by Daryl Banner
From across the room, one of the guys butts in. “Did you say something super juicy big?”
Elijah looks over his shoulder. “None of your business, Caleb!”
“Anything juicy and big is my business,” he shoots back over his bag of red-hot Cheetos.
Elijah faces me, rolls his eyes, then leans in and mumbles, “There’s a joke about my big, juicy wang being his business that I’m having trouble putting into words, so if you laugh really loud, it’ll have the same effect. Please help your buddy out and laugh.”
After a second of steeling myself, I fake a laugh for him, loud and exclusively coming from my throat, not my belly. It sounds like a rhinoceros trying anal for the first time.
Elijah winces. “Nice try. ‘A’ for effort. You’re not off the hook about the real big and juicy thing.”
I snatch my sandwich back and stuff my face with it, rolling my eyes at Elijah and finishing up my lunch.
He’s not going to make it easy for me. But the joy of the matter is, no one is going to know anything as long as I continue to keep my lips sealed. It sounds so easy, really. The whole sexy situation is completely under my control.
I have nothing to worry about. In fact, it gives me a strange sense of power. All I have to do is sort of lie all the time.
Lie by omitting the truth.
And as I stroll about the office clutching folders to my chest, or humming to myself as the copier groans while it works, or going on a coffee run, I feel like the most interesting person in the whole building. Standing in that line waiting to order drinks for all the higher-ups, I bite my lip and feel like a super secret spy among mortals, sent on some mission to keep a prized treasure protected from unwanted eyes.
There’s power in the mystery I keep.
And power is sexy.
Even Brady gives me suspicious eyes when he passes by me on his way to the supply closet for some staples. I just keep my chin up, ignoring him and his annoyingly perfect hair, and continue toward the computer terminals to resume my task of separating positive and negative reactions to some client’s recent article. I even have fun while I work now, no matter how tedious the task.
And the supervisor Rebekah, for some completely separate and unknown reason, adores me. “Really great report on those reaction numbers,” she murmurs over my shoulder. “You’re the only one who didn’t manage to destroy the Excel formulae. Can I send a couple more your way to process before end of day?”
I give her a curt nod. “Thank you very much, and yes.”
“I can always count on you,” she whispers, then sashays away, her hips swaying as she goes.
Something must be going right for me. Even Rebekah the Ice Queen has melted in my presence.
I didn’t see him come in at all, so engrossed in my subversive and sneaky act of pretending that nothing subversive or sneaky is going on behind the scenes. But when five o’clock comes around, I happen to be caught in a daze, staring across the office as I decide whether a comment I just read can be classified as positive or negative, and my eyes catch Benjamin Gage’s office door open.
He wears a grey fitted dress shirt with black slacks. He strolls right out of his office with his briefcase at his side, and he moves with his usual brisk speed and curt demeanor.
I’m drawn completely out of my daze, watching as he moves along the perimeter of the office. He couldn’t be farther from me unless he chose to scale the outer windows of the building with a harness and suction cups.
For a moment, I picture exactly that. And it makes me smile. He’d look sexy in a harness with suction cups on his palms.
But then he rounds a corner and is gone for the day.
Just like that.
I remind myself that we agreed to this secretive arrangement. I lift my chin. He told you he wants this, too. Ben looked you in the eye and said he wanted to pursue this thing between you and him.
Just because he doesn’t look at me or acknowledge me or act like I exist at all doesn’t mean anything bad.
I stare back at the screen, trying not to scowl.
Positive or negative?
I narrow my eyes, then mark the comment as negative.
My back is slapped the next instant, scaring the crap out of me. “Buddy! It’s time to go,” comes Elijah’s loud voice. “No workin’ overtime for you. Dinner awaits at Mi Casa De Pizza!”
I snort. “You mean we’re going back to the apartment and ordering Papa John’s.”
“Hell no. You crazy? Dominos all the way.”
“I just have one more page of comments to sift through,” I tell him, “then I’ll meet you out front.”
