by Lex Chase
“I’m off the clock,” he muttered.
Karin tossed her head. “You’re dead. Time doesn’t matter.”
He answered her witty retort with a middle finger.
She tapped her foot. “We have a situation that I need your particular expertise for.”
Patrick sighed and cast the puzzle book aside. He peeled himself off his bed just as a customer lay in his spot, testing the MODENA mattress.
He growled under his breath. “That’s my fucking bed.”
Karin clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, big guy.”
Patrick went along with Karin’s nudging. “Fine. Show me the drama.”
“Who said anything about drama?” Her flats made a soft shuffle across the tile thoroughfare. The customers were emptying out for the night, and the crowds thinned to a trickle and then nothing.
Patrick scratched at the scruff on the back of his neck. “You did say—”
“Expertise.” Karin circled around him. “What’s gotten into you? Are you feeling all right? You should have healed up from your scuffle by now.”
Scuffle. Ha. It had been an all-out brawl. Trust Karin to underplay things.
“I’m fine,” Patrick lied. He stood straighter, and a shock of pain stabbed into his ribs. He slapped his hand over his chest, trying to ease it away. “Fuck.”
“Jabba took it out of you, didn’t he?” Her tone was irritatingly casual.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle. Nothing like saving an Impression from Wallville.” He shot her a glare.
“And crashing a car into the lobby.”
He smirked. “Cool, right?”
“You and I have different definitions of cool.”
“Smile, Karin. It might warm that withered-up thing you call a va—”
He blinked and she was nose to nose with him. “What were you about to say?”
“Heart. Warm your heart.”
She stepped back and fixed him with a dour look. “Uh-huh.”
The lights dimmed around them as CASA officially closed for the night. CASA became his fortress of solitude when the customers left. But there hadn’t been much solitude for him since Benji first walked through those doors and into Patrick’s afterlife. Why did Benji have to be his type? He cursed himself. Why couldn’t he have been an Impression that Patrick could guide into moving on? Then he’d have taken care of business in the shower like usual and gone about his hereafter. It was a puzzlement that they had to retrain themselves to engage the senses, but sex drive never faded, even in death. But the shower hadn’t been as tempting—or fulfilling—of late. Damn Benji.
They slipped around the divider into one of the simulated kitchen layouts, and Patrick froze.
Benji stood across the kitchen with Agnes at his side.
Patrick clenched his jaw as Benji turned his gaze to the floor.
An opulent table spread of steaming meatballs, gnocchi, and sweet tomato jam sat between them on the butcher-block bar. The scent of espresso wafted up from the tiramisu that sat ready on dessert plates, and Coke bubbled in wine glasses. Overhead, the FIORE pendant lamp twinkled like a dandelion puff sprinkled with dew. Opulent was stretching it a bit. As opulent as one could be with budget-conscious dishes and flatware, at least.
He shook his head at the lamp. He’d dissuaded a perky coed from buying one earlier today. The Impression who’d told him it would end up killing her boyfriend had been ridiculously good-looking, but all Patrick had been able to think about was how his hair wasn’t quite as shiny as Benji’s.
“What the fuck is going on?” Patrick grunted. Benji was the last person he wanted to see. Which would be impossible given the close quarters.
“The situation,” Karin said with a beaming smile that seemed to suck the joy out of him. “Handle it.”
Benji ducked as Agnes whispered something in his ear—probably the same lame-ass pep talk he’d just gotten from Karin, but creepier and more cryptic—before she patted him on the back and promptly disappeared. Benji stepped forward hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure of his welcome. And damn if that didn’t send a twinge through the heart Patrick wished he didn’t have. He didn’t want Benji to be afraid of him.
Patrick came closer. He might as well have been stepping into a boxing ring. He followed Benji’s lead, and they took their seats at the same time. Another bolt of pain sizzled through Patrick’s nerves. It had never taken him this long to recover from his excursions to the garage, but he had never taken on Jabba on his own before. The guilty memory made him break out in a sickly shiver.
Benji pursed his lips and was about to speak when Patrick headed him off at the pass.
