by Daryl Banner
But I have bigger balls to bust. Namely, my own.
Trevor isn’t the enemy. I have to remember that. When I shut my eyes, all I see is Trevor’s face as we talked on the way home for hours and chatted away about everything last night. I expected Trevor to be pooped when we got to the airport, but instead, he was invigorated. He was like a kid who couldn’t stop going on about some amazing movie he just saw—except he had a role in it. He curled up with me on the small leather couch on the jet and spilled stories of his life at college, telling me about all his classes. I listened as we casually cuddled, caring about nothing to do with clients or computers or Beverly Hills’ teenaged tools. I was fully invested in him, and he was lit up like a Christmas light.
And then the flight landed and our night ended. We drove to his place, shared a sweet kiss, then I watched him step inside. When I got home, I worked out my sexual aggression for a solid hour in my gym, took the steamiest shower I’d taken all week, then slipped into bed and slept like a brick at four in the morning.
I have to be cool whenever Trevor’s name is mentioned in the office. He’s one of my top interns, and he caught Rebekah’s eye. It’s inevitable that he’s going to be noticed by others, too. I have to be okay with that and treat him just like I would anyone else who’s receiving due praises, regardless of my intensifying feelings.
No special treatment. And no not special treatment.
Didn’t Trevor say that himself, once?
26
Trevor is a team player.
No special treatment. That’s what I said I wanted.
So I shouldn’t be mad, really, when Rebekah summons three interns to assist a special team headed by Ben to fashion a plan of action for one of his clients—three interns that do not include me.
Really, it’d be a bad idea to be in there with them, working so close with Benjamin after the night we just had. Right?
I shouldn’t take it personally.
“Can you hand me the stapler?” mumbles Elijah, reaching out his hand.
Distractedly, I hand it to him, my eyes like needles as they stay glued to the glass windows that reveal the three interns and five employees around the round table in that office, Benjamin circling them slowly as he addresses them. Every now and then, he’ll stroll up to his dry erase board to squiggle out an image or jot something down. Even from all the way across the room, I can recognize the very specific way in which his butt wiggles as he writes on that board. It fills me with a mixture of longing and frustration.
I came to Gage Communications with the purpose of gaining traction in my career, impressing someone who could potentially make or break me, and soaking in all the brilliance like a big, soft, collegiate sponge.
I didn’t come here for a boyfriend. Or a lover. Or him.
Yet all of my priorities seem to have shifted overnight. When I come into work, I go through the motions like a choreographed routine I’ve rehearsed fifty-seven times. I give the boss as much attention as I would an out-of-place paperclip on a desk. I do my good work, but expect nothing for it and expect nothing to come from it.
Because all of my thoughts begin and end with Benjamin Gage and when we’ll get to be alone again.
Benjamin Gage, whose soul I dived into last night.
Benjamin Gage, who took me on an adventure that split me wide open and made me face both my fears and my joys.
Benjamin Gage, the man who’s supposed to be my boss. The man who’s totally in a meeting right the heck now with three of your fellow peers—and not you.
Don’t be a jealous little kumquat, Trevor.
“Alright, I’m callin’ it,” says Elijah.
I jolt out of my thoughts, then turn to him. “Calling what?”
“You. On your shit.” Elijah hands the stapler back to me by slapping it onto my palm, earning an “Ow!” from me. “We’re hittin’ the corner store pizzeria after work. You and I are gonna talk.”
I frown. “What’d I do now? Leave the toilet seat up?”
“Or stay out past two in the freakin’ morning?” Elijah squints at me like a scolding father. “Ring any bells?”
I sigh, already over it. “Elijah, you were the one who told me I needed to loosen up. You pushed me to go clubbing with you. You told me to get laid. You said—”
“Tonight,” clips Elijah, cutting me off, then swipes his laptop off the desk and struts away without another word.
No, my day doesn’t get any better after that. Why would it?
