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“Did you just check me out?”
“Yes.” He curled a finger for me to come closer, and I did, as if pulled by an invisible cord. An invisible cord shooting electricity from my hands to my feet to the base of my balls. He snagged my tie and used it to pull me down. “Not for the first time, either.”
Our faces were an inch apart and I braced my damp palms on his chair.
His fingers picked up an object from inside the chair and tugged my left breast pocket.
“What do you think?” Hunter said.
“About your eyes lingering on my crotch?”
“About the boutonniere.” He winked, dropping his fingers from me. “I already know what you think about my eyes lingering on your crotch.”
I flustered and stood upright. A light red carnation. I hadn’t been serious about Hunter bringing me a corsage. Or a boutonniere.
My cheeks burned holding the freaking smile on my face. “I wasn’t serious about bringing one of these.”
“You weren’t, maybe. I am.”
From above, a third voice cut in. Uncle Ben called from the window. “I’m not assuming anything.”
“Good,” I called up to him.
“Now I’m deducing.”
I gestured to Hunter we leave. “How was basketball?”
“It was a good week. Made semis. What was happening with the Chief?” Hunter deftly shifted into the driver’s seat and swung his wheelchair into the back via the sliding door.
“Uncle Ben?” I nervously clipped in my belt. “Oh, he’s old.”
“Old? Looks fit to me. Not far past forty.”
“Forty-three. But he doesn’t understand that guys can flirt without it meaning anything.”
It was the wrong thing to say.
It was a stupid thing to say.
Silence descended between us as we drove.
“Uncle Ben is rooting for us to save the gazebo too,” I tossed out, hoping for a reaction, almost sighing when Hunter raised a quizzical brow.
“Yep,” I said. “His initials are carved into it.”
“I thought he was single.”
“He is. But he and his best friend used to be lovers. They’re still crazy close despite the distance.”
“Distance?”
“Jason was an international ballet dancer, and now he travels as a trainer. He comes to Pittsburgh twice a year, and I’m realizing that maybe it’s not as over as Uncle Ben claimed. Maybe Jason is why he never dates.”
I rubbed my chest, feeling a soft ache.
“What’s their origin story?” Hunter queried.
I smirked, recalling Uncle Ben’s description. “Wasted out of his mind, he entered the wrong dorm room—a floor below his own—and climbed into Jason’s bed. When he woke up in the morning, Jason was staring at him. Uncle Ben gaped back, transfixed by his beauty, and said: Oh wow, that must have been a good night. Jason bust out a laugh and has been laughing at him ever since.”
“And the gazebo?”
“Gayzebo, I’m starting to think.”
Hunter snorted and rolled his eyes. “How does that fit in?”
“Uncle Ben was embarrassed after his bed-nabbing escapade so he evaded Jason. Said he had never seen Jason before that morning, yet suddenly he was everywhere.”
“Funny how that happens.”
“Uncle Ben’s a big guy. Played varsity football. He sprained his foot jumping behind the bushes trying to hide from Jason. Jason had to haul him out and act as a crutch to the gazebo.”
“See, stories like these make me need to save the gazebo.”
“He wants me to write his story for the next Scribe issue.”
“I can’t wait to read it.” Hunter gently halted at an amber light and peered at me.
“What?”
“When did you move into Chief Benedict’s basement?”
Ugh. Heaviness settled on my shoulders and sank to my toes. I laughed, but it sounded tinny to my ears. “As soon as dad could get me off his hands. Sixteen, just.”
The light turned green, but Hunter didn’t drive. The dead side street didn’t allow for rude beeping, so nothing broke Hunter’s sympathetic gaze. I pulled my focus to the street.
“Listen, I don’t deserve the pity. I was a shit teenager. I made it real tough, I’m surprised he didn’t leave earlier.”
“Marc—”
“Now the light’s red again.”
“Marc.”
He wanted me to look at him, but I couldn’t lift my chin. “You know, maybe Uncle Ben and Jason aren’t together because I crashed into his life six years ago and crimped his ability to travel around the world and live out of a suitcase alongside his love.” I shoved down those shameful memories and leaned against the headrest. “Well, fuck. There’s definitely no making it up to him.”
“Marc, you are too hard on yourself. You were a kid, you deserved someone looking after you.” Hunter rubbed his jaw, and added, “I’ve always respected Chief Benedict, but now I might be a little in love with him.”
“You and my uncle . . .” I turned my horrified gaze on him. “You’re great at making a guy feel better.”
Hunter threw back his head, laughed, and took the next green.
We parked close to Ronald Hall. I’d been here a few times; it housed campus assemblies, celebrations, fundraisers.
