pursed his lips in the most adorably kissable fashion.
Flinching at the thought, Patrick sat up just as Benji took a seat next to him. He froze, and Benji didn’t notice as he looked out over the showroom rather than at him. Patrick swallowed and rested his elbows on his knees.
“So, you live here?” Benji said, his tone whimsical.
Patrick chuckled. “Living is subjective. But if we want to be normal about it, sure.”
“I’m starting to see the charm.” Benji’s smile was infectious. Genuine. No hidden agenda.
Patrick flexed his fingers, cracking the knuckles on each hand. He remained silent. Agnes was late. Surely she’d catch on in less than a second. The quiet bonding time with Benji was something he hadn’t planned on. His mouth went dry and the hair on the back of his neck prickled.
Benji continued the conversation. “It’s like that dream you have as a kid about being left behind in a shopping mall. Which area would you go for first?”
Patrick clenched his fists. Benji had asked him a question. He mustered a contented smile, “Always the café.”
“You seem to like it there.” Benji turned back to him. Patrick had never noticed the faint freckles on his nose before. Not that he was paying attention. Nope.
Patrick leaned away, lacing his fingers together. “I go for the ambiance. I live vicariously through the customers who order tiramisu.”
“Tiramisu?” Benji asked. “I’d think you’d be a meatballs guy.”
“The meatballs are such a pedestrian choice.” Patrick popped his neck. Where was Agnes? Or Karin? He went along with it anyway. “The sweet cream and the espresso. Damn, I miss espresso.”
“Espresso?” Benji leaned back on the bed.
“Not a day goes by that I don’t think about espresso.” Patrick looked back at him over his shoulder. “What do you miss?”
Benji lay on the mattress and sighed dreamily.
Patrick’s blood pressure rose. There Benji was, on his bed, lying there like he belonged. Patrick discreetly clenched his teeth and curled his toes in his Nikes.
“I don’t think I’ve been here long enough to miss anything,” Benji said as he flopped his arms back over his head.
Even in the most innocent of gestures, Benji proved how infinitely tempting he was. Patrick turned away, pressing his hands to his face and catching a breath. Bringing Benji to his bed had been a bad idea. And he hadn’t even brought him to his bed in the biblical sense.
Either Agnes needed to bust them soon or Patrick would have to admit his prank had failed and she had won.
He would never admit defeat to Agnes.
Never.
“Sure you have,” Patrick said, keeping the mood light. “I’m sure you miss a lot of things.”
“Coffee,” Benji said. “God, I miss coffee, too.”
Patrick smirked. “I can teach you how to experience coffee again.”
“Really?” Benji brightened, his eyes alight in wonder.
“It’s a mind game,” Patrick said and pointed to his temple. “All of your experiences are up here. If you concentrate hard enough, not only can you smell it, you can taste it. Not only that, you can change it into tasting like anything else.”
“Water to wine,” Benji said.
“Water to wine to coffee to margaritas.” Patrick nodded. “But butter. Dammit. I can never get the taste of butter quite right. Either comes out like tasteless lard or rock salt.”
Benji narrowed his eyes into merry crescents. “How did you get so good at harnessing the energy here?”
“Well, it’s all particle physics. Once you realize you’re just one particle in the scheme of things, you know where to push one and grab another and make it into something else. It’s science.”
“Says the ghost,” Benji said. He crossed his legs and bounced an ankle like a teenager contemplating the supermodel poster on his ceiling.
“We’re not ghosts,” Patrick said. “We’re just in an altered state of existence. It’s like radio frequencies.” He held up his hand as if turning a
Flinching at the thought, Patrick sat up just as Benji took a seat next to him. He froze, and Benji didn’t notice as he looked out over the showroom rather than at him. Patrick swallowed and rested his elbows on his knees.
“So, you live here?” Benji said, his tone whimsical.
Patrick chuckled. “Living is subjective. But if we want to be normal about it, sure.”
“I’m starting to see the charm.” Benji’s smile was infectious. Genuine. No hidden agenda.
Patrick flexed his fingers, cracking the knuckles on each hand. He remained silent. Agnes was late. Surely she’d catch on in less than a second. The quiet bonding time with Benji was something he hadn’t planned on. His mouth went dry and the hair on the back of his neck prickled.
Benji continued the conversation. “It’s like that dream you have as a kid about being left behind in a shopping mall. Which area would you go for first?”
Patrick clenched his fists. Benji had asked him a question. He mustered a contented smile, “Always the café.”
“You seem to like it there.” Benji turned back to him. Patrick had never noticed the faint freckles on his nose before. Not that he was paying attention. Nope.
Patrick leaned away, lacing his fingers together. “I go for the ambiance. I live vicariously through the customers who order tiramisu.”
“Tiramisu?” Benji asked. “I’d think you’d be a meatballs guy.”
“The meatballs are such a pedestrian choice.” Patrick popped his neck. Where was Agnes? Or Karin? He went along with it anyway. “The sweet cream and the espresso. Damn, I miss espresso.”
“Espresso?” Benji leaned back on the bed.
“Not a day goes by that I don’t think about espresso.” Patrick looked back at him over his shoulder. “What do you miss?”
Benji lay on the mattress and sighed dreamily.
Patrick’s blood pressure rose. There Benji was, on his bed, lying there like he belonged. Patrick discreetly clenched his teeth and curled his toes in his Nikes.
“I don’t think I’ve been here long enough to miss anything,” Benji said as he flopped his arms back over his head.
Even in the most innocent of gestures, Benji proved how infinitely tempting he was. Patrick turned away, pressing his hands to his face and catching a breath. Bringing Benji to his bed had been a bad idea. And he hadn’t even brought him to his bed in the biblical sense.
Either Agnes needed to bust them soon or Patrick would have to admit his prank had failed and she had won.
He would never admit defeat to Agnes.
Never.
“Sure you have,” Patrick said, keeping the mood light. “I’m sure you miss a lot of things.”
“Coffee,” Benji said. “God, I miss coffee, too.”
Patrick smirked. “I can teach you how to experience coffee again.”
“Really?” Benji brightened, his eyes alight in wonder.
“It’s a mind game,” Patrick said and pointed to his temple. “All of your experiences are up here. If you concentrate hard enough, not only can you smell it, you can taste it. Not only that, you can change it into tasting like anything else.”
“Water to wine,” Benji said.
“Water to wine to coffee to margaritas.” Patrick nodded. “But butter. Dammit. I can never get the taste of butter quite right. Either comes out like tasteless lard or rock salt.”
Benji narrowed his eyes into merry crescents. “How did you get so good at harnessing the energy here?”
“Well, it’s all particle physics. Once you realize you’re just one particle in the scheme of things, you know where to push one and grab another and make it into something else. It’s science.”
“Says the ghost,” Benji said. He crossed his legs and bounced an ankle like a teenager contemplating the supermodel poster on his ceiling.
“We’re not ghosts,” Patrick said. “We’re just in an altered state of existence. It’s like radio frequencies.” He held up his hand as if turning a
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