by Bolden, Beth
He exchanged a $50 for the two glasses and told the guy to keep the change.
“You keep throwing your money around that way, someone’s gonna get the wrong idea,” Diego teased.
“It’s not like I can even spend all of it,” Benji pointed out. “Might as well share it.”
They retreated back to a less crowded corner. Benji leaned against the wall and took a sip of his whiskey. It was hot and smoky on his tongue. If he ever got the chance to kiss Diego again, he’d always imagined he’d taste like a really good whiskey.
“Even Justin Bieber couldn’t spend all of his,” Diego said with a laugh. “I guess we’re not all that different after all.”
It was supposed to be a night of celebration, but Diego still sounded melancholic around the edges. Benji didn’t like it; Benji was also terrified it had something to do with him, personally.
“You already thinking about legacy? We’re just getting started.”
“You said it yourself. We’re not eighteen anymore,” Diego said, sipping his own drink, hair falling into his eyes. Benji’s fingers itched to smooth it back, to feel those soft strands. Diego hadn’t always worn his hair long—the first time they’d met, when Benji had been so sure of everything he was and everything he’d wanted, Diego had worn it cropped short to display better his perfectly chiseled features—but Benji liked it better like this. Even though that short hair had been enough to make Benji question everything.
“Okay,” Benji corrected, “we’re just getting started again.” He finished his whiskey in one big, burning gulp. He could use a little more courage for this part. “Do you want to . . .” He gestured toward the main floor, where in between band sets, the DJ was spinning dance music.
He hadn’t quite managed the whole line. He hadn’t managed to add, “with me,” to the end of the sentence, but he figured Diego must have gotten the idea, because he looked shocked.
“Dance . . . with you?” Diego questioned.
Benji nodded and held his gaze even though it was hard. Every part of him wanted to crawl away and hide. Every part of him wanted to brace for what felt like an inevitable rejection. But he had to know. If Diego was trying to pull away from whatever . . . this . . . was, then Benji had to know. Had to figure out how to move on, even though the last nine years had proved that was basically impossible.
Diego leaned in. It was crowded here, near the bar, and a little noisy, and after so many years of touring, their hearing wasn’t what it had once been. Still, Benji desperately wanted to believe he just wanted what he did—to be closer. “Here? With all these people?”
It was tough, but not impossible to avoid squirming under Diego’s disbelieving stare, but Benji managed it. Mostly by reminding himself of what Leo had said earlier. This was never going to be easy.
Somehow, though, Benji had crossed the point where this being uncomfortable and tough was enough to dissuade him from trying anyway.
Diego tossed back the rest of his whiskey and shot him a knowing look. “Last night of the tour, feel like raising hell, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
It wasn’t like Benji was planning on making out with him in the middle of this crowd, though he wasn’t sure he’d protest if that was what Diego had in mind.
“Yes or no?” Benji asked. He set his empty glass down and shot Diego his most expectant look. He’d learned long ago that even if he was quaking with fear, as long as he presented a confident exterior to the world, nobody ever saw the scared little boy inside.
Diego was more equipped than most to see the little boy, but he didn’t say a word, just set his own glass down, and nodded once.
He was sweating under his leather jacket as they walked out to the dance floor. They’d both had lots of experience blending into crowds, and they did it tonight, standing close together but not so close that anyone would assume they were together.
Just enough deniable distance—for others and for each other, Benji thought. That wasn’t what he’d wanted at all.
He wanted more, and he wanted it despite all the risks.
The song changed, and then changed again. Diego seemed to relax with each minute that passed, moving his hips in the fluid way that Benji had always envied. Despite all his musical experience, and playing the guitar, the bass, the piano, and being more than a little proficient at drums, Benji still thought he danced like a white man with zero rhythm. His self-consciousness made him nervous, and left him focused more on not looking like a fucking moron, than trying to get closer to Diego.
