Page 59 of The Gaybor War

He steps closer before I can stop him. Close enough that I catch the scent of spice and something clean underneath it. Soap, maybe. Something unfair.

"You’ve got it right here." He gestures vaguely toward my chest.

"I can manage," I snap.

"I’m sure you can, but given your track record with liquids today…"

I grab napkins. Too many. They tear immediately. Chili smears instead of lifts.

Benji watches, eyes flicking between my hands and the spreading stain, his mouth tilted as though he’s enjoying this far too much.

"Hold still," he says, then pauses. "Or don’t. I like the suspense."

"Why are you like this?" I mutter.

"Why are you so deeply affected by chili?"

The girls are still watching. I can feel it. I hate it. I also can’t step away.

Benji finally reaches out, pinching a clean napkin between his fingers to blot the edge of the stain. His knuckles brush my ribs. Accidentally. Definitely intentionally.

My breath stutters. His eyes flick up to mine. There it is again. That sharp, pleased look. Not triumphant. Curious.

"Well," he says quietly, withdrawing his hand, "guess the shirt was tempting fate after all."

I swallow. "You planned that."

"I absolutely did not. But I’m delighted."

The moment stretches with heat and awareness.

From behind us, Kiki sighs dramatically. "I swear to God, if you two don’t sort this out soon⁠—"

Benji steps back, smooth as ever, breaking the spell. "You should change." He keeps his voice casual. "Before it sets."

"Right. Yes. Obviously." I check my table, but there’s no line. "But what about the contest?"

Benji waves his hand dismissively. "You’re losing anyway, might as well save the shirt."

I stare at him with narrowed eyes. "I’m not losing."

"Trust me. Cut your losses. Go change."

I hesitate because I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. But I also don’t want to spend the rest of the afternoon smelling like cumin and humiliation.

Behind us, Candace stage-whispers, "He’s flirting."

"I am not," Benji and I say at the exact same time.

The girls lose it.

Benji laughs, quick and loud, then reins it in as he remembers the rules of whatever game he’s playing. "Five minutes. You’ll be back before they even miss you."

It shouldn’t irritate me, but it does. I grab a paper towel, dab uselessly once more, then straighten. "This isn’t over."

His eyes spark. "Nothing good ever is."

I head for the clubhouse bathrooms, acutely aware of his gaze following me. Of the way the room seems louder without him beside me. Of how ridiculous it is that a chili cook-off has turned into a standoff.