Page 105 of When Ben Loved Tim

“No!”

He chuckles before looking to his door with concern, but the house remains silent. Tim crawls off and goes to his dresser, tossing a T-shirt to me. Then he sizes me up before throwing another. Once I’m cleaned up, he crawls on top of me again, pinning me down with his weight.

“That was a close call,” I say.

“Yeah. I don’t think you’ll ever be able to leave. I’ll have to keep you under my bed.”

“You’ll use up a lot of T-shirts that way,” I murmur. “Won’t your mother get suspicious?”

“I’ll buy more,” he says, nuzzling my nose before he kisses me again. “Can you stay the night? I wanna sleep with you. It’s been a while.”

My throat feels tight with barely contained emotion. I nod happily before he shifts off me. I roll onto my side and press my back to his chest, not needing a blanket as he wraps himself around me possessively. I notice his plush rabbit, Captain Bunbun, looking jealous from a nearby pillow, so I cradle him close as we drift off, like a secret family slumbering in the suburbs.

Chapter Twenty

I’m hanging out in Leon’s basement, which is filled with old couches, chairs, and rugs that were probably moved down here when his family bought new furniture. All of it has been arranged in a U-shape to face a tangle of microphones, guitars, and amps. This isn’t my first visit. After much cajoling from Ebony and Ivory, as Ronnie and Leon have dubbed their band, I stopped by a week ago to sing with my best friend. And it was so much fun that I agreed to do it again. Although this time I brought a plus-one.

Tim seems comfortable enough as the guys set up their instruments. He’s done well up to this point, easily making conversation with them. He flipped through the crates of vinyl records that Leon keeps down here, commenting on the album art more than the music. And he was eager to help when we rearranged some of the furniture. Tim seems to get along with most people, no matter how intolerable they are, considering the company he keeps. That’s part of the reason I invited him. I figure if he gets to know my friends better, the prospect of trading one social circle for another won’t be so daunting. Especially since mine have already proven that they don’t judge people for simply being who they are.

That, and it’s fun to see Ronnie and Allison together outside of school, where they are free to be affectionate without teachers or parents around. They were curled up on the couch just moments ago. I even caught Ronnie smelling her hair before he kissed her on the temple. He’s crazy about her and it shows. Such as now, in the way he fusses over her microphone stand, wanting it to be just right.

“I haven’t grown any since I was last here,” Allison teases.

“Yeah, but were you happy with the height then?” Ronnie asks.

Allison smiles demurely. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind if it was alittleshorter.”

Ronnie grins, eager to please. I take my mic out of the stand, already knowing that I’ll be dancing around too much to use it.

“What about you, Tim?” Leon asks while plugging his guitar into an amp. “Do you play anything?”

“Nah,” Tim says. “Music isn’t really my thing.”

“What is?” Leon asks in interest.

I watch Tim struggle with the question.Just be real, I want to tell him.These are good people. We’re safe here.

“Baseball,” he answers.

My heart breaks for him. Because as much as Tim seems to like other people, I’m not sure that he likes himself, and that worries me. A lot.

His gaze is guarded when meeting mine. I offer a supportive smile, not wanting to feed into his fears by judging him, no matter how depressing it is to watch Tim censor himself. Although it does lift my spirits when he adds…

“And running. I freaking love running!”

“You’re making my lungs jealous,” Leon says with a stoner’s croak. “They’re sick of my abuse. Anyway, you’ve gotta play something. The drum machine we use kind of sucks, so you’re on bongos.”

“No way!” Tim says, already shaking his head.

“Anyonecan play the bongos.” Leon takes an attached set over to the couch. “Just hit them in the middle for a deeper sound, or toward the edge for a sharper tone.”

“Uh…” Tim says before rapping on them with his knuckles.

“More like this,” Ronnie says, walking over to show him how. “It’s all about maintaining the rhythm. Just like when you keep a steady pace when running. It’s the same kind of thing.”

Tim tries again, and when he produces a short beat, grins in surprise.

“Now we’re talking!” Leon croons before strumming a few chords. “Everybody ready?”