Page 49 of When Ben Loved Jace

“Pet name,” Tim fills in for me with a shameless grin.

Eric raises an eyebrow at this. “Then perhaps you should stop calling him that… Timothy.”

“Ha ha,” he deadpans. “For your information, helikesit when I call him that. Don’t you, Benjamin?”

“Only if I get to useyourchildhood nickname,” I retort.

“Oh?” Eric smiles mischievously. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard it.”

“His mom calls him Gordito,” I reveal gleefully. “Because he was a fat baby.”

“Nuh-uh!” Tim says, puffing up his chest. “I’ve always been ripped. That’s the only reason I weighed so much.”

Eric laughs. “I can tell the evening is going to be highly entertaining. Would either of you care for a glass of wine?”

“Only if you have the yellow kind,” I say, dredging up another detail from our past.

“Nowthatone I am familiar with,” Eric says. “Tim has presented me with the same argument.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault,” he says. “We live in a world where red onions are actually purple. How does that make sense? It’s not easy being the only person who sees things as they truly are.”

“Fair enough,” I counter, “but it’s called white wine because of the grapes.”

“Which are green,” Tim says smugly.

“Yellow wine it is!” Eric declares, moving to a rack filled with bottles. “Any preference? I picked up some halibut today.”

The question is directed at Tim, to my relief.

“That would pair well with Chardonnay,” he answers, “but I’m cooking tonight, and that means spicy. Make it a Riesling instead.”

He’s showing off for me, and yeah, I’m impressed. All I knowabout alcohol is that it can get you drunk. With that in mind, I plan to take delicate sips. I don’t want my inhibitions lowered tonight. Not even slightly.

“Here’s to friends, old and new,” Eric toasts after pouring us each a glass.

I let the wine wet my lips and nothing more.

“All right,” Tim says, “now get out of here. I’m cooking tonight.”

Eric puts on a pouty expression. “But I love to host! At least let me help.”

“You can keep Benjamin entertained.”

Eric perks up. “Perhaps he can join us.”

“In the kitchen?” Tim says, not hiding his concern. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What?” I huff my indignation. “How many times did I cook for you when we were teenagers?”

“Often enough for me to know better. Remember the time you tried boiling macaroni and cheese?”

Eric comes to my defense. “That’s usually how it works.”

Tim shakes his head. “I’m not talking about raw pasta. This was the frozen kind, cheese and all. Instead of putting it in the oven like a normal person—”

“It was going to take an hour or something crazy like that!”

“—orthe microwave,” Tim continues, “Ben decides to dump it all in a pot of boiling water. And when it became obvious that he ruined it, he tries to hide the fact by covering the slop in the sort of cheap powdered parmesan that comes out of a can, except it wasn’t the right color, so he tried mixing it all with cayenne pepper.”