It’s almost time to go, and I’m stretched like a tree in the supply closet, reaching for the top shelf (unsuccessfully) when a tall shadow eclipses the light.
“Sorry,” I mumble to whoever it is behind me. “Just trying to get the damned box of envelopes back here. One more second.”
“Trevor.”
The voice catches me off-guard. I stop stretching and turn. The tall cold glass of water named Brady stands there, his bright blond hair sitting perfectly styled on his stiff, half-tilted head. He stares me down with two annoyingly sexy, frigid eyes.
“Brady,” I clip back for a greeting. “You need something? And if not, can you help me get these envelopes? I really don’t want to pull out a stepladder. That’s just humiliating.”
“Humiliating.” Brady snorts. “Now that’s an interesting word.”
I face him, confused. I have no idea where all this hetero sass is coming from. “What do you mean?”
He takes a step forward. Considering how small this closet is and how close he already was, he’s more than invading my bubble, which I might have one day welcomed in an entirely different context, but not right now.
“Let’s talk about humiliation,” he says, eyes narrowing.
That’s an odd way to lead an attack. I feel like he’s about to pull down my pants and give me an atomic wedgie on this supply rack. Instantly, I’m in high school again being cornered by a bully.
A sexy bully who’s staring me down right now. “Humiliation,” he repeats, “like the fact that, if boss man wasn’t so distracted by your dumb act, and if our supervisor wasn’t so easy to charm, then I wouldn’t feel like the ignored cat scratching at their back door.”
Uh, what? “I’m … not following.”
“I’m not the kind of guy who gets ignored,” Brady states, his voice steely and his eyes like two pools of molten silver. “When I’m in the office, the supers look my way. Right now, the only thing either of them seem to be seeing is you.”
My mouth just hangs open, unsure what to say to that. There are about a hundred thoughts racing around my head right now, like if Benjamin himself said something, or if there’s a rumor or two making the rounds, or if my own behavior has given anything away. All of these thoughts render me paralyzed.
Brady fills the silence with his own sexy threats. “I don’t know your game, Trevor, but I want you to know I see it. And I will not tolerate it. I don’t give two shits about any of these other guys, least of all you. But once I see through your scheme, I’m going to blow it up, and I’m going to get the recognition I deserve.”
“I’m not d-doing anything,” I state suddenly, gathering my courage at last. Despite my stuttering voice, I push the words out and straighten my spine in the face of heterosexual gorgeousness. “I don’t have any game. I just clock in, do what I’m asked, and clock out. I don’t know about the first d-damned thing your sexy ass is saying to me.”
I blink, stunned. Sexy ass? Seriously?
“You’re a schemer,” Brady states, either ignoring me or not having heard my words at all. He shakes his head disapprovingly. “I knew it the second I met you in the copy room that first day and you played dumb, acting like you didn’t know how to change the toner. Everyone knows how to change the toner.”
“I … I didn’t know,” I start, trying to defend myself to this guy with demigod eyes and a face cut from stone. Seriously, it’s not easy. It’s like trying to argue with Michelangelo’s statue of David.
“And maybe Rebe
kah and Mr. Gage are buying your innocent-eyed play-dumb thing, but I don’t buy it for a second. And unlike them, I can’t be flirted with. I see right through you.”
“Oh, can’t be flirted with, huh?” I counter. “So that makes it totally alright for you to … to play your sexy little game and flash your pretty eyes and cock-tease the boss with your tight gym body and … and … and your perfectly styled hair?”
I’m not very good right now at insulting him, apparently.
Brady ignores my tirade. His hard, unbending eyes bore down onto me as he whispers, “No matter what you do, just remember this: in the end, I’m the one who wins this game. Not you.”
His eyes are so bright and fierce, each time he blinks, it’s like two shutters eclipsing the glorious sun.
“Well, I hope you like playing with yourself,” I state, lifting my chin smugly, “because … because you’re the only one playing any game, apparently. I don’t play dumb, I don’t charm supers, and I definitely don’t flirt my way to the top.”
