He glanced sideways at the man driving. Benson had one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift. He looked like he belonged in a movie—broad shoulders under a worn flannel shirt, firm jaw, trimmed beard, and sparkling blue eyes that somehow were both serious and kind. Kyle hadn’t expected a truck driver to look like that. Or to be this gentle.
He liked the way Benson spoke to him—calm and steady, like he wasn’t just some stray kid picked up on the side of the road. Like he mattered.
His stomach growled, loud enough to make him wince. He’d forgotten he hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday, unless you counted a half-bag of chips and a gas station coffee. He reached for his backpack, hoping to dig out whatever crumbs were left, but before he could unzip it, Benson turned toward him, brows drawn in concern.
“Hey,” Benson said, “did you eat today?”
Kyle hesitated. “I bought some chips.”
Benson gave him a look. “But what about all day?”
Kyle shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “No. I went to work without eating. Then…everything happened.”
Benson shook his head, muttering something under his breath. “Look, I need to be in Ohio in nine hours, so we’ve got time to make a stop. I’m getting hungry too. My hours are all messed up.”
Kyle blinked. “Really? Thanks. I think I’m starving.”
Benson smiled, and Kyle felt something flutter in his chest. It was stupid, probably. He didn’t even know if Benson was gay or if he was just being nice. Kyle wasn’t about to ask. Not yet. But still…there was something about the way Benson looked at him. Protective. Like he actually cared.
“You like burgers?” Benson asked, flipping on the turn signal as they approached an exit.
“Love ’em,” Kyle said, trying not to sound too eager.
“Good. There’s a diner off this ramp that makes a mean double cheeseburger. You’ll feel human again after that.”
Kyle smiled, the first real one in hours. “You always this nice to hitchhikers?”
Benson chuckled. “Only the ones who look like they’ve been through hell and still manage to smile.”
Kyle looked out the window, cheeks warming. He didn’t know what this was yet. Maybe it was just a ride, or maybe something more. But for now, he was warm, safe, and sitting next to a man who made him feel like he wasn’t alone. And that was enough.
The diner was one of those old-fashioned places with neon signs buzzing faintly against the falling snow, their light bleeding through the frosted windows. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of seasoned grease and burned coffee, the kind of heat that clung to your clothes. Kyle barely noticed the other people, mostly men, and they were all looking at Benson.
Because Benson McCoy was standing there like he owned the place.
At well over six feet, he was all broad shoulders and long, powerful lines, a presence so commanding it seemed to press against Kyle’s chest. The man didn’t have to do a damn thing; just existing was enough to draw every set of eyes in the room, including Kyle’s. There was strength in the way he carried himself, an unspoken confidence that felt dangerous in the best way.
Kyle followed him to a booth near the window, his pulse annoyingly loud in his ears. He slid into the cracked red vinyl seat across from Benson, determined not to stare. But then Benson shrugged off his leather jacket again with an easy roll ofhis shoulders, and the movement made his shirt tighten across a chest that was—damn it—built. When Benson stretched, his arms flexed just enough to make Kyle’s mouth go a little dry. Kyle tried not to stare, but it was hard not to notice how solid he looked like he could lift the whole truck if he had to.
He looked like he could haul a broken-down truck out of a snowbank with his bare hands. Or press Kyle into the booth and…
Nope. Kyle’s throat worked as he tore his gaze away, forcing it to the fogged-up window. The cold glass did nothing to cool the rush of heat creeping under his skin.
It wasn’t just Benson’s size or strength. It was the way he moved; quiet, self-assured, like a man who knew exactly what he was capable of. There was something magnetic about it, something that made Kyle’s stomach flip in a way that was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.
Safe, his brain supplied unhelpfully. But there was nothing safe about the way his body was reacting.
Across the vinyl-topped table, in the diner’s hazy glow, all he could see was Benson sitting opposite him; the clatter of dishes and low murmur of conversation provided a backdrop. His piercing blue eyes were intense and calculating, the kind that seem to see straight through someone. Dark blue, perfectly styled hair contrasted with the perfect face, and there was an air of quiet confidence in his expression. His crossed arms only amplify that “don’t mess with me” energy, like he was used to being in control, but doesn’t need to shout about it. Perfect.
A server came by with two mugs of coffee before they even ordered. “You boys look frozen,” she said with a wink. “Menus are on the table. Holler when you’re ready.”
Kyle wrapped his hands around the mug, letting the warmth soak in. He hadn’t realized how cold his fingers still were.
Benson glanced at him over the rim of his cup. “You okay?”
Kyle nodded. “Yeah. Just…feeling a bit off.”
“You’ll feel better once you have something in your stomach.”
