Page 30

CHAPTER 30

Max

I sit in my car outside Ben's house, waiting for the clock to hit 7:00 PM. I'm determined to show up right on time. With ten minutes to spare, I dial London's number.

"Hey, Max," she answers.

"How's Nana doing?"

She groans. "For someone who survived a home invasion with just a few skin abrasions from the pillow, she sure is soaking up the attention."

I bite back a comment about how much Nana has done for us over the years and keep listening.

"Can you hear that?" she asks. "If she rings that bell one more time, I swear to you, I will put her in a home."

"You don't mean that."

After a pause, she admits, "You're right. I love her with all my heart, but she's driving me nuts.”

“Are you able to leave her alone for a little while? We could go out for dinner tomorrow or something."

"Play it by ear?" she suggests. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with her, but she likes the attention. Can you help me figure out something to keep her occupied?"

"Like a puppy?"

"Max, you know how much I love dogs, but they are a lot of work."

"I'll keep thinking and let you know as soon as I come up with something.”

“What are you doing tonight? Want to come over for dinner? Nana would love to see you... please? Come over? Save me?"

I laugh. "I'll come over tomorrow, I promise. But right now, I'm sitting outside Dr. Ben's house."

"Stalking him?"

"No, waiting for 7:00 PM on the dot to ring his bell and have dinner. It was his idea for the date, and I want to be here right on time. You know, good impressions and all that."

"You’d better high step it to the front door; there’s only a couple minutes until D-time." Her voice carries a lightness and sass I haven't heard in the past couple of days.

"D-time?"

"Boy, you know what I mean... dick, I'm talking about the man’s dick, Max. Go get yours."

"Oh, stop," I chuckle. "You’re right though, I have to get going. I’ll talk to you soon. Give Nana a big hug and kiss from me."

"Will do," she says. "Damn it. There goes the bell again. Nana, please stop." She hangs up before I can respond.

I make my way to the front door and check the time on my watch. Right on time. I ring the bell and wait.

Ben opens the door and smiles. "I'm so glad to see you, Max."

"It's good to be here." I lean in to give Ben a hug.

"Max." Ben’s voice is full of concern as he looks over the bruises on my face. "You’ve been assaulted again?" The tenderness in his eyes almost brings me to tears. This man I'd only just begun to get to know cared about me more than so many others who'd known me for years.

"It’s nothing," I say with a shrug.

"Nothing? Max, what’s going on? Are you sure you’re okay... safe?"

"It’s a long story. Maybe we can discuss it over dinner?" I look past Ben into the house.

"Oh, shoot." Ben clears his throat. "Where are my manners? Come on inside and make yourself at home. I’m sorry about getting into your business. It’s an occupational hazard, I’m afraid. There’s a million and one questions I have to ask my patients every day. Please forgive me."

"For sure. No worries at all. I actually find it endearing."

Ben pauses and smiles at me, his dimples deep and beckoning. "Sorry about the mess, I’ve been putting some things in boxes the last few days and haven’t taken them to storage yet."

Considering Ben had just apologized for getting into my business, it wasn’t the right time for me to do the same. I look around the beautifully decorated home. It's my second time here, but something feels different this time. Like I know the occupant this time around, and I start to actually feel at home. After Ben closes the door, there is absolutely no sound from the street. Impressive. What it must be like to live somewhere you can’t hear the constant city noise.

"I know I probably said it last time, but your home is gorgeous," I say, looking around as I walk into the living area. "I love all the art you have on the walls—great color choices."

"Thank you," Ben says. "I’m not great with decorating, but I had a designer help me."

"Well, whoever you hired did a great job. Is that a McFall original?" I point to the far wall. "I didn’t notice that the last time I was here."

Ben comes and stands next to me, admiring the art hanging on the wall. "It is. Dad #3, I’ve been told. Her black and white pastels are photorealistic. I can’t even imagine how much time she puts into each of her pieces."

"Dude," I say. "Exquisite. I’ve seen a few of her other pieces in museums, but never up this close. The amazing thing about it for me is how much emotion she can capture in each of the drawings."

"I’ve been told by other artists that her technique isn’t real art. It’s too mechanical or something stupid like that, but I absolutely love it."

"Right? Can you imagine how long it must have taken her to perfect this technique—and she’s not even that old. To be honest, I don’t fully understand how she does it. To combine pastels, acrylic, spray paint, and resin like this is nothing short of miraculous."

Ben’s hand brushes mine as he shifts his weight. The closeness isn’t lost on me as I feel butterflies overtake my desire to look at the artwork. "I love how passionate you are about this stuff." His pinky finger brushes against mine again and sets my senses on fire.

I clear my throat as I fight to speak nonchalantly while my heart races out of control. "I’m really glad you asked me to come over. I’ve been thinking about you since our last coffee date."

