Fifteen Arya
fifteen
Arya
Shit,” Arya muttered. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out one of his fidget toys, a mass of magnetic beads that he could smoosh into shapes or arrange into rows.
Arya was supposed to be taking Brenda to the florist to check out the arrangements for the ball, but her son had the flu. She’d asked if Arya could take Ben instead.
It wasn’t that Arya didn’t want to see Ben again. Their whole charade notwithstanding, Arya did like Ben as a friend. He had a good sense of humor, he was kind to people, and he was certainly easy to look at.
It was just that… well, he was nervous.
Carley would be with them, and Arya wasn’t sure if she’d see through things or not. She was weirdly perceptive. And also weirdly invested in Arya’s dating life.
Case in point: As soon as she swung into Arya’s Subaru, she rounded on him. “Okay, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
“What? Nothing.” Arya fixed his face. “What are you even talking about.”
She waved a hand in his direction. “Your whole… whatever is weird today.”
“You literally haven’t seen me all day.”
She gave him a dubious look. He wondered how often she had to deploy it on her teenage daughter.
Shit, Arya should’ve carved out an exception for Carley, too.
“And what was up with you and Ben last week, hm?”
Double shit. Triple shit.
Why the fuck did she have to be so damned smart?
“We’re…” He couldn’t bring himself to lie to Carley. “It’s complicated.”
Carley rolled her eyes. “Come on, dude. Everyone can see the way you two look at each other.”
Arya’s shoulders hitched up as he put the car in drive. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I know you try to be this cool, suave guy who flits from man to man like a hummingbird or something, but every time you look at him you get this goofy grin. Like a twelve-year-old with a crush on his math teacher.”
“Okay, first of all, weird.”
Arya’s math teacher back when he was twelve had been a woman a few years out from retirement.
His science teacher, on the other hand, had been this guy in his first year of teaching, who played in a rugby league…
Arya shook himself. Now was not the time for a descent into the underground vaults of the First National Bank of Spank.
“Second of all,” Arya said, but then he couldn’t come up with a good retort. He hit his blinker as they merged onto the highway. “Second of all, Mitchell has done way worse.”
“Oh, so you’ve done something to invite comparison?”
Fuck.
Trapped.
“Fine. Yes, we have an… an arrangement.”
Carley smirked. “Call it what you want. Have you told Mitchell?”
“Not yet.” That wouldn’t be fun.
“Just be careful, yeah?”
“Don’t worry. He doesn’t sign the checks.”
“I meant your heart,” Carley said.
“You of all people know I don’t have one of those,” Arya joked.
Yeah, he loved his friends and family. But he didn’t date, he didn’t have boyfriends, he didn’t fall in love. He was a slut through and through.
Carley just gave him a look. Arya kept his eyes on the road. There was construction on I-35 again, and he had to be careful because some people didn’t bother paying attention to the change in traffic patterns.
The north side of the Kauffman Center consisted of two silver humps, one slightly larger than the other, with a cleft in between them where the performer entrance lay. While some people called it “the canyon,” Arya called it what it really was: a buttcrack.
Arya pulled up on 16th Street, right in front of the buttcrack. And there, in the middle of the crack, stood Ben, looking all cozy in a bomber jacket. He’d popped up the fuzzy collar to shelter his neck.
Carley unbuckled herself.
“You don’t have to get in the back,” Arya said, but she waved him off.
“He’s got longer legs,” she said. “Besides, he’s a client.”
Shit. He hadn’t planned for this. He and Ben had texted some over the last few days, but they hadn’t actually seen each other. Their weekly date hadn’t come up yet, and Ben had missed kickball for an afternoon rehearsal.
Now Arya was realizing there were things they should’ve discussed ahead of time, like: Do we kiss each other hello? Do we hold hands?
Do we have pet names?
Arya was running through several different scenarios, most of which ended up with their secret exposed and Carley asking what the fuck he’d been thinking, when Ben swooped into the passenger seat.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hey.” Arya managed a smile as Ben buckled up. “Thanks for doing this. Brenda said to say thank you, too.”
“Of course.” Ben smiled wider. “Any chance to see you.”
