Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
jason
I’d showered twice.
The first time didn’t count because I’d gotten out and immediately decided I smelled wrong. Too much soap. Not enough. I didn’t know. I just knew it wasn’t right.
The second shower lasted until the water went lukewarm and my skin turned pink.
Now I was pacing.
I’d put on jeans. Nice ones. The dark ones that fit well. A button-down I’d ironed badly but ironed nonetheless. I’d looked at myself in the mirror and felt like an idiot trying too hard.
So I’d changed.
Sweatpants. Hoodie. The usual. Casual. Like this was nothing. Like I wasn’t about to combust from my own nervous system running too hot.
I stared at the sweatpants and second-guessed everything again.
Peanut watched me from the bed, head tilted, judging.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered.
He huffed and settled his chin on his paws.
I checked my phone. Twenty minutes until Bennet was supposed to show up. Maybe I should change again. Maybe the nice clothes sent the right message. Maybe the sweatpants made it look like I didn’t care when I cared so much my ribs hurt.
I dropped to the floor and started doing push-ups.
Thirty. Forty. My shoulders burned. My chest pumped up, muscles filling with blood, skin flushed. I stood and checked myself in the mirror.
Better. I looked better.
Then I caught my own eye and realized what I’d just done.
“You’re an idiot,” I told my reflection.
I dropped and did twenty more anyway.
By the time I heard footsteps in the hallway, my heart was already pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with exercise. I wiped my palms on my sweatpants and tried to breathe normally.
A knock.
Soft. Tentative.
I froze.
Maybe I should’ve worn the nice clothes. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe…ah, dammit.
I crossed the room and opened the door before I could spiral any further.
Bennet stood there, backpack hanging from one shoulder, and I forgot how to think.
He’d dressed up.
He wore a fitted shirt, crisp and white, with thin gray stripes running vertically. Suspenders. Dark blue, clipped neatly to gray slacks that tapered at his ankles. Long socks. Polished shoes.
His hair was combed but already falling into his eyes. His glasses caught the hallway light.
He looked incredible.
“Hi,” he said, and his voice came out steadier than the way his fingers tightened on his backpack strap.
“Hi,” I managed. My brain had short-circuited. “You, uh. You look…”
“I wasn’t sure what to wear,” he said quickly, like he needed to explain. “So I just— This seemed fine.”
“It’s more than fine,” I said. “It’s…you look really good.”
His cheeks went pink. He stepped inside, and I closed the door behind him, suddenly very aware of the sweatpants and hoodie I’d settled on.
“I’ve been dressing up and down all day,” I blurted. “I couldn’t decide what to wear. I put on nice clothes, then I took them off, then I put them back on. I did push-ups. Twice. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Bennet bit his lip. His shoulders shook slightly.
“What?” I asked.
He shook his head, trying and failing to hold back a smile. “Nothing. Just…” He laughed, quiet and breathless, his face going redder. “It just crossed my mind that you won’t be dressed for long. So it doesn’t matter.”
The air left my lungs.
“Is that so?” I asked. My voice had dropped lower, rougher.
Bennet’s gaze flicked up to meet mine. His pupils were wide and dark. “Don’t want to be overly analytical, but isn’t that why you invited me?”
My pulse sped up. I stepped closer. Close enough to see the way his breath quickened. Close enough to catch the faint scent of whatever he’d put on before coming here.
I reached out and hooked a finger under one of his suspenders. The elastic was smooth, slightly worn. I slid it down slowly, feeling the tension give, the fabric passing between my fingers.
“Don’t need to pass Stats to calculate that probability,” I said.
Bennet’s mouth parted. He licked his lips, and his smile broke through, uncontrollable and bright. “If this is your idea of talking dirty to me…it’s working.”
I laughed. The sound came out low and helpless.
Then I stepped forward, backing him against the door, and kissed him.
His backpack hit the floor.
His hands came up to my chest, fisting in my hoodie, pulling me closer. I pressed into him, one hand braced on the door beside his head, the other sliding to his waist.
He kissed me back like he’d been waiting for this. Like he’d been holding his breath since the locker room and could finally let go.
I tilted my head, deepening the kiss. His mouth opened under mine, warm and eager. He tasted faintly of mint, like he’d brushed his teeth right before coming over.
The thought made something in my chest twist painfully.
I broke away just long enough to breathe. “You’re killing me,” I said against his mouth.
“Good,” he whispered and kissed me again.
