Page 122 of When Ben Loved Tim

“Because you’re giving me a boner,” Tim says before flashing me proof. Then he turns around. “Actually, you better change the subject.”

“Hey, I might have got it up, but youbroughtit up.”

“Seriously,” Tim says. “It’ll be embarrassing.”

“Okay. Um…” I watch him shrug on the pink dress shirt. “Oh! I know! Have you ever worn a tuxedo?”

“No. How come?”

“I was trying to imagine what you’d wear if we went to prom together.”

“Oh. You know we can’t.”

That’s what I figured, but I like the dream despite the reality. Ronnie recently asked Allison to go with him. I’ve been hinting ever since, although this is the first time Tim has said outright that it’s not going to happen. Which is fine, I guess. “Did you go to prom during your junior year?”

“No,” he says, pulling up the slacks. “Everything had fallen apart by then. Carla went with my former best friend.”

“Ouch.”

“Yup.”

Tim turns around and holds up the bow tie with a confused expression. I’ve never worn one either, but I’m eager to be close to him, so I wrap my arms around his neck and try to figure it out blindly. I don’t make much progress, maybe because I keep nuzzling my nose against his and kissing him.

“Would you stop!” Tim says with a laugh.

“Another boner?” I whisper with exaggerated concern.

“Nah. I just want to look good.”

“Oh, so wearehaving a beauty pageant,” I say. “In that case, you better turn around.”

When he does, the bow tie is much easier to clip together and adjust.

“Are we tucking in their shirts?” I call after taking a step back.

“Yes!” comes Allison’s muted response. “Don’t let him roll up the sleeves!”

Tim is in the middle of doing just that. He sighs and holds out his arm, so I can undo it all.

“You guys sure have fun with your life-sized dolls,” he murmurs. “Is this what you were like as kids?”

“More or less,” I admit, before smoothing down the front of his shirt, mostly as an excuse to feel the firmness of his chest. “You look really good dressed up.”

“Oh yeah?” Tim asks, turning toward the mirror.

“Yeah.” I nibble my bottom lip and feel a pang of sorrow. “If we did go to prom, in some crazy alternate reality, what would you wear?”

Tim shrugs. “Something in black.”

Which is almost a shame, considering how well the pink shirt complements his brown skin.

“A classic tux then,” I reply.

“Yeah, I guess. What would you wear?”

“If you’re in black?” I think of the wedding I’ve so often dreamt of. “I’d go white.”

“I’d bet you’d look nice,” Tim says, turning toward me again.