Ben turns to face me, his eyebrows arched, eyes twinkling with a playful mischievousness I hadn’t realized I’d been missing until I saw it in him. "What have you been thinking about?" Ben cocks his head to the side. "How much you missed me?"

I smile. "Something like that." I shift my weight enough, so our hands touch once again. My knees tremble ever so slightly the longer our hands remain together.

Ben leans in closer and our eyes meet—a tightness in my chest deepens. Ever so perceptively, Ben tilts his head at the perfect angle to kiss me. A breath catches in my chest and my heartbeat pounds in my ears. Ben closes the gap between us, and I swallow hard, closing my eyes. Despite our previous interactions, this felt different, sensual, filled with need.

The warmth from Ben’s skin, mere millimeters from my own, warms me. The anticipation of us connecting, of us sharing a tender and passionate moment, is almost more than I can take. I fight the urge to throw my arms around him and tumble to the floor in a heap—two bodies entwined, in need of love and hungry for sex.

A sharp, shocking series of beeps blares from the kitchen. "Oh, shit."

I open my eyes. And see Ben rushing out of the room and into the kitchen. "Ben?"

"In here," he yells from deep inside the house. "I may have ruined dinner."

I follow the sound of his voice and emerge into the kitchen. Despite the blaring smoke detector and a heavy cloud of dark gray smoke hovering in the air, I'd still rather be having sex on the sofa. I adjust myself, pushing my hard cock to the side so I can more comfortably walk. Watching Ben rush around the kitchen, flustered, looking completely out of his element, makes me want to jump his bones right then and there. Flames and smoke inhalation be damned.

"I hope you love burnt cheese." Ben places the pan of sizzling-hot enchiladas on the gas burning stove top.

I move closer to the burnt offering. "Yum. I actually do love a nice char on my cheese."

Ben turns and cocks his head. We both burst into laughter.

"Should I order pizza?" Ben asks, shoulders slumped.

"No, I'm serious. This is totally salvageable." I grab the spatula from the island counter. "Where do you keep the forks?"

"Top drawer," he says .

"Great, now if you could… please get that smoke alarm to stop before I die."

I retrieve the fork and begin poking around at the sides of the pan. Seconds later, the blaring stopped, and I take a sigh of relief. Next, I slid the spatula under two of the enchiladas and used the fork to help separate them from the rest. "Man, these are going to be great. I take it you’ve never been cooked for by a busy abuela trying to do fifteen things at once?"

Ben chuckles. "I can’t say that I have."

"You’re in for a treat. Grab plates and forks, it’s time to eat."

He places the stoneware next to the pan and I serve up the portions. We convene at the kitchen table which had been preset with candles, wine glasses, and napkins. We sit and cut into the food. I take a bite and slowly chew, watching Ben’s expression to see what he thought of his own attempt at making Mexican food.

"Not bad," Ben says.“First time I’ve ever made them. Not sure why I chose something I had no experience with to cook for our date, but hey… it worked.”

I take a second bite. It's not the burned cheese that's the problem, but the unseasoned meat. It's at least edible. First good attempt, Ben. I’m glad he’s young and smart enough to learn new tricks, I think to myself, smiling inwardly. I'd be happy to teach him a few things, and not just in the kitchen.

“You mentioned your grandma. Were you raised by her?” Ben asks as we continue to eat.

I nod. “Sort of.” I take a sip of wine. “It’s a long story.”

“If you don’t mind sharing, I’ve got the time.” The genuine interest in Ben's eyes tugs at me. I rarely speak the truth about my family, but something in Ben’s genuine expression makes me actually want to tell it all.

“There’s not enough wine and enchiladas for me to tell you the whole story tonight, but I can get you started.” I pause, gathering my thoughts. “The woman who raised me… my abuela, wasn’t technically my grandmother. I don’t know the whole story, and she passed away before telling me what I’ve always longed to know—which was who my birth parents were.”

“Wow,” Ben says. “This must have been so hard for you. How did you find out she wasn’t a blood relative?”

This is one of those stories I wasn’t planning on discussing tonight. I’d better make it vague for now . “When I entered the police academy, they ran a background check on me and there were some anomalies.”

“Like what?” Ben puts his fork down and gives me his full attention.

“There were absolutely no records to be found of my immediate family. No parents, grandparents, siblings… nothing. In fact, there were no records of me prior to my fifth birthday. Oddly enough, that’s about the timeframe my memories start. I can remember standing in abuela’s kitchen. She was telling me I was about to turn five years old the next day. I got scared and ran behind the curtains to hide. She was so sweet and knelt next to me, giving me a hug. She explained I would be the same little boy she’d loved from the moment she first laid eyes on me.”

“Aw, she sounds wonderful.”

