Chapter 12

BENNY

I snarl as the stupid goddamn stupid fucking lawn fucking mower splutters to a stop again. And all the swift kick I aim at the grass catchy ma-thing does is send pain radiating up my foot.

"This is bullshit."

"You're too impatient."

I level Harrison with a glare that only makes him smile wider.

"You're cute when you're angry."

"Call me cute again, asshole."

Harrison laughs. "And you're adorable when you're stabby. I know this is hard to believe," he says, ducking down and tipping the mower on its side, "but if you go over large rocks, this beast isn't going to like it."

I gesture to the lawn—if you can even call it that. "If I stop to remove all the rocks, we'll be here all day."

"And I assume that's why this guy hired me instead of doing it himself." Harrison scrapes something out from below and then stands it upright again. "Try now."

One pull of the cord has it roaring to life. "This sucks."

"Yep," he says before squeezing water from his drink bottle into his open mouth. "But it's honest work. Open."

Fuck, he's weird. I open my mouth, and he fills it with water. God, it tastes good, considering today is hot as balls. We've both done away with our shirts, and I'm still sweating like an ice cube in lava. I'm a Vermont boy. I'm not used to all this heat.

Harrison tosses the drink bottle back toward our stuff and then grabs some more rocks. The shirtless look with the thick, black gloves is doing it for me, and apparently, I'm at the point where I'll find anything he does hot. It's becoming a real problem. Even going out with Em the other night didn't fix it.

"Please tell me we're nearly done," I shout over the motor as I push the stupid machine around. Gotta say, this is better than shifting all that rock Harrison is moving, but it's still a pain in the ass. I'm no stranger to hard work; hockey is brutal training, especially at camps where we're at it every day, but this is a different kind of torture. If I wasn't so set on fulfilling my side of the bet, I would have tapped out by now.

"One more house after this."

Fuck me. How the hell was he supposed to get all of this done himself? It feels like we've been at this all day, and he probably would have been working well into the night at this rate. As much as I bitch and moan and will never admit this out loud, I'm glad I'm here. Apparently, I have some kind of nice person hiding under all my snark.

"I've just decided I'm cashing in on that dinner tonight," I warn him, shoving the mower over yet another whatever on the ground. Thankfully, it keeps chugging along, and even though I'm trying to mow this stupid grass straight, I'm not doing a very good job.

"Ah, after work, you're putting me to … more work?" Harrison asks.

"It's your fault for giving me an appetite."

"You're lucky I like cooking."

That gets me stupidly excited, which I should have learned my lesson about by now. I'd been looking forward to today all week, thinking it'd be slow and easy and Harrison and I would be able to hang out for the day, but between the hard work and the loud lawn mower, the flirty conversations I'd been envisioning are few and far between. By the time we climb into the car after each job, neither of us can be bothered to talk much.

At least by having dinner together, we might get some of the fun I'd been hoping for.

It's four by the time we finish up this lawn and head to our last one of the day. When we pull up, I nearly sob with relief.

It's a tiny grass strip in front of a garden bed.

"People pay you for this?"

He gets out of the car and heads for the back of his truck, where I meet him. "Not this one. I didn't have the heart. She's an old bird whose husband died last year, and the garden was his baby—he was very proud of his bougainvillea. She was terrified she wouldn't be able to handle it on her own and was willing to pay anything, even though she doesn't have much, so I do it for her."

I eye the nice cottage. "Pretty house for a poor lady."

"Shut up, Benny. All people have stories. You can't tell just by looking. Even if she is lying and doesn't want to pay, who cares? If we all stop doing nice things for people just in case they don't deserve it, then the ones who do will end up missing out as well."

Ooof. Straight to the heart. "Way to say I'm a shitty person without saying I'm a shitty person."

"You're not a shitty person." He looks genuinely confused. "Jesus, first dumb, now this. You play confident, but I'm getting the feeling it's a lie."

Dumb? When did I say I was dumb? It's exactly the type of thing I'd say as a joke, though, but apparently, he took it to heart. "My confidence is fine. I took you shooting me down in my stride, didn't I?"

