Twenty Ben #2
“My parents used to call each other that.”
“Oh yeah?” Ben traced his pinky along Arya’s hand, the one holding his wine. Arya was always buzzing, full of energy, except when the topic turned to his parents. Ben hated seeing him that way.
Arya’s own pinky hooked with Ben’s for a second. His face relaxed.
“Anyway. You wanna split some pommes frites? You know I get the friends and family discount.”
“And I don’t?” Ben acted affronted. But of course he didn’t. He was only pretending to date Arya.
Still, the fries here were the best in town. Maybe the best in the world.
He grinned, reached under the bar to squeeze Arya’s leg back.
“That sounds good. Thanks, handsome.”
One bowl of fries turned into two, and by the time those were gone, Aspire had switched over to their late-night menu. Arya ordered some fried chicken bites, and Ben ordered a bowl of macaroni and cheese, and they ended up mixing the two together and sharing.
Arya stuck a cheesy bite in his mouth and swallowed with a sigh, closing his eyes and smiling as he chewed.
“Tastes like middle school,” he sighed.
Ben chuckled. “What’s that mean?”
“You ever have Velveeta Shells and Cheese and hot dogs?”
That sounded… well, kind of heinous and kind of delicious.
“No.”
“Well, whenever I went to a white kid’s house for a group project, that’s what we ate,” Arya said. “The breakfast of champions.”
“No,” Ben said, horrified. For breakfast?
Arya’s eyes twinkled. “Fine, it was dinner.”
Ben raised his hands. “No judgment here. I lived off pizza rolls in middle school.”
Arya closed his eyes again and put his hand over his heart. “What did we ever do to deserve pizza rolls? God, I haven’t had one in… at least a decade. I can’t do junk food anymore.”
He sighed. “I’m eating cleaner than ever, working out harder than ever, and I still can’t stay as trim as I did when I was in my twenties.”
“I hear you.”
But Arya rolled his eyes. “Sure, Mister I Still Have a Six-Pack at Age Forty.”
He lightly swatted at Ben’s stomach.
It wasn’t like Ben was super cut anymore. His abs only showed if the lighting was just right. And if he hadn’t had too much water.
“I’ve always had a fast metabolism,” Ben said. “Just lucky genetics, I guess.”
“He’s always had that going for him,” Justin said out of nowhere. Ben jumped, barely catching his wineglass before it spilled all over Arya’s plate.
Where the fuck had Justin come from? Ben looked around for David, but he must’ve been busy.
Justin hopped onto a barstool, scooching it uncomfortably close to Ben’s.
He made it look like an accident, but Ben could tell.
He knew Justin’s moves. Justin leaned across to talk to Arya, brushing his shoulder against Ben’s as he did.
“The first time I met him, I said to myself, That man is too beautiful for this world.”
Arya laughed, wrapping an arm around Ben’s waist, which just so happened to wedge his hand between Ben and Justin.
Smooth.
“He’s something, huh? I mean, he looks like his jaw was carved by Michelangelo.” With his free hand, Arya caressed Ben’s jaw. Ben clenched his teeth to stop from giggling, the sensation was so unexpected, but he couldn’t stop the blush creeping up his cheeks.
“Stop,” he whined. Arya was laying it on pretty thick.
“Just being honest, joonam,” Arya said, kissing the spot under Ben’s jaw that would’ve made his knees go weak if he’d been standing. Thankfully Ben was sitting, but he still arched his neck involuntarily at the pleasure.
Clearly Arya was paying attention to their practice kisses. He knew exactly what he was doing.
Justin’s eyes narrowed. He knew what Arya was doing, too.
Ben bit back a grin. God, Arya was playing Justin like a maestro.
“You’re not bad yourself,” Ben managed to say, resting a hand at the nape of Arya’s neck. “I love your sexy head.”
“Mmm, I do give sexy head,” Arya muttered.
Justin turned away, but not before Ben caught a flash of anger in his eyes that didn’t move his eyebrows. Ben tried to feel bad. Maybe they were taking this too far?
But Justin was the one who’d tried to insert himself into their evening. Ben could hardly fault Arya for fucking with him.
“Speaking of which, we should get out of here,” Arya stage whispered. “I want some… dessert. Come back to my place?”
Ben caught Justin’s face, looking like he was going to be sick.
“We should at least pay first.”
Arya pouted. “I’ll take care of that. You go say bye to your friends.”
While Ben slipped away, he heard Arya say to Justin, “Great running into you, man.”
He suppressed a snort.
Ben had only suggested this whole charade to get Justin (and his parents) off his back. He hadn’t intended to make Justin jealous. But now that they were…
Well. It felt good. Shitty, but good. Shitty good.
He found the rest of the cellos at a table toward the back, near a wall lined with lockers.
