and reached directly for the paintbrush.
His finger grazed the skin of Jack’s cheek as he took the brush out of his mouth.
It was a very interesting feeling.
One he didn’t have the time to linger on.
“Repeat that, please.”
Jack motioned to Benny’s hair.
“That’s the second time I’ve smelled you and I want to know what it is.”
Benny’s eyes widened.
“The second time you’ve smelled me?” he repeated, clearly alarmed. “I smell?”
Jack reached for the box, worried it would go overboard with the captain.
“No, I mean yeah, but you smell good. Like fruit? Oranges or something.”
Relief flooded Benny’s face and spilled out into a light laugh.
“Oh, thank God. It’s my shampoo. Uh, Citrus Chime? One of the grooms I worked a wedding for a few years ago told me about it. It’s a salon-only brand and—to be honest, very expensive—but one I just can’t move on from.”