Winter Oranges (24 page)

He made a point of going into the kitchen and drawing a glass of water. He held it in one hand, the globe tucked behind his back in the other, thinking the whole time how ridiculous it was to be sneaking around his own house. He went up the stairs, calling good-night to Dylan for the second time before closing his bedroom door behind him. He finally turned to face Ben, who sat cross-legged in the center of Jason’s bed.

It felt as if eons had passed since they’d talked, and the enormity of everything that had happened in that time intimidated him. The room seemed monstrously large. Jason imagined his voice echoing through it if he spoke too loud. He set the water aside and climbed onto the bed to sit only a foot away from Ben, winding the music box all the way before meeting Ben’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, keeping his voice as low as he could. “I had no idea he was coming.”

“I know.” Ben hung his head. “It’s not your fault.”

“I still feel terrible about it. I didn’t want to leave you alone here all day. I didn’t want . . .”
I didn’t want him to kiss me right in front you like that.
But that was too hard to say out loud. It was too big of a subject to broach at that moment, because Ben’s logical question would be, “Did you want him to kiss you at all?” And Jason wasn’t sure he could answer that.

“You shouldn’t have to apologize,” Ben said. “I’m being horrible.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am. I know he’s your friend. I can’t expect you to turn him away—”

“Expecting me to and wishing I would are two separate things.”

Ben shrugged halfheartedly. “I guess.” His image flickered once, then steadied. “One hundred and fifty years, and I’ve never hated being trapped in this globe as much as I did when he walked in the door. All I could think about was him being able to touch you anytime he wants. And you being able to touch him.” He shook his head, biting his lip to stop it from quivering. “I just kept imagining the two of you doing all the things you and I can only talk about.”

“Nothing like that happened. We had dinner. That’s all.”

“But you’re more than friends,” Ben whispered hoarsely. “Friends with benefits. That’s what you told me.”

Jason wished he could take Ben’s hand. He wished he could put his finger under Ben’s chin and force him to meet his eyes. “No benefits,” he answered quietly. “Not this trip.”

Ben shook his head. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“I saw you, when you came home from dinner. I saw him kiss you.”

“I know. But I’m telling you, it stopped there. Nothing happened.”

“
Nothing
?”

“Nothing beyond that kiss.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want to.”

“But . . .” Ben didn’t seem to know what else to say. Still, his expression was wary. Hesitant.

Jason made sure the music box was wound and said, “What is it?”

Ben met his gaze. He seemed to be fighting to balance hope with caution. “All this time, I thought you were in love with him.”

“All this time, I thought I was too.”

It felt strange to say it. Stranger still to admit to himself that maybe it hadn’t ever been what he’d thought. Impossible to completely accept why that had all changed now. He could only stare at Ben and hope with all his heart he hadn’t hurt him too much. He could only wait with bated breath for Ben to smile again.

And smile he did, like some kind of blessing. “That probably shouldn’t make me as happy as it does.”

Jason leaned closer, wishing for what must have been the thousandth time that he could kiss Ben. “Maybe not. But I love making you happy, so it’s fine by me.” But the enormity of where their conversation was headed scared Jason, and so he veered onto a safer topic. “How was your day? Did you watch anything exciting?”

Ben’s smile became radiant. “I saw you on TV.”

“You did? What show?”

“I think it was called
Castle
. Your wife had died.”

“Oh, yes. I forgot they have that in syndication now.”

“You were spectacular.”

Jason laughed, then realized he’d let his voice get too loud. He lowered his volume. “You don’t need to resort to flattery.”

“It’s the truth. I think you’re a genius. Your performance was brilliant.”

“Well, we’ll chalk that up to your relative lack of exposure to modern entertainment.”

Ben put his hands on his hips. “Who here saw the very first episode of
Gunsmoke
? In fact, who here heard the first
radio
broadcast of
Gunsmoke
before it became a TV show at all? Me. That’s who.”

“I said ‘modern’ for a reason.” But he couldn’t help but laugh. He loved seeing Ben outraged, now that it was over something silly. He lay down on the bed and crooked his finger at Ben. “Come here and tell me more about how brilliant I am.”

“No. You told me not to waste my flattery on you, so I don’t think I will.”

“Then come here and tell me something else. Tell me about
Gunsmoke
, if you want.”

Ben moved to sit across Jason’s hips. “Well, I confess, I had a terrible crush on Quint. He was probably as brilliant as you are at acting, and drop-dead gorgeous to boot.”

“Now you’re just trying to make me jealous.”

“It only seems fair after the day I’ve had. Is it working?”

“Absolutely.”

Ben laughed. It was a sound Jason had grown to love, but this time, it came out wrong. Ben’s joy was still tainted by a hint of heartache, but he was clearly trying to pretend everything was fine.

“Tell me what I can do to make you feel better.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“All right.” Ben’s expression turned shockingly flirtatious as he leaned closer. “Remember this morning? Before Dylan showed up?”

“Yes.”

“I think we’ve waited long enough.”

“I think you’re right.”