He considered it more than once, but always held back because there were first steps and then there was taking a giant leap. The crowd kept getting bigger, pushing in closer together, and inevitably, the space between them kept closing in.
One of Benji’s flailing hands brushed against Diego’s shoulder, his fingers spasming against the damp cotton of his t-shirt. It wasn’t all that different than the embrace they’d shared earlier in the night, but it felt entirely different.
It felt purposeful in a way that embrace hadn’t.
Diego stared at him, dark eyes inscrutable. Did he want Benji to move his hand? Did he want Benji to pull him in closer? Benji was frozen, not sure which path to take, and Diego’s expressionless face gave nothing away.
Well, you never thought this was going to be easy. Things that are worth it generally aren’t.
Leo’s words echoed through him again as Benji’s fingers dug into Diego’s shoulder.
Maybe it wasn’t easy, but maybe it was as simple as being honest.
“I like this,” Benji said as loudly as he dared, hoping Diego could hear him over the pounding bass of the music, giving a little squeeze of his shoulder to indicate exactly what he meant.
Diego didn’t answer, but he didn’t pull away either. Benji started moving again, half-heartedly trying to find the beat and match it, and as Diego joined him, his hand slipped down his side, following the trail of his rose tattoo, and settling at his hip.
Diego was slender, with unexpectedly powerful muscles from the yoga he loved and the cycle classes he didn’t. Benji’s big hand, which he’d always believed was too large, too unwieldy, fit into the curve of his waist like it had been designed just for it.
It was impossible for Benji’s hand to settle into that hollow and not squeeze. Not a lot, just a little, just enough to make sure that Diego knew it was there.
And suddenly, he wasn’t quite so unbothered anymore. Shock exploded through his eyes, pupils widening, and Benji’s hand trembled. But then Diego leaned in, so close, and Benji couldn’t help it—his eyes fluttered close. Not the best venue for their second, hopefully much-improved kiss, but it didn’t matter, because Diego was going to kiss him. Finally.
Except he didn’t. Nothing happened, and suddenly Diego’s body was gone, and he was slipping away, Benji’s hand falling useless to his side.
His eyes opened and that inscrutable mask was back on Diego’s face. No evidence that the pleased astonishment had ever existed.
Diego looked at him for a long moment and then he was gone, slipping through the crowd like a fish through water, people separating for the tall, slender man with the sad eyes and the beautiful hair.
By the time Benji had elbowed people out of the way—he had none of Diego’s grace, only brute strength—Diego was nowhere to be found. Not by the bar, not by the wall they’d stood at earlier. He really didn’t want to go back to the VIP section empty-handed, but he needed to find Diego more. Had Benji misunderstood? He’d been so sure, more certain than he’d been in his entire life, that things were finally going to start happening.
Max was lounging in a chair, his feet propped up on the balcony edge, sipping a beer. Leo was practically in Caleb’s lap, and his tongue was definitely in Caleb’s ear. They looked like they were about ten minutes from saying fuck it, and possibly earning another public indecency charge.
“Where’s Diego?” Max asked before Benji could demand to know if their fifth member had com
e back to the VIP section.
“He’s not up here?” Benji couldn’t help just how dejected he sounded. Had Diego run away because he’d been tempted to kiss Benji? Or had Diego run away because Benji had wanted the kiss too much?
It didn’t really matter, Benji realized, because he was probably never going to get an answer either way, and for the very first time, that really pissed him off.
Why the fuck couldn’t they just say plainly and clearly what they wanted? Why did it always have to be a game? Oh I like you—but wait, not that way. Or maybe I do. I’m not sure.
Well, Benji was fucking sure he did like Diego, and he was pretty sure Diego felt the same way. Was it complicated? Of course it was. You couldn’t be members of one of the biggest bands on the planet, again, and not have it be complicated. But it was less complicated than it had been, because now they owned their own souls, determined their own fates, and Leo and Caleb had blazed a lot of ground in terms of acceptance.