Nor do I hook up with my boss at a club.
Or go back to his place and nearly have sex. Twice. Sorta.
And let’s not forget our adorable bathroom tête-à-tête.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, Brady,” I continue on, addressing the tall slender block of perfection that is my rival, “I was in the middle of getting some envelopes.”
With that, I turn my back on the office bully and resume my little stretching exercise, humiliating myself as I grunt and reach for the top shelf. I pretend he totally isn’t glaring at me with those smoldering, sexy eyes. Shut up, Trevor’s dick.
After a beat, Brady steps beside me and, with ease, grabs the box of envelopes off the top shelf, then tosses them at my chest. I catch them, then watch as Brady saunters off without so much as a glance back my way. I stare after him awhile, feeling more and more unsettled by the second as his words sink in.
All humor aside, I realize the severity of his threats. It isn’t something I should take as lightly as this box of envelopes in my sweaty grip. Brady is certain that something’s going on with me, something strange, something of a game. That leads me to wonder if the other interns suspect anything, too.
And what about Elijah? Is that why we’re hitting the pizzeria later after work? He chats with all of the others. Surely he gets all the juice from the grapevine.
What if I’m the latest grape?
27
Trevor enjoys a polite scolding.
“One small pep,” Elijah instructs the guy at the counter, “and a three-top medium with onions, mushrooms, and bacon.”
“We’re out of bacon,” the guy replies.
“Sausage, then.”
“We’re out of sausage.”
“Jesus, just put some meat on the dang pizza,” Elijah exclaims, exasperated. “Ham, turkey, cat, your manager’s dick, something. You got two starved, cranky guys to serve here!”
“I’m not cranky,” I interject.
Elijah glares at me and says, “You’re about to be,” to which I just roll my eyes and drop back into my seat by the window.
After paying, he plops down in the chair across from me. “The tables here are tiny,” I complain. “We taking the pizzas back to the apartment? Or—?”
“The booths are all taken. We’ll deal.” Elijah glances at a girl strolling by outside the big window, distracted for a second, then cracks his knuckles and faces me. “You and I got some unfinished business to discuss.”
I will admit, I’m a tiny bit freaked out by what he might have to say, but he’s my roommate and best friend of so many years, so I have to trust that even if it’s bad, we can work through it. Also, I’ve given things a lot of thought on the walk over here from the office, and have had a chance to adopt a casual, totally-nothing-odd-going-on demeanor, which is probably the reason I kick back, fold my arms, and await what he’s going to say like some bored, totally petulant teenager. Go ahead and give me my gold star for lovely behavior, teacher; I’m totally earning it.
“First off,” Elijah begins, “you know I know you’ve been acting funny lately. Like, abnormally funny.”
“Okay.”
“Four years of high school and three years of college, and you have never undone a single lace on the knee-high boot of your … uptightness.”
“Nice metaphor.”
“I know.” He runs a hand through his messy dark brown hair. “Now, you’ve all but torn that boot off. You’re telling me about all these extra things you’re being held back at the office to do, which I know are all lies.”
I part my lips to protest, then think the better of it, allowing him to go on.
“You stayed out past two in the morning, dude. Like, even I wouldn’t do that on a work night.”
“Really?” I interrupt, unable to help myself. “When the new Grand Theft Auto game came out last fall, you’re telling me you didn’t stay up until five in the morning knowing you had a final exam the next morning for Geology?”
“That’s not the same thing! It was Geology! Rocks! What’s so hard about that? Don’t distract me.”
I sigh. “Go on, then, Captain High Horse.”
“You don’t know this, but …” Elijah takes a deep breath, then lets out his next words with it. “I sorta made a deal with your mom and dad before you came to live with me.”
“You what?”
“I told them I’d look after you. Be a big bro. Blah, blah. And you know how your parents are,” he goes on with a dramatic lift of his eyebrows. “They are … a certain kind of people.”
“So you’re supposed to be babysitting me? Is that what you’re so upset about? That me and my diaper loads are such a handful?”
