Five Ben
five
Ben
Ben didn’t want to open his eyes.
The sun was up. He could feel the warmth on his face, see the glow behind his eyelids. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter.
He was cozy and warm beneath the blanket, if a little awkward, his shoulder complaining of the weight of his head, his hand coming up all pins and needles as it woke back up.
His neck definitely didn’t like that he’d fallen asleep sitting up, leaning against the back of the love seat, but he didn’t care.
He didn’t care, because he was here, tucked in with Arya.
Ben smiled to himself. It had been a good night.
Not just the sex (though Arya definitely had masterful hands and a sinful talent for kissing), but just…
being together. Staying up way too late talking.
So long that Ben’s voice had gone hoarse, and his eyelids had drooped, and he wasn’t sure when either of them had fallen asleep, but it didn’t matter, because being together felt right.
Chemistry.
They had chemistry.
They made music together.
It had been so long, Ben had forgotten what it felt like. He and Justin had clicked, yeah, but never with the kind of ease that Ben had just experienced with Arya. Everything felt like a dance with Justin. Every sentence carefully thought out. Every movement deliberate and calculated.
With Arya, things came naturally. They laughed. They touched hands. They kissed.
God, what a kisser.
Ben had been desperate for any warm body to help get Justin off his case, but holy shit, he’d hit the jackpot, hadn’t he?
Arya was smart, thoughtful, driven, kind, sweet, sexy. Everything Ben wanted. He was moving next week, but he could make long distance work. Where did Arya actually live, anyway?
Maybe it was fantasy, maybe it could never work, but they’d never know until they tried.
Ben scratched at his chest and said, “Morning.”
His voice came out all scratchy and sexy. That wasn’t vanity; it was just fact. Every man he’d ever dated had told him his morning voice was sexy. One guy even tried to convince him to go into narrating audiobooks, and if Ben ever needed a career change, maybe he’d give that a try.
He loved the cello too much to seriously consider it, though.
Either way, he knew exactly how his voice worked on other men. “How’d you sleep?” he asked, opening his eyes.
Only to find the other side of the love seat empty.
He blinked, squinted in the morning light, looked around his room.
Arya was gone.
Where the fuck was he?
Ben got up, stretched until his back popped, pulled on a waffle shirt against the morning chill.
Parts of the house—including his room—were over a hundred years old, built before Prohibition, and no matter how much insulation his parents added, no matter how many energy assessments they did, there were still parts that just got fucking cold at night.
Ben put on his house slippers and cracked his door open.
Maybe Arya was in the bathroom. But no, when he crept toward it, the door was wide open, the light off.
The house was quiet. His parents were early risers, up before sunrise, and probably already out in the vineyards, or off into town to run errands.
Ben checked his siblings’ old rooms, too—Nathan’s still full of enology books, Alex’s still covered in old movie posters from her classic cinema phase—but nothing.
He headed downstairs, not bothering to avoid the creaky step, but the kitchen was empty, too.
He even unlocked the door that led to the tasting room and the public parts of the house, but the winery wasn’t open yet, and no one was around.
What the fuck?
He headed for the back door, scanned the parking lot, but there were no cars. Arya’s shoes were missing from the mudroom.
Anger slithered into his gut, soft and warm.
Did Arya fucking ghost him?
Hell. No.
He switched his slippers for a pair of old boots and tramped outside.
Dew coated every surface. Farther into the valley, pockets of fog still lingered, though they were burning off quickly.
The vines were damp. Ben idly wondered if their jizz from last night had sloughed off with the dew, or whether it’d need some rain before it was all the way gone.
Fuck. Arya’s car was missing. When had he left? Had he snuck out as soon as Ben fell asleep? Or had he slept a while, too, woken up, and decided running away was better than taking ten fucking seconds to say goodbye?
His anger crescendoed. What the actual fuck? They were adults. Ben was forty. Arya was almost forty. Ghosting was something you did in your twenties. Thirties, maybe, but it was a dick move. And for Arya to do it now?
Ben had misjudged him.
He’d thought Arya was on his wavelength. Thought they had chemistry.
Thought last night had been the start of something.
But no. It had just been a blip. An orgasm and a conversation, and that was it.
Arya was gone, and Ben was never going to see him again.
Well, fuck that guy.
He hunched his shoulders against the chill and stalked back into the house. He had shit to do.
“Benny?”
Ben pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. He loved his mom, he really, really did, but he couldn’t wait to move and get his uninterrupted practice time back.
He stood, stretched, and went to his door.
“Yeah, Mom?” he asked.
“Are you busy?”
“Just practicing. I’ve got to hit the ground running.”
“Did you talk to Justin last night?”
Ben rolled his eyes.
“Mom—”
“I know, I know, you’re ‘broken up,’ ” she said, making quotation fingers. “But he seemed upset when he left.”
Good, Ben thought. Maybe kissing Arya hadn’t been a total waste, if it had the desired effect.
“We are broken up, Mom. It’s not my responsibility if he’s upset.”
Judy sighed. “I just want you both to be happy.”
“I know, Mom. I am.” At least, he would be, once he could get away from Justin. And from the memory of last night.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. “Sorry, it’s the movers. I’ve gotta take this.”
“Love you, Benny,” she said, pulling him down to kiss his forehead.
“Love you, Mom.”
He closed the door and answered.
“Hello? This is Ben.”
“Hi, Ben, this is Carissa at Eastward Movers. We’re just calling to confirm your truck left this morning and is on its way to Kansas City. It should be on time for delivery Wednesday afternoon.”
“Perfect. Thanks so much.”
Ben confirmed a few more details and slid his phone back into his pocket.
God, he couldn’t wait to get out of here. He loved his parents, but he needed his space.
And he was ready to be rid of Justin for good.
When he’d auditioned for the Kansas City Philharmonic, it had been more of a whim than anything.
He’d lived in the Midwest years ago, when he was at the Detroit Symphony, and he wasn’t eager to experience winter again.
But then he’d gotten the call—a tenure-track position, assistant principal, was his if he wanted it.
It felt like destiny. It felt like a fresh start.
He couldn’t wait.