“Just getting old and feeble,” he said with a grin.
“And senile,” Benji said with a slight frown. “You lost your mind taking on the Weople.”
“I was chasing my marbles.” Patrick rubbed at his ribs before settling. He glanced at Benji, noting his soft smile. Patrick fought through the flustered feeling by clearing his throat.
He couldn’t mistake the genuine concern that twisted Benji’s adorable features. “How are you feeling?”
“Like death warmed over, thanks.” Patrick chuckled humorlessly.
Benji furrowed his brows. “That’s not even close to funny.”
“Oh, and I’m sure you’re hilarious.” Patrick eyed the elegant meal between them, plated on cheap minimalist flatware.
“I’ll have you know I’m quite funny.”
“Looking,” Patrick slipped in at just the right moment.
Benji snorted. “We’re resorting to that?”
“Well, you are a kindergarten teacher.” Patrick grabbed his fork and then scooted a meatball across his plate.
Benji looked down at his plate. “I was.”
“You are,” Patrick said firmly. “You are and you always will be.”
Benji cracked a slow smile, and Patrick tightened his grip on his fork.
“That’s possibly the nicest thing you’ve said to me,” Benji said.
Patrick speared a meatball and took a bite. “What?” he said as he chewed. “I didn’t say anything.” He pointed with his fork over his shoulder. “There’s an Impression over there mumbling to himself.”
“H-how are you d-doing th-that?” Benji’s voice cracked and his eyes rounded.
“Making words?” Patrick took another bite. “Come on, cupcake. They covered the five senses in kindergarten. Next to head, shoulders, knees, and toes.”
“Eating.” Benji pointed. “Can you even taste it?”
Patrick tilted his head and glanced at his fork. He then speared another savory meatball with a swirl of sweet tomato jam. He scrutinized Benji as he took another bite. “Of course I can.”
Benji gaped at him and Patrick moaned around the mouthful of savory meatball, gnocchi, and sweet tomato jam. He reveled in Benji’s cheeks burning a bright red and watched him squirm in his seat.
Patrick swallowed and put his fork down. He swished the Coke in the wine glass and then took a sip. “Ah. Refreshing.” He set down the glass and resumed eating.
Karin and Agnes had spared nothing in the romantic setup, Patrick noted as he scanned the dimmed showroom. Trying to get Patrick in the mood for Bella Notte or some such level of BS. It wasn’t going to work. He would see to that. He had broken too many rules with Benji, and he had to set his limits.
“I got a question for you,” Patrick said, muffled by his meatball. “Do you think every store or restaurant has its own version of purgatory? What do you think is over in the Sacratomato Pizza Kitchen down the street? Man, I used to love that place. What would the demons be there? I mean, there’s the Weople here. The SPKers have to be something, you know?” He swallowed and then sipped his Coke.
“Patrick.”
Patrick nearly spat his Coke. He’d never heard his name sound like that before, infused with want and jealousy and a thousand other things he didn’t have a name for. Benji sounded wrecked.
He quirked a brow at
Benji, hoping against hope that his face was blank and didn’t show how much Benji’s voice had affected him.
“Teach me,” Benji said, his eyes still wide and his gaze locked on Patrick’s mouth.
Whoa. Hello, loaded comment. Patrick cleared his throat.
“Teach you what?” he asked.
Well. One loaded comment deserved another.
“How to eat.”
Patrick’s stomach clenched as his mind dive-bombed into the gutter. He fought for a smooth recovery. He ran a hand over his face, and took a breath.
They locked gazes, and Patrick stubbornly set his jaw. If he was going there, he was all in.
After taking a glistening meatball on his fork, he held it out across the table. “Open wide and say ‘ah.’”
Benji wasn’t going to take the bait. There was no way. Patrick was sure of it.
He wasn’t prepared when Benji leaned forward and parted his lips in that perfect seductive pout.
Stop, Patrick mentally screamed, cursing himself instead of Benji.
