Page 39 of When Ben Loved Tim

Tim thinks about it. “Yeah! That might work.”

For him. I already know that I won’t get a wink of sleep. But it’s a price that I’m more than willing to pay.

Chapter Nine

Watching a sleek black sports car park in front of my house is surreal, especially when a super-hot guy gets out and flashes his pearly white teeth at me. Tim is the stuff of wet dreams. I stand and brush myself off, as if making myself presentable, while waiting for him to join me on the front stoop. I’d love it if he kissed me in greeting. Even just a smooch. Instead he seems increasingly apprehensive as he nears.

“Are your parents home?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I reply. “They kind of live here.”

He eyes the house as if it’s haunted and asks, “Do they know much about me?”

“Only that I have a new buddy. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah, okay,” he says, not seeming comforted.

We go inside, and even though I know he’d prefer that I take him upstairs to the safety of my room, I lead him to the kitchen where my parents are talking. My sister isn’t home, so this should be easy.

“Hey!” my dad says, pushing away from the counter and extending a hand. “You must be Tim!”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” he replies dutifully.

I manage not to snort. My family isn’t that formal.

“That’s a nice firm handshake,” my dad says, sounding amused.

My mom is making eyes at me but I’m doing my best to ignore her.

“So nice to meet you at last,” she says, focusing on Tim. “Ben has told us so much about you.”

“He has?” Tim asks with a flicker of worry.

“Just the embarrassing personal stuff,” my dad teases.

“Nothing like that,” my mom assures him. “Your family just moved here, didn’t they?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

”From where?”

I stand aside and listen to him repeat information I already know. Tim does well, loosening up as he tells a parent-friendly version of his life story.

“Have you had dinner yet?” my mom asks him eventually.

“That depends,” Tim replies. “If your cooking is anything like your son’s, then yeah, I’ve already eaten.”

“Hey, I don’t remember you complaining!” I shoot back.

“You’ve been cooking for him?” my mom asks in interest.

Uh-oh. “For us,” I say. “When I spent the night at his house.”

My mother’s eyes are sparkling. “What did you make?”

“I just added some stuff to a frozen pizza,” I say dismissively.

“Well we can do better than that,” she says with a smile. “We’re going toorderpizza. What do you boys want on yours?”