Arya felt his cheeks start to burn. He made the mistake of looking in the rearview mirror, where Carley made kissy faces at him.
He cleared his throat and gave her a cut it out look.
Carley just rolled her eyes. “Would you two homos stop acting so weird? Just kiss hello and get it over with.”
Ben let out a sharp crack of a laugh, but Arya glowered.
“Not appropriate!”
“Whatever, bitch. Go report me to HR.”
Arya sputtered. Ben laughed harder. He twisted in his seat to look at Arya, whose cheeks were more or less on fire at this point. What the fuck were they supposed to do now?
But Ben answered for him. He chuckled and leaned over to plant a loud smooch on the corner of Arya’s mouth.
“Nice to see you, muffin.”
Muffin.
Absofuckinglutely not.
“You too, pumpkin,” Arya said as saccharinely as he could.
It worked, because Ben’s face screwed up.
“Okay, I take it back, this shit is just weird,” Carley said from the back. “Pretend you don’t know each other.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” Arya put the car back in drive and rested his hand on the middle console.
He was surprised—pleasantly, he had to admit—when Ben rested his arm on the console, too, and held Arya’s hand.
This, at least, felt doable.
Their first stop was the florist, which immediately activated Arya’s allergies.
He didn’t remember being allergic to pollen when he was in his twenties, but it seemed like with every passing year, he found himself besieged by more and more kinds of plants.
Lavender made his eyes burn, his nose itch. It made him sneeze, and unfortunately, Arya had inherited his father’s sneeze: a loud, violent, fully vocalized thing that sounded more like a battlefield warning than a simple ah-choo.
Ben turned to look at him, alarm written across his features.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” Arya said, sniffing.
“You want us to handle it?” Carley asked, inching away from him.
Arya nodded and let them go look at arrangements while he hung outside and answered emails. He hated sending emails from his phone, but it was that or have Mitchell deal with them, and Arya was in no mood to trust Mitchell with anything right now.
He had billing to approve, contracts to review, talent riders to go over, not to mention the regular day-to-day questions he got asked because he was more responsive than Mitchell.
When Ben and Carley emerged, he was just finishing up an email explaining to one of their megachurch clients that no, under no circumstances should they buy an aftermarket concert laser unless they were also going to hire a licensed technician and upgrade their insurance to cover accidentally blinding their worshippers or setting the church on fire.
Despite being run by two gay men, MME had a weirdly high number of megachurch clients, though most seemed to be fairly progressive congregations.
Arya hit Send and tucked his phone away. “All good?”
“All good,” Carley said.
Ben nodded.
“Right. Onward.”
After the florist, they hit up the scenic company to check on the set pieces that would complete the stage, and from there, out to the fabric company in Lenexa to approve the custom drapes they were using.
Ben sighed as Arya turned the car northward once more. “I never knew so much work went into one little charity ball.”
Arya met Carley’s eyes in the mirror but kept from laughing. Ben caught it, though.
“What?”
Arya pressed his lips together. He had both hands on the wheel right now, since he didn’t trust Johnson County drivers, but he kind of missed holding Ben’s hand. It had been a while since he just held hands with someone.
“I know it’s a big deal for you. I mean, the Philharmonic only does the one ball a year. But for us, it’s just, like… a Tuesday.”
Ben laughed. “A Tuesday?”
“I’m just saying, we’ve done charity balls with balloon drops, with indoor acrobats, where someone drove a motorcycle onstage, we’ve had celebrity guests…”
“Don’t forget that time Val passed out in the middle of the cardiologist ball!”
“Oh, that was hilarious,” Arya said, chuckling at the memory. “Fifty doctors all swooped in, competing to diagnose her.”
“Was she okay?” Ben asked.
“Oh, yeah. It was just a little vasovagal syncope,” Carley said, leaning forward.
“A what?”
Arya chanced a glance Ben’s way; his face was etched with alarm, eyebrows rising from behind his slutty little glasses.
“She got stressed out and dehydrated and stood too long,” Carley explained. “Once she had a bottle of water and sat down for five minutes she was all better.”
“Oh. Good.” Ben sighed. “You know—”
Ben’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out and grimaced.
“You okay?” Arya asked, turning down the volume on his Pink Floyd playlist.