Elijah shoots me a hard look. “Yeah, bro. That’s my issue,” he replies sarcastically. “And now we need to schedule a spanking until you learn your lesson.”
“Please, Elijah, stop, you’re turning me on,” I spit back dryly.
He leans over the table. “The point is, Trevor, my sweet love, you used to tell me everything. But lately, you’re all dirty, shady, out all night, and probably have toilet herpes by now.”
I bring my head down and hide my face from the view of our neighboring tables, all the occupants of which are looking our way now. “Toilet herpes??” I hiss. “Really, Elijah?”
“Hey, I don’t know what kind of weird back-alley clubs you’re hitting up after work until two in the morning!”
“Shhh!”
“How am I going to explain to your poor parents all the exotic rash creams you’re gonna need? These things keep me up at night, Trevor. You know, while you’re out gettin’ your bang on.”
I’m shielding my face with both hands now, flames rushing up my cheeks. “So this is why you brought me here?” I ask quietly, muffled through my hands. “To humiliate your best friend?”
Elijah grips my wrists and pulls my hands back down to the table, then looks me in the eye. “I want my studious, determined, stick-up-his-ass buddy back.”
I frown, still red-faced. “You hate stick-up-his-ass Trevor.”
“Right now, I’m loving stick-up-his-ass Trevor. I miss him. I need to put that stick right back up his bum. We were interning together at Gage Communications and we cared about doing hard work, impressing the supervisors … and the boss. This new Trevor sneaks away into bathroom stalls to diddle with guys like skinny-tie Isaac.”
I roll my eyes. “It wasn’t Isaac,” I groan.
Elijah smiles victoriously. “Process of elimination, buddy. One pretty boy at a time. I will get to the bottom of this,” he promises. “Unless the dude’s a top. Wait. Are you the bottom? I forget how it works. You gay guys are so confusing.”
Just then, our food arrives in the form of two hot, cheesy pizzas being slapped in front of us. The steam alone gives my face a long-needed bath as I peer over it, starved.
When our mouths are full of our first bites, we stare at each other across the table, all the words we didn’t dare utter hangi
ng invisible in the pizza steam between us.
Chewing, I ask, “We good, then?”
After he swallows his bite, takes a full ten seconds to chug down a gulp or six of his Coke, and dabs his mouth daintily with a napkin, he gives me a curt nod, then adds, “We’re good … as long as you’re open with me, stop all this silly pussyfooting around, and don’t give me any reason to worry that my best bud is throwing his career away on some mystery office dick.”
With a mouthful of cheese and pepperoni, I give him a totally confident nod, then avert my eyes to the window, reflecting on whose “mystery office dick” Elijah is unknowingly talking about.
28
Benjamin had a long, hard day.
After the door shuts lightly behind me, I kick off my shoes, shrug off my jacket, and drop onto a stool at the bar counter. I pull a glass in front of me and help myself to some whiskey.
Because what else do you do after a day like today?
Just when I’m pouring myself seconds, Lance comes down the spiral staircase and sits at the foot of it to stare at me judgingly. That’s pretty much the only way he ever looks at me lately.
I frown at him, the glass hanging from my grip. “Where are my thousand face-licks, Lancelot? I came home alone tonight. I’m all yours.”
He just stares, unresponsive.
I sigh. “Okay, I get it. You’re pissed. Some total stranger you don’t know came over. Three-and-a-half times. And you feel this deep sense of … betrayal. Am I right? Ballpark?”
Lance lies down on the floor, resting his chin on his paws.
I ditch my glass, hop off the stool, then take a seat on the floor next to him. He doesn’t object. I give his head a rub, itching behind his ear the way he likes it, despite him not responding to it much at the moment.
I half-cuddle Lance, bringing my chin to his head and baby-talking to him. “Are those birds still harassing you on the terrace? The scary birds that squawk and go flap-flap-flap?” I pretend his silence is an answer. “You don’t have to be afraid of them.”