Elijah sits on the desk by my keyboard. “Yeah, and then you’ll be kept late for some other ‘extracurricular task’. Sure thing. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice—”
“Then shame on your choice of pizza. I’ll see you downstairs.”
He punches me in the arm. “I’d better, bro. See ya.” Then he takes off, leaving me to my last handful of work.
In a matter of minutes, the office is eerily quiet, all the other interns and half the staff having gone home. And then there was one. When I finally complete my numbers and turn them in to an uncharacteristically cheery Rebekah, she thanks me, then says, “See you tomorrow, Trevor. Good work today.”
I hesitate before leaving, then ask her, “Why me?”
She blinks and looks up from her computer. “Excuse me?”
I may be riding a wave of coolness lately, but I still cower a bit in her presence. She’s used to cracking the whip on dozens of interns every summer, anyway; she’s got the icy eyes for the job.
“What I mean is, you compliment my work a lot,” I clarify. “And you chose me to sit in on that meeting. And then there was the errand of dropping off the box of files to Mr. Gage’s—”
“Trevor Woodard.”
I jump, lifting my eyebrows with surprise. “S-Sorry. I just—”
“It’s a good thing,” she cuts me off, lowering her glasses to ensure her eyes are on me completely. “And when you have a good thing going, why question it? Accept it.”
I swallow hard, lick my lips, then give her a short nod. If only she realizes how poignant and relevant her words are to me, in more than just the way she intended.
“Thank you, Rebekah.”
“No need for thanks. Just keep doing the good job, and it’ll keep being a good thing. See you tomorrow.” She returns to the computer and clacks away, her long fingernails scraping the keys.
“Tomorrow,” I agree with another nod, and then I’m off.
Halfway out of the building, my phone buzzes. It’s a text:
B
Dinner. My place. 7 PM tomorrow.
Totally appropriate work meeting.
Attire: business casual, or naked.
I bite my lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.
21
Benjamin likes secrets, too.
Obviously I’ve thrown all logic out of the damned door.
It’s clear that I don’t care what we swore we’d do, or not do. I clearly have no desire to honor a damned thing tonight.
Except my dick.
And my desire for Trevor, a desire I cannot deny myself a second longer.
I hear the buzz that indicates someone is coming up to my floor. I give myself one last glance in the mirror, fixing a strand of hair that’s fallen onto my forehead. I give my shirt a tug, smooth out my jeans, then quickly check my breath.
Of course, Lance watches all of this from the foot of my bed through his unamused, half-lidded eyes.
I smirk and peer over my shoulder at him. “Don’t judge me. I know what you’re thinking over there with your doggy brain, and it’s not going to stop me from inviting Trevor over.”
Lance slaps his snout with his tongue, chomps down with his jowls, and continues to stare at me.
“You’ll get used to him,” I promise my Lance. “You may even start to like him. It’s been quite a while since I�
��ve had a regular guest over. Not since …” And then I can’t think of the last time I ever had anyone over more than once. Have I ever?
There’s a knock at the door.
“Be good,” I warn Lance before departing the room.
When I sweep open the front door, Trevor stands there in a crisp, plaid red-and-blue button-up shirt, the sleeves folded up to the elbows. His light pair of jeans have a tiny slit cut at the bottom on either hem, giving them a boot-cut appearance to allow for his high-top red Converse. His hair, appearing slightly darker than its usual blond due to him having just fixed it up, is swept to the side, only one or two cowlicks defying him in the back. A bag hangs over his shoulder with a store logo I don’t recognize pasted on the side. His eyes are bright and eager, and before I’ve even had a chance to say anything, he’s already blushing like the very act of being here makes him shy.
And he carries before him, held close to his chest, one single red rose.
Oh. Maybe that’s why he’s red-faced already.