We kept kissing. The world narrowed to the press of his mouth, the heat of his body against mine, the small sounds he made when I tilted my head and changed the angle.
My hands moved. One slid to the small of his back, fingers spreading over the fabric of his shirt. The other found his hip, thumb brushing the strip of skin where his shirt had come untucked.
Bennet’s hands weren’t idle either. They’d moved from my chest to my shoulders, gripping, pulling me closer. His fingers slid into my curls, tugging slightly, and I groaned into his mouth.
He made a quiet noise in response, half gasp, half whimper. It went straight through me.
I pressed closer, our bodies flush now, no space between us. I could feel everything. The rise and fall of his chest. The flutter of his pulse where my thumb rested against his throat. The way his hips shifted forward, seeking more contact.
And then I felt it.
The hardness pressing against me through his slacks.
My brain short-circuited for a second. Heat flooded through me so fast I had to break the kiss just to breathe.
Bennet’s eyes opened, dazed behind his glasses. His lips were red, slightly swollen. His chest heaved.
I couldn’t stop looking at him.
Then I stepped back.
“Just a sec,” I said, voice rougher than I meant it to be.
Confusion flickered across his face.
I turned and whistled. “Peanut. Come, boy.”
Peanut lifted his head from where he’d been dozing on the bed, ears perked.
“We’re studying statistics,” I told him. “Boring stuff. You don’t wanna hear that.”
I opened the door. Peanut hopped down and trotted out happily, probably hoping for treats downstairs. I closed the door again and locked it.
When I turned back, Bennet hadn’t moved.
He stood where I’d left him, hair mussed, but he wasn’t reaching for me. He wasn’t closing the distance.
He looked nervous.
“You feeling alright?” I asked.
He nodded quickly. Then he took a step, but it was sideways, widening the space between us rather than closing it.
“I should be honest,” he said. His hands twisted together, then apart. “This is sort of new to me.”
My stomach dropped a little. “Is it…your first time?” I inhaled to make him an avalanche of promises I swore to myself I would keep. I would be careful. I would be gentle. We didn’t need to go all the way.
His expression shifted immediately. Indignant and amused all at once. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “But it’s not far from it.”
I let out a breath. “Okay. That’s okay.”
He looked at me, then away, then back. “I’ve been with two guys. Before. And it was fine. It just…neither of us ever thought to do it again after. Either time.”
“Ah,” I said.
“I don’t really think the guys were the problem,” he added quietly.
I crossed the room slowly and sat on the edge of the bed, then patted the space beside me. “Come here.”
He hesitated, then came. When he sat, our knees touched in passing. The small contact sent a jolt through me anyway.
“You know,” I said, keeping my voice steady, “I really don’t think there’s such a thing as a problem. It’s more about being a right fit.”
He looked at me, listening.
“And that’s wrong, too,” I continued. “Because we’re not shoe sizes. We can adjust. We can try something different. We can…experiment. The trick is to tell the other person what works for you.”
Bennet’s brow furrowed slightly. “And if I don’t know?”
I grinned. “If it works, you know.”
His mouth twitched. “That’s not very scientific.”
“You’d be surprised,” I said. “Your body’s pretty good at telling you what feels good and what doesn’t. You just have to listen to it.”
He was quiet for a moment, processing. His knee pressed more firmly against mine.
“I’m nervous,” he admitted.
“I know.”
“Are you?”
I laughed softly. “Terrified.”
His eyes widened slightly. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I said. “You matter. This matters. That’s scary.”
He looked down at his hands, then back up at me. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” I said. I reached over and took his hand. His fingers were cold. I rubbed my thumb over his knuckles. “Because I’m not keeping score. I’m not expecting you to perform. I just want to be with you. However that looks.”
His breath hitched.
“If something doesn’t feel good, tell me,” I said. “If you want to stop, we stop. If you want to keep going, we keep going. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.”
Bennet stared at our joined hands. “You make it sound simple.”
“It is simple,” I said. “People complicate it. But at the end of the day, it’s just two people figuring out what feels good together.”
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he looked up at me, and something in his expression had softened. “Okay,” he said.
“Okay?”
“Okay.” He squeezed my hand. “I want to keep going.”
Relief and want surged through me in equal measure. “Good,” I said. I lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. “Because I really, really want to keep going, too.”
His smile came slowly.
I tugged him closer, and this time when I kissed him, it was softer. Slower. No urgency. Just the two of us learning the shape of each other’s mouths.