It felt more natural the second time, finding pleasure together without being able to touch. It was all about exchanging ideas. They talked breathlessly, sharing what they wanted to do and what they imagined doing to each other. It was a lot like phone sex, except they could at least see each other’s faces. Jason had to keep reminding himself to keep his voice soft and his moans muffled so Dylan wouldn’t hear. And when they were done, Ben’s image was shaky, but still visible, lying next to him on the bed.

“See?” he said, smiling. “Practice is good.”

Whatever sadness had haunted Ben the night before, Jason hoped it would disappear with the dawn, but his hope was in vain. He woke to find Ben at the patio door, his entire upper half nearly washed out by sunlight. He was staring silently across the patio at the matching door into Dylan’s room.

“What are you doing?” Jason asked quietly after winding the globe. “Spying on him?”

Ben shrugged dejectedly and turned to face him. “I’m hoping he sleeps all day so I can have you to myself.”

Jason glanced at the clock. It was shortly after six. He’d had less than four hours of sleep. No wonder his eyes felt like sandpaper. He was tempted to roll over and go back to sleep, but he refrained. Ben was right. This was the only chance they had for some alone time. Besides, he wanted to return the globe to the living room before Dylan wandered downstairs. “He won’t sleep all day,” he said, pushing himself out of bed, “but I’d be shocked if he woke up before ten.”

He brewed an extra-strong cup of coffee and settled on the couch. For once, Ben didn’t sink into the cushion on the far end. Instead, he settled right next to Jason, as if he could cuddle against his side. Jason imagined he could feel Ben’s warmth. He ducked his head toward Ben’s thick hair, remembering the way Ben smelled. “This is nice.”

Ben forced a smile that never reached his eyes. “I’m glad you think so.”

“It won’t be like this forever, Ben. Someday—”

“I know.” This time, Ben’s smile seemed a bit more sincere. “He won’t stay long. I know that. I just have to get through the next few days.”

That wasn’t what Jason had meant, but he knew better than to try to talk about the possibility of someday freeing Ben. That kind of talk depressed Ben more often than not, and that was the last thing they needed right now.

Jason turned the TV volume low, and they kept their voices down so as not to wake Dylan. Ben’s normally good humor began to reappear. They were starting their third episode of
Murder, She Wrote
, laughing quietly together about how many murders took place in Jessica’s little town, when Dylan entered the room.

“Who are you talking to?”

Jason jumped, as if he’d been caught doing something shameful. “Nobody.”

“Damn,” Ben muttered. “I can’t believe we didn’t hear him coming.”

Jason silently agreed with him, but it was easy to lose track of things when he was with Ben.

Dylan’s suspicious gaze landed on the globe—not resting on the coffee table where Jason had meant to leave it, but cradled in his lap, so that he could wind it as often as he needed to—and he scowled.

“Jason, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Jason tried to keep his voice and his actions casual, even though his cheeks were burning. “I’m just watching TV.”

Dylan turned to study the screen, where Jessica Fletcher was in deep discussion with Amos. “What the hell is this?”

“
Murder, She Wrote
.”

“Are you serious? My grandma used to watch that.”

“It’s good!” Ben huffed. “Maybe he should listen to his grandma!”

Jason laughed, despite himself. “Maybe.”

“Maybe what?” Dylan asked.

“Nothing.” He couldn’t be in the room with both of them. He’d either keep answering Ben, or he’d feel guilty because he wasn’t answering Ben. Or both. He set the globe aside. “Want some coffee?”

He left
Murder, She Wrote
playing and led Dylan into the kitchen where he brewed fresh cups for them both, then took eggs, bread, and milk out of the fridge to make breakfast. Dylan watched him, his eyes unreadable, and Jason tried not to squirm under the scrutiny.

“Tell me about Ben.”

Jason cracked the eggs into a bowl and dropped the shells into the trash compactor, keeping his back to Dylan. “What about him?”

“Anything. Where you met. What he’s like.”

Jason debated his answer as he added a dash of milk and cinnamon to the eggs and whipped them with a fork. What could he tell Dylan about Ben that wouldn’t arouse suspicion? “He’s sweet. And adorable. And just . . . I don’t know, beautiful in every way. He has the most infectious laugh I’ve ever heard. He has a hundred different smiles, and every one of them can light up a room. And he has this amazing way of finding joy in every little thing.”

“Man, you’ve got it bad, don’t you? You sound like a goddamn Valentine’s Day card.”

Jason chose to ignore that. He took out a frying pan and started it warming on the stove. “He’s kind of young.”

“How young?”

“He’ll be twenty-one in June.”

Dylan whistled. “Damn, Jase. That’s barely legal.”

Jason dunked the first slice of bread, concentrating on it so he didn’t have to face Dylan. “He has an old soul.”

“That the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say. And that’s saying a lot.”

Jason put the first drenched piece of bread in the pan and started on the next. “He likes old TV shows.”

“Like
Murder, She Wrote
?”

“Exactly.”

“Interesting.”

But something about his tone made Jason uneasy, so he changed the subject.

“How was your date with Tryss?”

“Who?”

“Victim Number Five? Daddy issues? The desperation trifecta? Remember?”

“Oh, her. Fine, I guess.” He couldn’t see Dylan’s face, but his tone lacked enthusiasm. “Turns out she only wanted to see me because she thought I could get her a part in
Summer Camp Nightmare 4
.”