He threw the fork aside and shot from the table. Benji sat back, his mellow expression making Patrick angry. Anger was good. It was a hell of a lot more familiar than the tenderness from a minute ago.
Benji thought he had him all figured out, did he? He thought he could predict Patrick’s mood swings and hang on for the ride? Well, good for him. Because Patrick would be the first to admit that even he didn’t have a backstage pass to whatever the fuck was going on with him right now, so fuck Benji very much if he thought he did.
“This is how it’s going to be, huh?” Patrick growled as a jolt of hot pain raced down his spine. He gnashed his teeth and knitted his brows. In all of his bravado, his body cruelly reminded him he had gotten his ass kicked by a guy on a motor scooter.
“I don’t know. You tell me,” Benji said, unimpressed, and he crossed his arms. “You were the one going there.”
“Fine,” Patrick snapped and flung the dishes off the table with a vicious swing of the arm. “Let’s go. Right now. Here.”
Benji maintained his unimpressed expression. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Oh come on.” Patrick said, reaching for the waistband of his jeans. “Just two dudes fucking like jackrabbits in the middle of a CASA showroom. Takes fucking in public to a whole new level.”
Benji frowned. “Fucking? Is that what you think this is?”
Patrick had his fingers at the button and fly of his jeans but hesitated. “That’s exactly what this is.”
“This?” Benji gestured between the two of them. “This? I’m stuck here for….” He fell silent and then shrugged. “All eternity or whatever, and you think this is a momentary thing?”
“Work with me, cupcake.”
“Benji. My name is Benji.” He glared at Patrick. “And I’m not going to be just another notch in your MILAN bed.”
Patrick retreated to the kitchen counter and leaned back against the fake sink. Curling his fingers under the lip of the counter, Patrick clawed his fingernails into the particleboard. He couldn’t win anymore. And he had never been the most gracious of losers.
Benji appeared in front of him, his energy radiating off his smaller form into Patrick’s tense frame.
Patrick couldn’t look at him. But it was no use when he felt Benji’s warm fingers across his cheek. He swallowed, and Benji leaned closer. Benji had him powerless. All of his aggression, his taunts, his jabs, anything to push Benji away, were for nothing.
Benji pressed against him, his head to Patrick’s chest.
They stood in silence. Patrick maintained his grip on the counter.
Benji pulled away and every part of Patrick screamed for him to come back. But when he did return, Benji tilted his chin up and placed the softest of kisses on Patrick’s mouth.
Patrick froze and tightened his grip on the counter until his knuckles bleached white.
Benji kissed him again, encouraging Patrick to respond. But he remained still, his mind a muddle of primal need and emotional exposure.
Finally, when Benji looped his arms around his neck, Patrick fell into the tenderness. He returned the kiss with one of his own, leading Benji’s chaste and timid kiss into a hungry one.
Patrick pulled him closer, their bodies meshing and singing with the energy transfer between them. It was never about the kiss. Kissing was an activity for the living. Sharing auras was the true pleasure between spirits. Benji shivered against him and moaned against his mouth. Patrick tilted his chin down and coaxed Benji to open for him. When Benji submitted, they tasted each other, and Patrick pulled away suddenly with the remembrance of sweetness.
His breath stuttered in his throat, and Benji mewled disapprovingly. Patrick answered in kind by returning the affection and claiming his mouth once again. Benji’s hands trembled as he explored Patrick’s frame and crept up his shirt to his taut stomach.
Patrick nestled one hand in Benji’s hair and the other at the small of his back. When he felt Benji’s knees quake, Patrick abruptly pushed Benji away and held him at arm’s length.
“That’s… enough,” Patrick said as he fought to catch his breath. If he had taken any more of Benji’s aura, they would have gone down a road there was no coming back from.
Benji’s face was sheened with sweat, his mouth glossy and red from Patrick’s attentions. “What… what happened? What was that?”
Patrick didn’t answer and pulled away from Benji. He considered the plates scattered across the floor. If the car he had crashed into the downstairs entry hadn’t already convinced them, the employees would start thinking the store was cursed.
“What did you do to me?” Benji insisted.
