Page 22 of Unexpectedly You (Boston Boys Bozok #1)

Chapter Fourteen

Bentley

It’s Monday evening and Alex has just left for work after spending the majority of the day with me.

After going grocery shopping together we did the usual, watching several episodes of Supernatural before he read to me some more.

I never thought I would enjoy books as much as I do when it’s his voice I hear, soft and soothing, warm and sweet.

I’m enjoying Pride and Prejudice as much as I enjoyed Little Women . Elizabeth Bennett and Jo March would get along pretty well I think. Or maybe they would butt heads like crazy, I can't decide.

I’ve just finished my dinner when there’s a knock on the door. When I open it, a smile splits my face.

“Hey there, small fry,” I say, and Pierre gives me a soft smile.

“Come in.” I step aside so he can enter and then close the door behind him.

He seems a little timid. More so than he was when Alex and I were at his place for our game night.

Maybe because it’s just the two of us now and he doesn’t know me quite as well as Alex.

He’s wearing a black leather skater skirt, black fishnet tights, and a black cropped shirt.

He has sparkly pink eyeshadow on and eyeliner around his pale blue eyes.

His lips are full and shimmering from the lip gloss he’s applied and he has a cat ear headband on his head overtop his blond hair. He really is a pretty little thing.

In his slender arms are mixing bowls and ingredients for baking the macarons we had at their place, because after tasting one I shamelessly begged him to teach me how to make them, and he agreed.

As soon as he steps in the door, Marble is twining her way between his legs and purring up a storm. Pierre smiles and crouches down to pet her. She stands on her hind legs and purrs even louder when he scratches her neck. “Bonjour, pretty lady,” he coos, his smile only getting bigger.

“Are you sure you still want to do this?” he asks, looking up at me. He seems more comfortable already thanks to Marble, and it makes me happy. Alex left her here and I told him I’d bring her home before I went to bed.

“Absolutely,” I tell him. “Come on, you can put those things down in the kitchen.” It’s not usually like me to invite someone over to my house, but I’ve really enjoyed Pierre’s company the few times we've been together, and it wouldn’t hurt either of us to get to know each other more and be friends.

I know he has his OnlyFans he works on, and he’s in school right now so I’m sure he keeps plenty busy, but it might be nice for him to take a break from working and studying.

He also seemed sad when we were there, though I never did find out why, and I am hoping maybe I can cheer him up, or just be supportive and give him someone to talk to if he needs it.

“I’m glad you came,” I say. “And not just because I’m dying to have more of these cookies.”

He gives a soft smile as he sets his things down on the counter, and I get out the things he didn’t bring; butter, granulated sugar, a mixer, piping bag, a baking sheet, and my food processor.

He grabs the powdered sugar, almond flour, vanilla extract, cream of tartar, and salt and puts them on the counter near my things.

He also has a glass with egg whites in it, covered in plastic wrap with holes poked in the top.

The yolks are separate, in another covered dish.

“Trust me, it helps,” he says with a giggle when I stare at it.

“You’re the boss,” I say, as he sets the glass down near the other items, then grabs the sifter and starts giving me instructions.

I sift, and blend, and mix, and fold, and sift some more. Once everything is mixed Pierre tells me to pipe one inch dollops onto the baking sheet he’s lined with parchment paper. When that’s done we let it sit for about 40 minutes while we work on the buttercream filling.

We heat the sugar and water on the stove and beat the egg yolks in the mixer.

When the water and sugar mix has reached the desired temperature and consistency, we remove it from the stove and drizzle the syrupy mixture into the bowl with the yolks.

We then add butter, vanilla, and salt, and Pierre adds pink food coloring, giving me a smile when he does.

“Not necessary but way more fun,” he says.

Since we have a few minutes before it’s time to put the macarons in the oven, I offer Pierre a drink.

“Nothing alcoholic,” he says softly. “It interacts with my meds.”

“I have ginger ale, tea, and lemonade,” I tell him.

He smiles again. “Lemonade sounds nice.”

I pour both of us a glass and hand him his. He takes a sip and his eyes widen. “Oh mon Dieu, that’s amazing.”

I chuckle. “Thank you. I make it myself. It’s my Gram’s recipe. We used to spend hours in the kitchen together. ”

He smiles. “That sounds really nice. I taught myself a good deal of what I know, but my parents were both really good cooks and taught me a lot before they died.” He pauses, hesitating a bit, it seems, worrying his bottom lip before he speaks again.

