Page 11 of The Gaybor War

I exhale slowly.

"Shania," the one in the boots with big hair says, sticking out a manicured hand. "Born and raised ten minutes from here, and yes, I will judge your lawn if you let me."

"Malia," says the woman in workout clothes, giving a quick wave. "I run the morning spin class. Or I would if anyone ever showed up on time."

The one with the braid lifts her tumbler in a lazy salute. "Candace. These are house sweats, not errand sweats. There’s a difference." She pauses, eyes flicking over me. "You’ll learn."

"And I’m Kiki," the last woman says, smiling apologetically while glancing down the street like she’s tracking small, feral creatures. "I’ve got three kids, two minivans, and no idea where my coffee went. Welcome to Morningwood."

Shania nudges Benji. "Tell him what you do for work."

Benji brightens, already waiting for applause. "Oh! I work from home."

Of course he does. I glance him up and down, taking in his purple shirt with a plunging V-neck, matching short-shorts, flip-flops that look like they lost a fight with a belt sander, and the situation happening to his toenails.

"Let me guess," I say. "OnlyFans or TikTok Shop?"

The women gasp like I just slapped a baby koala.

Benji clutches his chest. "Excuse you. I have a real job."

I glance pointedly at his feet—toes painted once upon a time, now chipped like a tragic urban decay ad. "It sure isn’t selling feet pics," I say under my breath.

Benji looks personally attacked. "The lady who does my nails is on her honeymoon!"

"For your sake," I reply, "I hope she returns real soon."

The ladies giggle. Benji narrows his eyes as if I’ve declared war.

I’m not sure whether I’ve won something or just unleashed hell. Probably both.

Cowgirl boots huffs. "Benji doesn’t do OnlyFans! He’s a graphic designer."

I raise an eyebrow. "Oh. So… unemployed, but with fonts. That’s a big title for someone with a Canva Premium subscription."

Benji narrows his eyes. "I design romance novel covers."

That shuts me up for a beat. Then I blink. "Like—the shirtless vampire ones?"

He lifts his chin. "Sometimes vampires. Sometimes cowboys. Occasionally a pirate with commitment issues. I bring fantasies to life, Carter."

"Uh-huh." I shift my gaze to three toddlers snacking on mulch. "And you do this… full-time?"

He nods, all confidence and thirst trap-shirted pride. "Freelance, baby. I’m the Michelangelo of pecs, and yearning gazes."

Candace fans herself. "You should see his work! He did Cowboy in My Heart. The one with the lasso⁠—"

Benji beams. "And the strategically placed shadow."

I can’t help it; I snort. "Wow. The Renaissance we didn’t know we needed."

Benji puts a hand on his hip. "Jealous?"

"Of what? The pecs you borrowed from Shutterstock?"

The women collectively ooooh, as if we’re at a middle school dance battle.

Benji leans closer, voice honeyed but sharp. "Careful, Carter. You’ll end up on one of my covers as the brooding, emotionally unavailable neighbor."