Page 68 of The Gaybor War

Technically, work happens. Emails get answered. A meeting runs long. I correct someone's spreadsheet formula and feel briefly superior about it. But underneath all of it is the memory of Benji's mouth on mine.

Which is inconvenient.

Because I already know I want him. The question keeping me distracted isn't whether I should. It's what happens now.

By the time I turn onto Cockburn Street, I've built at least six possible versions of our next interaction, but none of them involve what I find waiting for me.

Benji is standing at the mailbox, phone in hand, sunglasses pushed into his hair. He looks up when he hears my car and smiles.

"Hey, Carter."

That's it. No teasing. No flirting. No look that says he spent last night replaying our kiss as many times as I did. Just... normal.

For some reason, that shakes me harder than if he'd blown me a kiss across the street. Because now I'm standing here wondering if I've imagined the significance of the whole thing.

And I hate that thought immediately.

"So," I say, because silence makes me itchy. "The chili cook-off was… something."

"It was. You survived the white-shirt incident. That’s growth."

I almost laugh. Almost.

The conversation settles. Normally Benji would fill the space. Today he doesn't. He checks his phone, adjusts his shades, and looks perfectly comfortable standing beside me without turning the exchange into a performance.

It's unsettling.

"You're being weird."

His eyebrows lift. "That's a fascinating accusation coming from you."

"No, seriously." I gesture vaguely. "You're... normal."

Benji barks out a laugh. "Wow. Right in the self-esteem."

"You know what I mean."

"I do." Something softer slips into his expression. "I figured I'd respect the rules."

"What rules?"

"The ones you made."

I frown. "I didn't make any rules."

"You absolutely did." He slips his phone into his pocket. "No spectacles. No neighborhood gossip. No public scandal."

Heat creeps up my neck. "That's not what I said."

His eyebrow arches. "Actually, verbatim."

"So now you're behaving yourself?"

He looks genuinely offended. “That’s what you wanted!”

Despite myself, I laugh. His grin flashes for half a second before he reins it in again. And suddenly I understand what's bothering me.

It's not that Benji is acting differently. It's that he's trying. For me.