“Thank you for inviting me. I’m really sorry if I’m not being the best company.

It’s been a rough couple weeks and I’m not in the best headspace.

I was honestly nervous about coming, not because I don’t enjoy your company, because I really do, but I struggle to believe sometimes that people actually want to spend time with me, and that I am not inconveniencing them.

I mean, not all the time, but more so when I’m depressed or anxious. ”

His eyes are on the floor now and my chest aches at the thought that he doesn’t think people would enjoy his company.

“I’m sorry you're having a hard time,” I tell him.

“For what it’s worth I think you’re a really cool guy.

You’re smart, and fun, and kind, and Alex likes you so I know you must be a good person. ”

He chuckles.

“But it’s okay if you’re not feeling great.

You don’t have to be happy all the time, or put on a brave face.

It’s okay to not be okay, and to feel how you feel.

I dealt with depression some after my mom died, and again when Gram died, so I know a little bit about how hard it can be.

And if you deal with chronic depression or anxiety, I think that takes a tremendous amount of courage and strength, battling those negative messages all the time.

But you’re so much more than your struggles, small fry, and I have really been enjoying getting to know you. ”

He has tears filling his eyes and sliding down his cheeks now.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” I tell him.

He shakes his head and wipes at his eyes.

“No, it’s okay, they’re good tears.” He sniffles.

“I’ve been enjoying getting to know you, too.

My brain is just being nasty lately. I know better than to listen, but it’s still really hard sometimes.

I never did understand why my brain would want to lie to me, you know? Like shouldn’t it be on my side?”

I chuckle a little. “I hear you.” More tears spill down his cheeks and I can’t just stand here while he cries, so I say, “Is it okay if I give you a hug?”

He nods, and then I’m setting my glass down and doing the same with his, before I wrap my arms around him and he rests his cheek against my chest, sobbing quietly.

“I’m here if you want to talk,” I say. “But no pressure.”

It takes a few moments, but eventually he says, “There’s a guy that Tommy and I were seeing, and after two months he told us he needs space, and I’m having a really hard time with him being gone all of a sudden.

And even though Tommy is telling me it’s not because of me, I can’t stop thinking that it is.

That if I didn’t have so many issues he would have stayed, he would be making Tommy happy, that I’m ruining everything.

” He cries harder now and I hold him tighter.

“Oh, small fry,” I coo. “Shh. It’s okay.

You’re okay.” I rub my hand up and down his back, trying to soothe him.

“I know it’s hard to remember that your brain is lying to you when you feel that way, but trust me, it is.

It doesn’t take more than a second of seeing Tommy with you, or hearing him talk about you, to know how crazy he is about you. ”

Pierre sniffles again.

“I don’t know what is happening with this guy, but I do know Tommy would be miserable if you weren’t his. And if this guy really did end things with you because he thought you were too much to handle, then I already know Tommy wouldn’t want anything to do with him.”

He chuckles softly and wipes at his tears. “That’s what Tommy said. ”

“You talking to anyone?” I ask, and he nods.

“I have a therapist, and I’m on meds. They help, but they’re not a cure all. I have days where I do pretty well, you know, and then days or weeks where I’m really struggling. Sometimes it’s for a reason, at least one I can pinpoint. Sometimes it’s for no reason at all.”

“Did your guy say why he needed space?”

He shakes his head. “No. And he didn’t say how long either. I think that’s part of what’s stressing me out so much and making my brain assume the worst possible things. He’s not communicating with us at all, and we…” he chokes on a sob. “We were…”

It dawns on me why this is hurting Pierre so much. This guy wasn’t just a casual fling. “You loved him.”

He nods and sobs again, holding me tighter. “We both did, or do. I don’t know. We wanted to tell him and then he said he couldn’t see us for a while, and, I don’t know, everything is just wrong now.”

I sigh. “I’m sorry, small fry. I really hope things get better for you all soon. That sounds really hard. Please know I am here for you if you need anything.”

He steps back and wipes his tears away again. “Thank you.”

“You’re always welcome here if you need company. I mean that.”

He nods again. “I’m really glad you moved in here, Bentley.”

I grin and ruffle his hair. “Me, too.”

Alex