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Aaron grinned at him. “Exactly.”
“So, I should celebrate the history of our people surviving assimilation by having drinks in some bar with total strangers…and are they even Jewish?”
Aaron rolled his eyes. “Do you care?”
In truth, no. He didn’t. But right then, he wanted to pretend.
“Look, the worst that could happen is you have a crappy conversation and a halfway decent meal.”
“The worst that could happen is I’m some unsolved case on theMurder Mysteriespodcast,” Ben said, his voice rising slightly. “And that is not how I’m going to die!”
Aaron waved a dismissive hand at him. “Please, for the love of everything we both hold dear, stop it with the true crime podcasts.”
Ben scowled at him. “Is that what you’re going to say when you’re interviewed about your baby brother’s tragic murder? He tried to warn me, but now I’m filled with a lifetime of regret because I thought he was just too addicted to podcasts. Now all I can do is name my children after him so no one forgets.”
Aaron made a strange choking noise, his face going pink.
Ben’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Nothing. Anyway, my point,” Aaron said, finally starting to sound annoyed, “is that you’re free to say no, but I hope you won’t. And I’m pretty sure you won’t get murdered, but if it makes you feel better, you can tell the staff you’re worried, and they’ll look out for you.”
Ben stared back at the screen, then brushed his brother’s hands aside, grabbing the phone. He clicked on one of the calendar dates, and sure enough, there it was. Friday night, a date at the Crooked Pint—someplace he’d never heard of.
“Is this that obnoxious, local hipster place you’re always—”
“Yes,” Aaron interrupted, “and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t shit all over it. It’s got decent food, it’s like five blocks from your condo, and the staff is kind.”
That was…oddly considerate for his brother, who was usually a sarcastic asshole when it came to Ben’s deadpan personality.
“So, we both know you’re just doing this to get Mom off your back,” Ben started, but he stopped when Aaron actually looked hurt.
“I’m really not that much of a dick, Ben. I want you to be happy, and I know what Taylor did to you, okay? I know how he spoke to you and how he treated you even before you caught him cheating. You can pretend like it doesn’t matter, but you two were together for three years. That’s not nothing.”
Ben closed his eyes in a slow blink and did his best not to look at Aaron’s face because if he did, he was going to crack. No one in his family liked to talk directly about his failed relationship—or the ways in which Ben was still recovering. He assumed that meant none of them had ever noticed what an asshole Taylor was, but maybe he was wrong.
Though he didn’t know if that made him feel better or worse, considering none of them ever checked in on him.
“I want you to see there are decent people out there,” Aaron said quietly.
“All of these men could be serial killers,” Ben pointed out.
“I’m not going to argue with that,” Aaron told him flatly, “but mostly because I don’t have time to point out the flaws in your logic. I’m just asking you to give it a shot. I wouldn’t suggest this if I thought there was any real danger.”
Ben stared at the screen again—at the first date with a guy named…Chaz?
“Chaz? Seriously?”
“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” Aaron said.
Ben rolled his eyes. He’d had four or five of those in classes too, and all of them with frat pins. “Considering I’ve got a front-row seat to the future leaders of the world—and what their parents named them—I’d say if anyone can predict what Chaz is going to be like, it’s me.”
Aaron scoffed. “Is that a no? You’re turning down my gift?”
Ben hated himself for what he was about to do, but he took a deep breath, then glanced down at Chaz’s name. If it was one of his students, he was going to throw himself straight into the sun. “If this fails—and I’m pretty sure it will—promise me you won’t ever do this again.”
Aaron grinned at him triumphantly. “I swear it. Scout’s honor.”
Ben sighed and tossed his phone back down on his desk, rocking back in his chair as Aaron stood and patted his pockets for his keys and cell like he always did. “Also, if you ever steal my phone again, I’ll come for you. And I’m a historian, Aaron. I have an entire library of ways to get creative of torture.”