“She really was. I miss her every day, and I’m thankful for her love and caring my entire life—even my teen years.” I laugh. “When I came out to her on my eighteenth birthday, I expected her to slap me or something. I didn’t have the foggiest idea what to expect, to be honest.”

“How did she react to you telling her?”

“She gave me a big hug, kissed my forehead and said she would love me no matter what. I would always be her little moco.”

“Moco?” Ben asks .

“Her little booger.” We both laugh.

“What an incredible story,” Ben says and reaches over and takes my hand in his. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

I nod. Other than London, I can’t think of another soul I’d told that to—not even my partner on the police force. I start thinking about how my grandmother would tell me things as I grew up. Always stand up for yourself. Remember to be careful about who you trust with your secrets. Her little words of warning never made me think much about the meaning behind them. Not until right now. Had she raised me not to fully trust people? Did she think there would be a time when I would need to rely only on myself? The more I think about it, the less hungry I am.

I put my fork down and pick up the wine. “Your turn, Ben.”

“My turn for what?” He plays coy.

“Spill your guts. Who is Doctor Ben Cooper? Where did he come from? Where is he going?”

Ben gulps the last of the wine in his glass. “There’s not much to tell. At least nothing as intriguing as you.”

I scoot my chair closer to him and put a hand on his knee. “I really want to know. Plus, I’m already intrigued.”

“Cliff notes version,” Ben says. “Born and raised in Los Angeles to Mr. and Mrs. Cooper of San Francisco, sixth generation. They loved to tell everyone who’d willingly listen… and even some who didn’t.” He laughs. “Anyway, my mom was an anthropologist who taught at USC and my dad was a lawyer. They are both retired now.”

“Nice. You came from some serious brain power.”

Ben pours himself another half glass of red wine. “The thing is though, despite being highly educated, surrounded by people in the LGBTQ+ community all their lives, they still didn’t accept me—not at first.”

“Really? I’m sorry, Ben. Must have been really hard on you. When did you come out to them?”

“I was a sophomore in college,” he says. “Came home for Christmas dinner and right there between bites of ham and stuffing my big mouth blurts out, ‘Mom, Dad, I’m gay.’”

“Shit,” I say before drinking the rest of my wine. “Then what happened?”

“Mom started crying, got up from the table and disappeared into the kitchen. Dad threw his napkin on the table and yelled at me for upsetting my mother on Christmas. The thing is though, my extended family were all still sitting at the table trying to choke down their green bean casserole while exchanging looks of shock and intrigue with each other.”

I laugh. “I’m sorry to laugh, but wow… awkward.”

“It really was,” he says. “I don’t know what I expected, but I didn’t really envision my mom’s hysterics.”

“Did she ever come around?”

Ben nods. “She apologized to me and admitted she was wrong. Took about a year, but before long it was like old times. Good old Mom doing her best to set me up with the finest boys her friends at the country club could find for her Benjamin Cooper—future doctor.”

“Aww, it’s kind of sweet,” I say. “In a pretentious sort of way.”

Ben laughs and nods as he clears away the dishes. “Want to go sit somewhere more comfortable?”

“Sure,” I say and get up from the table, clutching my wine glass to my chest. “Any chance you’re hiding another bottle around here?”

Ben opens the chiller and pulls out a nice white sparkling wine, pops the cork, and pours us both a glass. I follow him into the living room where we settle on the sofa next to one another. I put the wine down on the coffee table and lean into him—tucked under his arm, head resting on his chest.

“This is nice,” Ben says.

“It is.” I trace a line around the button on Ben’s shirt pocket. I breathe in his many scent and relax further into him. After breathing him in, my arms are covered in goosebumps and I want to dive right back in for more.

Control yourself , Max.

Grr , I think as I look at his chest. What does his armpits smell like? Are his nipples sensitive? Does he like to have his balls tickled while having his cock sucked?

So many fucking questions that I need answers to.

Ben sets his wine down and kisses the top of my head. I tilt my head back and close my eyes. Will Ben finally make a big move on me or will something else happen? An unexpected phone call or maybe an earthquake?

We kissed once before, but I need more. I have to feel him against me. To taste him and have our heartbeats synchronize.

A moment passes where I'm sure that Ben will pull away, my eyes open searching him for answers, my heart pounding away like a bunny in heat. But then he closes the distance between us, and my eyes flicker closed, sighing softly when I feel the weight and warmth of Ben’s mouth on mine.

Finally .

Opening my mouth, my hand tightens on the back of Ben’s shirt as I sweep my tongue inside to tangle with his, the surge and retreat of it sending a rush of heat down my spine where it pools, deep in my belly. Spearing my fingers through Ben’s hair with a breathless groan, I tighten my grip, pulling at it in my desperation for more. Now Ben moans, deep in his chest.

Yes .