“Hey,” he murmurs meekly, then extends the rose to me. “I, uh, just thought, like, maybe …”
I pull him against me and kiss him right there, shutting up all the rest of the words he probably spent the whole elevator ride planning in his head to say. He tastes so sweet, like some sugary fruit, which is all the more fitting. Trevor is, after all, something like my forbidden fruit—a forbidden fruit I can’t stop tasting.
I let go of him so as not to suffocate the poor guy, then pull open my door the rest of the way. “Welcome,” I greet him, moving aside to let him in.
He chuckles awkwardly, out of breath, then steps through the door. His bright eyes search around, as if he’s entering my place for the first time all over again. I love how curious and aware he is all the time. There’s something about him that always seems to be processing his environment, sorting his thoughts, calculating …
I’m getting addicted to just watching his brain work. Does that make me a sapiosexual?
“Right on time,” I note. “Impressive.”
He straightens his posture, still gripping the rose tightly like a microphone. “Can’t let down the boss,” he states smartly. “I dress to impress and work to …” His face wrinkles slightly, searching for the rhyme. “… also impress.”
I chuckle. He’s so damned adorable, even when he’s nervous and fidgety. “Have a seat,” I tell him. “Kick off your shoes. I have something decent on the TV tonight for a change.”
“Oh? No animals frolicking in the wild?”
“Nope. Just humans. On a boat.”
Trevor stands by the couch, observing the TV for a second. He smiles when he recognizes the movie. “Titanic. Aww. Jack and—Hey, Rose!” he says with a cheery lift of the rose he’s still holding. He tries to make some kind of connection between the two as he stutters through a few words, his face reddening more in the effort, and then he gives up, returning his attention to the TV.
I still can’t believe he brought me a damned rose. I’ve never been the flowers and chocolate, make-a-guy-swoon, wooing kind of man, even when I was his age. But the gesture softens my heart a bit, admittedly. Maybe I’ve never been that kind of guy because I’ve never met anyone who’s been that way toward me.
Trevor’s the first.
“It’s a nice movie,” I state with a shrug. “Kind of timeless, in a way. Especially for a 1997 classic.”
“1997. Hey, I was just a baby then!” Trevor exclaims—and then immediately shrinks up, his face going red again. He returns all his attention back to the TV, as if pretending he never spoke.
I press my lips together to stifle a laugh. “I’ll … fetch a bud vase for the rose,” I tell him, turning toward the kitchen.
“Oh! I almost forgot.” He twists around suddenly and reaches inside the bag he was carrying, then pulls out a small wrapped package. The paper is silver and tied with a black ribbon.
I stare at it. “You … brought me a gift?”
“Open it.”
With a pinch of reluctance, I take it from his outstretched palm and pull the ribbon, which comes loose at once. The paper opens to reveal his gift, which I squint at, confused.
“A toy sword?” I say, lifting it up to my face to inspect it.
“It’s a dog toy,” he explains. “A squeaky sword. For your little knight of legend, Lancelot.”
I look up at Trevor’s face, surprised by his thoughtfulness. I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised; this seems exactly like something he would do. Yet still I find myself staring at him as if he’s a guy I just met for the first time, as if I don’t really know him.
“You’re smiling,” he observes, his face flushing slightly.
I didn’t realize I was. My expression hardens, then I brandish the sword before me as if it was real. “En garde.”
He chuckles once nervously, then lifts his hands in surrender. “I’m defenseless!”
That, you are, I secretly quip to myself before lowering the toy and giving it another tossing in my hand. “He’s gonna love it.” I give it a second thought. “Well, I mean, I hope he does. He doesn’t have any toys.”
“Really?” Trevor holds the rose with both his hands, fidgeting with it. “Why not?”
“He’s not exactly the playful type.”
“Oh.”
“But I’ll give it to him. He does have his moments. Like when I come home after a long day, for instance.”
“When you come home alone,” Trevor amends, not blind to the fact that Lance is nowhere to be found. He gives the rose a tiny wiggle. “Bud vase?”
“Bud vase,” I agree, smiling tightly.