David had explained that you could buy a club membership to get a little locker, which came with a bottle of wine every month, free tastings, discounts on food, and more.
The Philharmonic even had a locker. He figured that was for the folks who worked in the office, though.
The cellos had certainly never partaken.
“I’m headed out,” Ben said. “See you all tomorrow?”
“See you,” Thomas said. He’d gone rosy-cheeked from his one glass of wine. Ben had missed that gene, thankfully, but his dad had it, and the thought made him smile.
“You’ll make sure he gets home okay?” Ben asked Ruta and TJ.
TJ gave a little salute.
“We got him,” Ruta said. “You going home with your hottie?”
Ben waggled his eyebrows, grabbed his cello from the corner, and met Arya at the exit. He waved bye to David and let Arya hold the door for him.
As soon as it swung shut, Ben sighed.
“That was fucking brutal.”
Arya laughed. “Too much?”
“No, no, he had it coming, but damn. Remind me never to piss you off.”
Arya just laughed even harder, the sound rising into the pregnant night.
The clouds that had rolled in this afternoon blanketed the night sky.
A small section of sidewalk had been cordoned off with a fence to make a little patio, though it was empty tonight, probably because the wind would’ve blown away all the menus.
Once they passed it, Arya would turn left, north up Walnut, while Ben would turn right, down toward 16th Street and the climb back up to the Kauffman Center and his car.
A cold breeze spun up, ruffling Ben’s hair. He shivered as he felt a few light drops of rain against the back of his neck, in his hair, dotting his glasses.
“Well… see you,” Ben said.
“What?” Arya cocked his head. “You said you were coming back to mine.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “Come on, you know that was just for Justin. Don’t forget rule number one.”
“I know,” Arya said softly, though he held Ben’s gaze, his eyes twinkling. “We should at least kiss goodbye, though, in case anyone is watching.”
Arya did have a point there. Ben wouldn’t put it past Justin to spy on them from the window.
He hoisted his cello to a more comfortable position on his back and stepped in close, slotting his feet between Arya’s. Arya slipped his hands beneath Ben’s jacket, rested them on his waist. He gave Ben another twinkly smile and leaned in.
Ben had kissed a lot of men in his life. Kissing was his favorite. Sex was great, obviously, but kissing? Feeling yourself melting into another person? The careful mix of tension and release, pressure and suction, tender caresses and bold nibbles…
Ben had always prided himself on his kissing technique. He’d never met his match, not until Arya.
Arya was masterful: Now firm, now soft. Now teasing, now needy.
He had indeed identified Ben’s weak point, because his mouth left Ben’s lips, trailing scorching heat down Ben’s chin, along his jawline, until he found that one spot…
Ben’s knees wobbled. He would’ve fallen, right there on the sidewalk, if Arya hadn’t been holding him up.
Arya shifted farther back, toward Ben’s ear, nuzzling the soft divot behind it. He hummed in satisfaction. “Mmmm. Found a good spot, huh?”
Ben huffed and straightened up, glancing toward Aspire’s windows. Justin didn’t seem to be creeping on them, but that didn’t mean the host hadn’t seen them. Or any of the patrons sitting in the window seats.
Fuck, that was embarrassing.
And sexy.
“You—”
A sudden crack of thunder cut Ben off. He heard the rain before he felt it, a growing roar coming their way.
“Should we go back in?” Arya asked.
Ben shook his head. He didn’t want to be trapped back inside with Justin with no idea how long the rain would last. But he knew he wouldn’t make it all the way back to the parking garage in time.
His cello case was waterproof, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be miserable.
He knew about rule number one. He approved of rule number one.
Still…
“How close did you say you were?”
Arya’s eyes widened. “Just across the bridge. If we hurry, we can beat it.”
The rain caught them when they were halfway across the bridge that spanned I-35. Ben hunched his shoulders against the cold, heavy drops that soaked into his collar and beaded on his suit jacket.
They ignored the DON’T WALK sign at Truman Road North Drive—there were no cars coming—and made a dash for the awning of Arya’s building.
Arya dug in his pocket for his key fob. His own suit, a sleek, silvery-blue number, was turning dark in spots.
Finally the door beeped and admitted them. The lobby was toasty warm, but Ben shivered anyway.
“Come on. The elevators are over here.”
They rode up to the twentieth floor.
When Arya let him in, Ben gasped.
“Holy shit.”
Arya’s apartment was… well. Very Arya.
Huge windows looked south over the city.
If Ben got close enough to one corner, he could see the Kauffman Center, glowing silver in the rain-curtained night.
The apartment was tastefully decorated, with a comfortable couch in the living room, a TV mounted to the wall, an open kitchen with a little wine fridge tucked in the corner.