Mouth still fused to Ben’s, I push myself closer, driven forward by need and something else I can’t name. Something that might scare me if I looked at it too closely. I slip my leg over Ben’s hip to straddle him, and Ben moans again, the sound and feel of it passing between us—an unspoken promise? Or simply the weakness of the flesh I had been struggling to control.

Ben finally breaks the kiss to catch his breath. I slide from his lap to the sofa and begin unbuckling my belt. Ben fumbles with the buttons of his shirt before rending it in two, buttons exploding from the shirt—skittering across the tiled floor.

He stands and removes his shirt. “Come with me,” he says, extending his hand. I take it and walk with him to the stairs.

Hand-in-hand we traverse the stairs to the second floor where Ben opens the door to his bedroom. Before we go inside, our lips meet once again. It isn’t long before we are locked in each other’s arms, breathless and moaning. Ben’s hand crept to my belt and with a quick pull, unhooked it, the pants falling to the floor.

Please .

I can’t get enough of him, my hands raking his hair before sliding down his back—groping muscle and flesh as I go. Suddenly, I freeze. Ben had begun unbuttoning my shirt, his hands going underneath, his fingers brushing against my scars.

Ben stops, clearly sensing the change in emotions. I step back and pull my shirt closed.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “The scars… from my attack.”

His expression falls. Moments before Ben had been at the height of sexual arousal and now sadness—or was it pity I saw in his eyes?

“It’s okay, Max. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do… if you’re not ready, I understand.” He goes and sits on the bed and pats the empty side next to him.

I follow him over and join him but continue to button my shirt and refasten my belt. I shake my head. “I know we’ve spoken about this already, but I guess I didn’t realize how I would feel the first time I was going to show someone I was… intimate with.”

“Am I the first person you’ve been with since the attack?”

I nod.

Ben takes my hand in his. “I’m honored that you would even consider opening your heart to me after what you’ve been through.”

“The thing is, I really do want to show you. Let you trace your finger along the raised lines, kiss it, taste me.” I sigh. “Maybe if I do, I can finally get over this unreasonable fear.”

“I’ll leave it up to you, but there isn’t a scar in the world that would make me look at you any different.” Ben hugs me and kisses the nape of my neck.

I slowly reach up to my top button and begin undoing them, one-by-one, until I reach the bottom, the shirt still held closed. Without a word, I slowly slide the sides of my shirt apart, revealing the huge scar that started at my left hip and cut across my abdomen. The top of the ankh-shaped scar ended under my left nipple. My breaths grow shallow as I try in vain to suppress the tears that well up and now flow down my cheeks.

Ben looks at the scar, frozen in place. Was he trying to come up with something nice to say? Despite his words, was he disgusted? He hesitantly reaches for the scar with his finger, tracing the top part—his hand trembling slightly.

“Please, say something.” I pull my shirt closed once again. “Ben?”

Ben clears his throat and looks away.

“What’s wrong?” I stand and take a step backwards away from the bed. “I knew this would be too much. I mean… we hardly know each other. Why would you want someone with a past like mine?” I turn to run away and trip over a box.

Ben jumps up from the bed and rushes to my side. “Are you okay? ”

I wipe the tears from my face. “Peachy.” I scramble to my feet and try to pull the focus off myself. “Why do you have all these boxes everywhere? You’re not moving, are you?” My nervous laugh betrays my continued anxiousness.

Ben shrugs. “Not moving… well, sort of.”

“Sort of? Isn’t moving like being pregnant? You either are or not.”

“I was offered a chance to do some volunteer work in South America with Doctors Without Borders.”

Another blow to my stomach. He’s leaving the fucking country? “Not that you owe me anything, but when exactly, were you planning on telling me? After you fucked me? Going to work me over and then disappear? Or simply slip out of the country for what… six months?”

Ben furrows his brow. “I applied for this opportunity more than six months ago. Max, we hadn’t even met yet.”

He reaches for me, I pull away.

“I wanted to talk to you about this the last time we met, but I wanted to hear about what happened to you. Have that date be about you, not me and my work.”

“Ah,” I say, bitterness dripping from my lips. “This is all my fault, then?”

“No, not at all. It wasn’t until I started thinking about withdrawing my application that the hospital let me know it was already official. I’d been accepted into the program, and they were granting me two full years of sabbatical.”

“Two years?” I huff. The wild swing of emotions I’d felt in the last few minutes sent a surge of nausea through me, threatening to make me sick. I swallow hard and steady myself. “I think I should leave.” I turn and hurry toward the front door.

Ben follows close behind. “Please don’t go. Let’s talk about this. It doesn’t mean I have to leave. I know what it looks like, Max. I’ve already started packing, but it’s not like a jail sentence, there are still options. ”

I can’t look back and don’t have it in me to continue to talk. I rush out the front door and get into my car. Without as much as a wave, I put the car in gear and sped away from the one man who had made me believe anything was possible—almost.