Twenty minutes later, the single rose stands proudly in a tall, crystalline bud vase at the center of my dining room table. The food has also arrived—another succulent option from Da Lena Cucina E Vino—and we’re eating together once again.
He looks so damned irresistible, chewing like he’s got heaven caught in his mouth. Unable to contain myself, I tap his foot under the table, then gaze away and play it off when he looks up. I see Trevor grinning in my peripheral, and then he starts gaining a bit of courage, bumping my foot back. I fight a smile, spear a bite of broccoli, then slowly let my foot trail up his leg. He stops eating and closes his eyes, feeling my toe as it gently trails up his shin, slides over his knee, then slowly moves to his inner thigh.
It’s right about then that my phone emits a glassy noise—a very particular glassy noise that denotes an emergency: Jazz.
Trevor lifts his eyebrows. “Ooh, I like that sound,” he moans lightly, as if he doesn’t have my foot halfway to his crotch.
“I don’t.” I pick up my phone and read the message. It’s not good. I bring my foot back down to the floor. “Ugh. Fuck me.”
Trevor sets his fork down with a clang. “Something wrong?”
“Yeah. Work.” I bite my lip, unsure how to respond. I stare at Jazz’s message, my thumb fidgeting on the screen. It’s urgent enough to send Trevor home and cancel this night I planned.
“You need to run to the office? Or …?”
“Not the office. But I do have to leave and … do something. Or someone,” I amend, wishing like hell I meant the words sexually—and about Trevor—but my real meaning couldn’t be farther from anything remotely sexy or related to him.
Disappointment pulls on Trevor’s features. I’m sure he had his own vision of how tonight might go, and it wasn’t like this.
Then, in a flash, he wipes away his frown and meets my eyes. “I could just hang here, if that’s safest. Or … Or if you need me to go home … then I … I could do that, too,” he reluctantly suggests, clearly not liking his own second option.
That’s when, at once, I think of a third. The corner of my mouth pulls up, inspired suddenly. “Or …”
“Or?”
“Come with me.” My smirk turns into a full-on grin from the sight of his stunned eyes. “You’re my intern, after all. I can take you as my assistant. You up for a little fieldtrip?”
22
Benjamin works well with others.
The answer is yes, Trevor is up for a little fieldtrip.
What at first was fear has quickly converted into excitement. “Where’re we going?” he asks impatiently from the passenger seat before we’ve even made it two blocks.
“I have a high-profile client prone to drama,” I explain as I drive, “and her sweet teenage daughter has created one of her own involving an ex named Lukas who wants to sell vids of her chocolate-syrup-glazed lady cavern for a shit ton of green.”
Trevor snorts. “I, um … wow.”
“Thankfully, I have a secret contact who was able to thwart all of the ex-boyfriend’s attempts at being paid online for these vids by anyone. She also locked the content so it can’t be transferred or copied off of his phone.”
“A secret contact? Like … a hacker? Ooh, fun!”
“Something like that.” I smirk; Jazz has never liked the word “hacker”, as if such a term of endearment is far beneath her, even offensive. “Sadly for us, this ex-boyfriend is more persistent than we counted on. He’s befriended a tech-savvy buyer willing to pay a lot of money—in cash, and in person—to purchase the phone itself. For all we know, the man can and will find a way to unlock the videos and make all his money back and then some.”
“So … what are we supposed to do about it?”
“Easy. Intercept the transaction.”
“Intercept? A-Are you serious?”
“My contact has already spooked the buyer into not showing up, but sent the ex-boyfriend a confirmation that he will. It isn’t a tech-savvy pervert our troublemaking Lukas is meeting anymore. It’s me. I’m the buyer now.”
“Oh. It’s like … like a switcheroo!”
I grin at the sound of his excitement, giving him a nod. “That it is. So easy, it’s like taking anal beads from a mule.”
“I … don’t even know what that means.”
“You wouldn’t want to. My business isn’t always a clean one.” Trevor gives in to a fit of nervous tittering suddenly, drawing my eyes to him. “Something about that tickled you?”