He suddenly looks away, and for the first time, I'm getting uncomfortable vibes from him. It throws me because that was the least flirty thing I've said all day.

"It's not like … I didn't shoot you down though, did I?"

Okay, now I'm confused. "That's exactly what happened." I eye the way he's fidgeting with the shit in his truck. "Why are you being weird?"

"Eh. Nothing. Come on, let's get this done so I can feed you."

I'm not going to argue with that, but if he thinks I can just let that go, he's wrong. I flirt with him because he's given me all the signs he's cool with it. It's empty flirting, just like what he gives me right back.

At least, that's the impression I was getting, but maybe it's changed?

Maybe the flirting is too much for him?

The last thing I want is to make Harrison feel weird around me, but now I'm having to go through and rewire all my natural responses to him. We built our friendship up one way; now, I have to unstack those building blocks and start over, I guess.

Jesus. This is why no good comes from friending straight dudes. And from crushes.

I mow the strip of grass while he plays with his plants, and I can't stop glancing over his way.

Dammit, why does he have to be so hot? Like, on the inside too. He's whistling as he tends to the plants, and I'm even finding that attractive. There's something wrong with me. Something seriously, seriously wrong to be standing here sore and sweaty and cranky and still be swooning over the guy who put us in this situation.

I finish mowing and switch the machine off, then fake sob as I hit my head against the metal handle.

"What's wrong with you? I thought you'd be happy we're done."

"I just really, really hate you. That's all. That's the story."

I ignore his laugh as I wheel the mower back to his truck and load it in again, then open the passenger door and throw myself into the seat to wait for him. The cab is stifling, there's no breeze, and I hate everything about sitting here waiting, except for the view of Harrison doing what he loves best.

Fuck, maybe I should turn myself into a tree? I wonder if he'd take a blow job from one of those flytrap thingies.

Once he's done, he wipes his dirty hands off on his gym shorts, sending his back muscles rippling. I'm too busy watching them flex under his skin to notice the little old woman approach.

They exchange a few words, and she squeezes his arm in what looks like gratitude. Harrison must say something about me because they both turn at the same time, and she gives me this adorable little finger wave.

Dammit. Of course she's a cute old lady.

I really am a dick.

I muster up a smile and wave back before she walks inside, and Harrison packs his shit away in the truck.

He climbs in beside me, wiping his face off with his shirt before pulling his cap back down. There's dirt smeared on his cheek, his neck, his shoulder … and when I look down, I'm not much better.

I'm still sore.

I'm still sweaty.

But then I think of that cute little wave, and I grudgingly—so fucking grudgingly—have to admit that I'm sort of maybe just a tiny bit glad that I came today.

"So, your old lady looked sweet," I admit.

"Told you."

"Still bet she's got a basement full of dead puppies or something."

Then Harrison does something that stops all my thoughts in their tracks. He pats my thigh.

My bare thigh. His big hand. Making warm, sweaty contact.

"Your outlook on the world will never cease to amaze me."

I don't know what to say to that and don't trust myself with words anyway, so I stay silent on the whole drive to his house.

"Want me to drop you home to shower first?" he asks as we drive through the college district.

"It's out of the way. I could borrow something of yours."

"We could try." His eyes leave the road for a second to study my waist. "Marshall and Felix definitely won't have anything to fit you, but I've got some elastic gym shorts we can try."

"Sounds good."

So instead of taking the turnoff to DIK and having to explain to him why he can't wait in my room, we head for his place instead.

I'm expecting the house to have gardens and greenery everywhere, but it's a tiny cottage like we've just come from, with red stones covering the strip between the road and the house.

"I would never have picked this place to be yours," I say as we pull up out the front.

"Why's that?"

"Where are all your plants?"

He winks. "You'll see. Besides, this was the best the three of us could afford, so we love her anyway."

Of course he does. Harrison is just a happy guy, with whatever life throws at him. Maybe our friendship was never meant to be about shared orgasms, and instead, it's all about me finding some fucking perspective in life.

A well-rounded Dalton? That Dalton being me?

Nah, sounds false.

He'll make me a good person when I'm dead.