Patrick looked up to the FIORE light and took a steadying breath. He’d definitely need a moment in the employee showers later.
“I believe it’s called kissing, cupcake.” He grinned as Benji staggered to a seat. “You know about the birds and the bees, right? They’re not literal birds and bees.” He slipped behind the butcher block to hide the evidence of his arousal but maintained his unruffled attitude. “So. We’re doing this.”
“This?” Benji shook his head.
Patrick nodded slowly as if Benji were a small child. “You know. That thing where we sometimes stop talking and make out?”
“Dating?” Benji asked with a smirk.
Patrick reeled back, offended, and his stomach clenched. “I didn’t say anything about dating. I said checking each other’s dental work.”
“Dating.” Benji gave him a wolfish grin.
“No. Dating is when you suck my dick,” Patrick said flatly.
“That’s not how dating works!”
Patrick blinked. The blissful innocence act would only get him so far, but he was going to ride that pony to the end of the line. In the distance, an Impression groaned, calling out for her relative. Saved by the fucking bell again, and the perfect answer to a cold shower.
“Fuck. I’m off the clock,” he muttered. He watched Benji, who still had that big smarmy grin on his face. “Gotta jet. Working overtime tonight.” Benji’s grin crawled up his skin, and he fumbled. It wasn’t like him to fumble. Karin would have a fucking field day.
“Um. See you tomorrow?” Patrick asked, trying to save face and failing.
“It’s a date.”
Patrick scowled and answered Benji by flipping him off.
Chapter Eleven: ORBA
Benji had never been one of the popular kids growing up. He’d been too ordinary to stand out, which had never really bothered him. It had also meant he was rarely bullied. But his sister was his opposite, always going out of her way to be noticed, even if it wasn’t in a positive light. Allyssa had hit a goth phase in middle school that had been painful for the entire family, especially when a few of the boys in a grade above her had started calling her Wednesday Addams. The teasing and pranks had escalated from there, though the details were fuzzy in Benji’s mind twenty years later. What did stick out was his mother’s speech—ostensibl
y to both of them, but he and Alyssa had known even then that it was just directed at her, since Benji got along with everyone—about how to fight back without fighting at all.
“Kill them with kindness,” she’d told them.
It hadn’t worked for Alyssa. The boys had kept on tormenting her until she left a dead mouse in one of their lockers. She bought it frozen at a pet store, but school lore was that she’d killed it with her bare hands.
But his mother’s words had hit home for Benji, and they had become his modus operandi whenever things were rough. Hindsight showed him that it led to him letting people walk all over him, but it had also served him well when he needed to defuse awkward or difficult situations. He was using it in force now. He wasn’t sure if he’d say he and Patrick were in a relationship, exactly, but they were at least relationship-adjacent. Patrick insisted they weren’t, but he seemed to enjoy Benji’s company to a point. Every time Benji pushed Patrick further out of his comfort zone, Patrick slammed on the brakes in the most peculiarly cute way. It wasn’t like Patrick to get flustered and fumble. But Benji’s niceness and understanding noticeably messed with Patrick’s sense of balance. Keeping Patrick even more off-kilter by being unrelentingly nice was all part of Benji’s master plan.
Each time he kept his cool when Patrick invariably lost his own, Patrick became just the slightest bit more immune. Benji reasoned that within a few weeks, he’d actually be able to give Patrick a compliment without Patrick tearing it apart, looking for a hidden meaning. Maybe in a month Patrick would be able to stick around after a make-out session. Maybe they could even have sex.
Patrick was definitely willing on that count, but Benji was holding firm. But the clues were there even if Patrick hid them behind his usual air of confident bullshit. Benji recognized emotional fragility when he saw it, and he wasn’t going to take advantage. Mess with Patrick to put him off guard? Yes. Sleep with him when his head wasn’t entirely in the game? No.
Besides, cockblocking himself had some unintended benefits. Their astral energies were tied to high emotions. Anger sucked it out of them. And apparently lust—especially frustrated lust—gave them a bit of a power boost.