Page 59 of Just Friends
“Why on god’s green earth do people keep screwing around here? Every time I turn around people are going at it like rabbits.”
Weasel shrugged. Rebecca had wanted it. “You’re starting to sound like Brandon.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your boyfriend’s a prude.”
Ben almost spit out his beer. “‘Scuse me, but gay men cannot be prudes.”
“Isn’t that homophobic?”
Ben chuckled. “Stop changing the subject, asshole.”
“What?” he feigned innocence.
“First time for you two?” When Weasel said nothing, he proceeded “No? Okay… not the first time. So, are you two an item?” Again, silence from him, so Ben continued. “Friends with benefits?” Weaselglared. “Look,” he declared, “I realize that stare makes perps shit themselves or whatever, but your badass cop face has no power here.” Ben snapped his fingers and sashayed behind the bar.
“How the hell did I not know you were gay in high school?”
“I was a football player and deep in the closet.” He pulled a bottle of Buffalo Trace from under the counter and grabbed two glasses. “And I wasn’t this fabulous then.”
“You also had a pink feather boa in the closet along with you, and somehow I thought nothing about it…. And then there was that starring role in Singing in the Rain.”
Ben smiled and pushed a glass of bourbon to him. “I loved that boa,” he said wistfully.
“You trying to get me drunk?”
“Maybe you’ll talk to me.”
He sighed and swallowed a gulp of the liquor. “She doesn’t want it out in the open,” he admitted. “I don’t know if its ‘cause Kyle screwed her up or if it’s just me.”
“What about you?”
He knocked back the remaining bourbon in the glass. “That she’s embarrassed of me or I’m not good enough––”
“Whoa,” Ben interrupted, “why would you even think that? Don’t tell me you still see yourself as that punk-ass kid?” When Weasel didn’t respond, he continued, “You did stupid shit as a kid… but who didn’t? You’ve done nothing but become an upstanding guy. All right? You’re a detective and catch bad guys and make our town safer. And you pulled yourself up from nothing. I was there, so you have to believe me. I get nothing out of lying to you about it.”
He nodded. But he couldn’t figure out why Rebecca kept part of herself blocked off from him. “Ever think about going into motivational speaking?”
Ben shook his head and poured him another glass. He was trying to get him drunk. Weasel didn’t drink much anymore, not quantity wise. He’d have a beer or a single glass of whiskey or bourbon, but hadn’t had multiples of each in a single night in years. Now he’d pass out the shots and get loud, but he preferred to retain his faculties about him at all times.
A slice of cake materialized on the bar top in front of him and Rebecca at his side.
“Thought you’d want cake,” she said. He hadn’t realized she’d approached. Shit, he was already bad off.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, grabbing the fork, shoveling in a mouthful, needing something to soak up the alcohol in his system.
“Water,” he said. Ben poured him a cup then disappeared. He ate half the piece without stopping to breathe. “Have you had this?” Rebecca slid onto the barstool beside him. She studied him. “Here, have some,” he said and, without waiting for a response, shoved a forkful of cake into her mouth. Her hand covered his on the fork handle. She pulled it from her mouth returning the fork. A dab of icing stuck on the edge of her mouth; he couldn’t help himself and removed it with a kiss.
She gasped, and pink blossomed across her lovely cheeks. “Are you drunk?”
“A little,” he said, downing the remaining water.
“I don’t know that I’ve ever seen that…” She got up, moved around the bar, and refilled his water. “Drink that.”
“Blame Ben. He was plying me with booze.”
She laughed and picked up a bottle of wine on the counter and poured a glass.