“He texted me,” Leo said, finally detaching from Caleb’s neck and pulling out his phone. “He said he was catching a cab back to the hotel and leaving early in the morning. He said he’d see us in a few weeks for our first recording session.”
Benji’s jaw dropped. “What,” he demanded.
Max’s smile grew sly. “What did you do, kiss him or something?”
“Again,” Leo added.
“No,” Benji said. He didn’t need to go into the whole, it maybe almost happened, I’m really not sure, because even though these guys were his friends and despite that he knew that secretly (or maybe not so secretly) they were all rooting for him and Diego to figure their shit out, they would absolutely give him a load of crap for his confession.
“He just left?” Benji asked again, even though he already knew the truth. He’d left, leaving Benji with no answers and even less certainty in his wake. “And he really said that? That he’d see us in a few weeks?”
“Maybe he’s sick of us,” Caleb said. “I mean, we do spend a lot of time together on tour.”
Benji knew Diego tended to be more introspective and introverted, and needed more private recharge time. But weeks?
This had to be a continuation of what Diego had started before, when Benji had asked him if he wanted to hang out back in LA, and Diego had essentially said, no, he didn’t.
He’d been reluctant about going downstairs with Benji earlier and reluctant about dancing—which led Benji to one inescapable conclusion. Diego had wanted to say no, but he hadn’t felt like he could.
“Fuck,” Benji swore savagely.
Leo was disturbed enough that he stood up, actually managing to separate himself from his boyfriend, and he put a reassuring hand on Benji’s shoulder. “It’ll be ok. Maybe he’s just going through some stuff. He’ll come around.”
Maybe before, Benji would have believed Leo. Maybe before, Benji would have thought the same would they or won’t they dynamic had frustrated Diego, and that’s why he’d left, but Benji had just tried to jerk them out of it.
Benji wasn’t just annoyed anymore; he was pissed off, and he wanted some goddamn answers.
CHAPTER TWO
When he got back to the hotel, Diego’s heartbeat was still uneven. That was the thing about Benji—he affected Diego even when Diego was determined not to be affected.
Even when Diego had decided that he was done waiting around for Benji to wake up and discover that there was more to a relationship than just platonic hangouts punctuated by heart- and lung-seizing moments of yearning for more.
He’d given him the tour, and even though there’d been plenty of opportunity for them to discuss their friendship and more, Benji had held back. Then, Diego had found out that during the fateful night when Leo and Caleb had finally gotten back together, Leo had pushed Benji to actually talk to Diego. But when he’d showed up in Diego’s room, they’d only watched a few movies, drunk some beer, and had gone their separate ways to bed.
After discovering that, Diego had found it increasingly difficult to believe that Benji would ever be ready to talk about it. And if he wasn’t prepared to talk about it, then he definitely wasn’t prepared to do anything about it either.
And sue him, Diego was a little sick of waiting. He’d made his availability clear, and then waited and waited and waited some more for Benji to figure out that they wanted the same damn thing. After all, Benji was the one who still even shrank when confronted with the word bisexuality. Diego had understood at first—after all, witnessing Leo and Caleb’s epic crash-and-burn had been plenty of warning that it wasn’t easy to be closeted and hopelessly in love with your bandmate.
Then Sophie had filed for divorce, and there were no excuses left. They were both single. They were best friends who were also, impossibly, crazy about each other. For the first time, Diego had hoped that would be enough.
But it hadn’t been. And it wouldn’t be, no matter how many tentative times Benji reached out, only to pull his hand back at the last second.
It was up to Diego to make sure Benji couldn’t disappoint him anymore, so they could at least preserve their friendship.
He’d intended to spend the next two weeks getting over Benji—it wasn’t nearly long enough, because it wasn’t like he’d been successful over the last nine years, but then he’d never really tried that hard either.
He was going to try this time, and he still felt convinced that it was the right thing to do. Except there was that glimmer of hurt lurking in Benji’s eyes when he’d pulled away at the last second.
