Page 71 of The Gaybor War

He leaves first, unhurried and without a backward glance. As if he's completely confident I'll catch up.

The irritating thing is, I'm starting to think he's right.

For a long time, I sit in my car with the engine off, staring through the windshield while my pulse refuses to settle.

His words replay on an endless loop.

You also didn't say yes.

The problem is that I know exactly why.

Not because I'm unsure, but because I've spent so much time trying to make sure of everything before I move that sometimes I forget moving is part of the process.

I let my head fall back against the seat.

This is ridiculous. I've analyzed him, avoided him, kissed him, and overthought him. At some point, that has to count as an answer.

I look across the street. His porch light is still on. Waiting.

Not for me. Just there.

And somehow that feels worse. Because Benji isn't asking for anything. He's simply left the door open.

The decision is mine.

I stare at his house for another ten seconds. Then I get out of the car. The walk across the street feels longer than it has any right to. Every step gives my brain another chance to intervene. To suggest a better time. A clearer plan. A version of me that doesn't show up at a man's door armed with nothing but honesty and a bad track record.

But I ignore it and knock.

There’s movement inside. Footsteps. A pause long enough that I almost retreat. Then the door opens, and every word I'd rehearsed tangles on my tongue.

Benji stands there in a soft T-shirt and lounge shorts, looking comfortable and without armor. I want to reach for him, to see if his shirt feels as soft as it seems, to see if he smells as good as he looks.

"Oh," he says. Not surprised. Just… acknowledging. "Hey."

"Hey."

We stand there for a beat, the space between us loaded with everything we didn’t say in the clubhouse.

"I wasn’t sure if you were—" he starts, then stops himself. "What’s up?"

I take a breath. "I'm bad at this."

His mouth twitches. "I know."

A reluctant laugh escapes me. "Yeah. Well. I'm bad at moving quickly. Bad at saying things before I've dissected them into something useless."

His mouth quirks, but he lets me continue.

"When you said you don’t do half-interest, I realized I’ve been giving you exactly that. Not because I don’t want you. Because I’m afraid of wanting you."

The humor slips from his expression.

"I don't know exactly what this becomes," I continue. "But I know I don't want you at arm's length. And I don't want you thinking my silence meant no."

He studies me, searching for the loophole. I don’t give him one.

“I’m not trying to hide us, Benji. I just want to give whatever this is a chance to become something before I have to give it away like a door prize at the next block party.”