He wasn’t sure why he liked dad rock so much, but he figured everyone could use a little eccentricity, and his was liking old white British rockers.
“It’s my mom,” Ben said with a sigh. “You mind if I take this?”
“Go right ahead,” Arya said.
“Hello? Mom?” Ben put his free hand over his ear. “I’m in the car… No, not driving, I’m working… What? I heard… yup… yeah.”
Arya wasn’t nosy by nature, but damn, he wished he knew what Mrs. Liu was saying. If only Ben were one of those people who used their speakerphone in public. Though if Ben were, then Arya would’ve made him walk home. And he definitely wouldn’t be fake dating him.
“No! Absolutely not.” Ben closed his eyes like he was praying for strength. Then he glanced Arya’s way again. “I’m seeing someone else, Mom.”
Arya couldn’t make it out, but he definitely heard something from Ben’s mom. She was talking so loud, Ben had to pull the phone away from his ear. Arya hoped it was excited shouting.
“Listen, I really can’t talk right now. I’ll call you tonight and tell you everything, okay?” Ben sighed. “Yes, he’s nice. You met him at Phoenix Mountain; he came back in March… Mom. Mom? Can I talk to you later? Okay. Love you. Bye.”
Ben hung up and leaned his head against the window.
Arya snorted out a laugh and rested his hand on the console again. After only a second, Ben took it.
From the back seat, Carley muttered, “I should’ve brought some popcorn.”
As Arya rummaged in his desk for his spare iPad charger, there was a knock on the door.
“How’d it go today?” Mitchell asked, leaning his lanky height against the door frame.
“Good,” Arya said. “Ben was happy with our progress.”
“Ben?”
“Ben Liu. New committee member,” Arya said. “Just joined the Philharmonic.”
“Ah.”
Arya eyed Mitchell. What kind of mood was he in? He looked fairly clear-eyed, at least.
“Any news from the folks at Enos?”
Enos Animal Health was one of their larger clients—one that was still happy with them.
Mitchell shook his head. “They’re not looking to increase their spending with us right now.”
“Damn.” That would’ve helped, at least a little. “I haven’t had any luck yet, either. Everyone seems like they’ve already got their budgets sorted for the year.”
“We’ll find something. Don’t worry.” Mitchell knocked on the door frame and made to swing back out, but Arya cleared his throat.
“Actually… I need to tell you something.”
Mitchell did a little pirouette and stepped all the way into Arya’s office, his eyebrows rising.
Okay, he’d probably had something today if he was dancing in the office. But he still seemed in a good mood at least. That would make this easier.
Arya cleared his throat. “I figured you should know. Ben and I are… kind of seeing each other.”
Mitchell stared at him, unblinking and silent.
It was one of his most unnerving moves. Like a parent, trying to get their kids to confess. It didn’t work on Arya anymore, though. Usually.
“However, it started before he was our client. Neither of us realized we’d be working together. And he doesn’t actually sign the checks, so it’s not a conflict of interest. I just wanted you to know. As a courtesy.”
Mitchell kept his stone face.
Arya felt his underarms turning damp. But he wasn’t going to give in. Mitchell had done way worse over the years.
At last Mitchell huffed and smiled.
“He must be pretty special if he made you give up the life of a slut.”
Arya grinned.
Technically, he hadn’t given it up. He’d just put it on pause. He’d resume his slutty ways once the Philharmonic Ball was over, he’d secured the Holbrooks as a new client, and he and Ben had gone their separate (and amicable) ways.
Mitchell dropped into the chair across from Arya’s desk and scooted it closer to rest his forearms on the desktop. His smile turned impish.
It reminded Arya of the old days, when he and Mitchell would compare notes on all the men they were sleeping with. The misadventures they’d had. The close calls. God, Mitchell would’ve loved the story about the dad in the pool bathrooms.
But instead he said, “So, tell me about this guy. Musician, I take it?”
“Cellist,” Arya said. “And he has the most gorgeous forearms I’ve ever seen.”
If Arya did have to pretend he’d given up the life of a slut, at least it was with a man as sexy as Ben.
“His family runs a winery out in California. We actually met when I was out there…”