Had Benji been intending to make an unspoken declaration? But then Benji had kissed him before, and it wasn’t like that had been the moment either of them had been hoping for either.
Before Diego had chalked it up to terrible timing, but now he didn’t have any excuses left. And he was done making them for Benji.
He stepped out of the cab and said a quick prayer of relief that Benji hadn’t done anything stupid, like try to follow him. When he couldn’t find Diego, he’d go upstairs where the rest of the guys were hanging out, and then Leo would tell him what he’d texted.
Hopefully that would be enough to keep Benji away for the full two weeks.
It wasn’t.
“Diego,” the voice behind him shouted out. Out of breath, like he’d run part or all of the way here.
He stopped but didn’t turn around. Diego could still feel Benji’s hand on his hip, each finger digging in, like Benji was staking his claim. Except that Diego knew he wasn’t. The next moment he would have laughed and made it a joke.
Always toeing that line, but never deliberately crossing it.
Diego started walking again, hoping that if he got to the lobby with its audience, Benji would let it go so they wouldn’t make a scene.
“Wait,” Benji called out, his voice growing closer, “wait a goddamn minute.”
He reached the huge double doors that led to the lobby and didn’t pause, just scooted right through them. Three steps into the lobby, Benji caught his elbow and brought his ability to run to a screeching halt.
Because he’d definitely been running. From Benji, from his own feelings, from a world that wanted them to fit into easy-to-classify boxes.
Shucking Benji’s grip, Diego turned. “What do you want?” he demanded. The tone and pitch of his voice would have scared Benji away any other time, because he always hated making a scene. Hated any negative gossip about Star Shadow. But today, right now, he held firm and didn’t flinch.
“You just left,” Benji said, and his own tone was plaintive. Distressed. Confused. All emotions Diego had experienced lots of times after one of their will-they-or-won’t-they moments and so he didn’t feel as sympathetic as he maybe should have.
Diego shrugged. “I was ready to go.”
“Then Leo told me you’d texted. That you’d see us in two weeks.” Benji’s eyebrows slammed together and now he was bordering on annoyed. “What the fuck, man.”
“Did you need something in the nex
t two weeks?”
Past-Diego would have given anything for Benji to say yes, and to explain that what he needed was Diego. But it turned out that past-Diego didn’t need to give anything, only time. A long-ass fucking time, but in the end, it was only just time. Nine years of it.
“I wanted to see you. I want to see you.” Benji’s voice dropped. “We need to talk.”
Maybe he should have taken the words at face value and believed that yes, this was finally it, but Diego had believed that so many goddamn times before and look where it had gotten them. Nowhere. So he just shrugged again, and turned away.
“You’re going to pretend we don’t?” Benji’s tone edged toward disbelief.
Diego turned back, annoyed too, now. “I’m not pretending about anything. I just don’t want to talk about it. That might be hard to wrap your head around, but if you think about it long enough and hard enough, you might be able to come up with the right reason.”
Many times over the last few days, Diego had questioned his ability to truly let go of his hopes and his feelings for Benji. After all, they’d become a part of him, so ingrained that he didn’t know if they could ever be dislodged. But tonight, he proved to himself that at least he could hold his own ground, because this time he turned and walked away, leaving Benji gaping behind him.
It should have felt like more of a victory. It didn’t.
———
Even days later, Diego still couldn’t believe he’d been able to walk away. Every cell inside him had reached out, yearning for someone who probably wouldn’t ever be ready for more than just friendship.
“You’re quiet today,” Vicky pointed out as she finished fastening Ana’s diaper. “Everything okay?”
Diego leaned against the doorframe. The creamy yellow walls of Ana’s room, bright and sunny, even when it was gloomy outside, almost always filled him with joy—just like his daughter did. But today it was hard to find the smile.
“The usual,” Diego finally said with a sigh.
“He really didn’t do anything? Not a thing? Didn’t even try to say anything?” Vicky asked.