Chapter 28
By the time we get back to the hotel, I’m relaxed in a way I didn’t realize I’d been missing.
Dinner was easy. Laughing came naturally. There was shared dessert, stolen glances, and the kind of lingering eye contact that makes everything else fade into background noise. At one point, his foot brushed mine beneath the table, and neither of us moved it away.
I forgot about the party. Which is unfortunate, because humiliation waits for no man.
The moment we step inside the room, Benji makes a soft, delighted noise and darts for the closet.
"Oh," he says excitedly, rifling through garment bags. "I cannot wait."
A warning bell rings in my head. "For what?"
"For this."
He pulls out a costume that invites an indecent exposure citation.
"Pirate," he announces cheerfully.
"That’s not a pirate." I stare at the sliver of fabric in his hands. "That’s a threat."
He grins. "Semantics."
I glance down at my own garment bag and unzip it. My costume is historically accurate with a long coat, structured vest, high boots, and a ruffled period shirt. It’s tasteful, practical, and safe.
Benji takes one look at me once I’m dressed and winces theatrically.
"Oh no."
"What?"
"I was hoping for a little more Pirates of the Caribbean." He circles me slowly, appraising. "And a little less documentary on Blackbeard."
"This is a perfectly respectable pirate."
"Not for two gays at a costume party. You look like you’re about to commandeer a ship and file proper paperwork about it."
"I look like a man with standards."
"You look like a man who owns a compass and strong opinions about maritime law."
"I do own a compass."
Benji snorts. "Of course you do."
I glance over at him, and promptly lose my train of thought.
His costume is… not respectful of personal boundaries.
Tight black faux leather pants, an open white shirt with gold trim, boots that absolutely know what they’re doing, and a red sash slung low on his hips that was designed specifically to ruin me.
"You are not dressed."
"I am artistically interpreted."
"That shirt is indecent."
He smirks. "Good."
I swallow past the tightness in my throat. "This is a party," I remind him.
"Yes. A themed one. About romance." He tilts his head. "You look like you’re guarding the treasure. I look like I am the treasure."
I hate how right he is.
He steps closer, adjusting the fall of my collar, fingers lingering at my throat. "Relax. You look good. Very good. Just… less scandalous."
"Someone has to represent dignity."
He grins. "That person is never me." Benji presses a kiss to my jaw and steps back. "We’re going to lose you in there."
"Absolutely not."
"Oh, honey." He pats my chest. "You’re about to become a fan favorite."
"That’s not comforting."
Benji links our fingers and tugs me toward the door. "Come on, Captain Sensible. Let’s go embarrass you."
And somehow, impossibly, I find myself smiling the whole way down.
The elevator doors open onto absolute madness.
Music thumps. Laughter spills down the hallway. Glitter—actual glitter—coats the carpet like festive shrapnel. Someone in a full mermaid tail is arguing with a cowboy about the ethics of tentacle romance.
I stop short. Benji beams.
"Welcome to my people."
Before I can respond, someone shrieks his name.
"BENJIIIIII!"
A woman in a sequined captain’s hat barrels toward us, dragging two friends in her wake. They’re all wearing variations of pirate attire, none of which would pass any workplace dress code known to man.
"OH MY GOD," Captain Hat gasps, clutching Benji’s hands. "Your covers literally ruined my sleep schedule."
"An honor," Benji says solemnly.
"I finished three books in one night because of you. Couldn’t stop drooling over those men!"
"I apologize to your circadian rhythm."
They squeal. One of them notices me.
"Oh!" She coos. "You must be his boyfriend."
My brain misfires. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Benji slides a casual arm around my waist.
"This," he says smoothly, "is Carter. My court-appointed supervisor, occasional life coach, and full-time pirate."
"Full-time dilf pirate," Captain Hat corrects.
I choke. Benji absolutely loses it. He eats this attention up. I loathe attention.
The next hour is a blur.
Fans swarm him from every direction, hugging, laughing, demanding photos. He takes every single interaction in stride, glowing, vibrant, and completely in his element.
People compliment his art. His creativity. His kindness. They thank him over and over again. And I stand there beside him, increasingly invisible, increasingly aware of how enormous his world is. Until someone grabs my arm.
"Wait," a woman in rainbow suspenders says, squinting at me. "You’re the guy from the table earlier."
"I—"
"You looked at him as if he hung the moon."
Did I? My throat tightens. "I just—"
She smiles gently. "We all saw it."
And then she’s gone, swept back into the chaos. Benji glances at me.
"You okay?"
I nod, then pause and shake my head. "This is… a lot."
He leans closer, voice low. "Too much?"
"No," I say honestly. "Just… big."
He studies me, then shifts his stance, turning his body slightly toward mine, anchoring himself to me in the middle of the storm. It’s subtle. It’s everything.
Later, someone challenges him to a limbo contest. He wins, naturally. Someone else insists on taking a group shot that requires me to stand directly behind him, hands on his hips, which I survive, barely.
At some point, he presses a drink into my hand and brushes his thumb across my knuckles, murmuring, "Still with me, Captain Blackbeard?"
"Regrettably."
His grin softens. "Good. I’m dying to dance with you."
Thank God, because I’m dying to get my hands on him.
He tugs me toward the center of the room, where bodies sway and pulse under warm, colored lights. The music is loud enough that conversation becomes optional, which is a blessing, because I’m not sure I could form coherent sentences right now, anyway.
Benji turns to face me, eyes twinkling, mouth curved, playful and inviting. He sets my hands at his waist as if he’s placing them exactly where they belong.
"Relax, it’s just dancing."
"That’s a lie," I mutter. “It’s foreplay.”
He laughs and moves closer, the press of him unmistakable as our bodies fit together in a way that feels alarmingly natural. The beat settles into us, slow and heavy, and I’m no longer thinking about crowds or glitter or pirate costumes.
I’m thinking about the way his fingers hook into my belt loops. The way his forehead dips toward mine. The way he sways with deliberate intention, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
"This okay?" he murmurs.
"God, yes."
His smile turns wicked.
We move together, existing in the same pocket of space, heat and laughter and breath tangling between us. Every so often he leans in to say something ridiculous in my ear, something designed purely to make me snort or blush or both.
"Stop trying to make me lose composure," I warn.
"I would never." He sounds entirely unconvincing.
Someone wolf-whistles and Benji bows dramatically without breaking step. I shake my head, helplessly fond. This man is turning me inside out. By the time the song fades, my pulse is loud in my ears and my hands are reluctant to let him go.
He lingers close, eyes searching mine. "Still regretful?"
"Deeply."
"Excellent."
And then he kisses my cheek, a quick, light, affectionate peck, before tugging me back into the crowd, and I follow without hesitation.
By the time we escape, it’s close to midnight. We make it back to the room, breathless, half-laughing, and half-dazed.
"I am never," I announce, kicking off my boots, "underestimating your industry again."
He collapses onto the bed beside me, arms flung wide. My eyes are drawn to his pink nipple exposed by his open shirt.
"I tried to warn you."
"You are beloved."
He peeks at me. "Did that scare you?"
I consider it, then shake my head. "No. It impressed me."
Something quiet shifts in his expression.
"Imagine that," he murmurs.
We lie there, shoulder to shoulder, still buzzing, still catching our breath. And for the first time in hours, I don’t feel like I’m standing on the edge of his world.
I feel like I’m in it. With him. Maybe that was the point of him bringing me. Maybe he just wanted us to get closer. Either way, I’m grateful he’s persistent and wise.