Chapter 9

Trace Kalecki

Iyawned and knew I had a decision to make. I could not choose violence today. This tape dispenser wasn’t gonna get the best of me?—

“Are you fucking serious,” I whispered, yanking out my fingers from the tape clusterfuck. Maybe wrapping gifts wasn’t my strong suit. Jesus Christ.

Ziggy sat at my feet and wagged his tail.

“Not now, boy,” I grumbled. I’d taken him outside for a quick piss, I’d given him fresh water and a dog bone; that was enough for… I checked the time on the microwave. Fuck. Almost five thirty. I had to step on it. Ben’s alarm would go off in forty-five minutes.

At some point, Ben and I would need to discuss Ziggy’s future. We had a good deal going where Ben took the longer park walks and I took the more frequent down-in-the-alley or just-around-the-building walks, but the shaggy rascal deserved more than that. When Ben and I got off work, we were beat.

I knew one person who would accept him with open arms, aside from Chip, and that was my ma. She was retired, she would fuss over Ziggy all day long, and he’d have a big backyard to chase lizards in.

It might also distract her from obsessively checking the Citizen app to see if there’d been another shooting in Chicago. Which, more often than not, was a car backfiring. Just last night, she’d texted me to stay away from Near North Side because of an explosion that turned out to be fireworks.

Taking a step back from the counter, I inspected my handiwork. Three wrapped gifts. I mean, they were wrapped. That was all that mattered. No ribbon needed, ’cause the tape went all the way around in every direction.

The fourth present didn’t need wrapping paper because it was my mouth.

If he wanted it.

All right, breakfast. This was the easy part. I put two waffles in the toaster and hauled out the can of whipped cream and the fancy brand of strawberry preserves I’d bought.

I couldn’t wait to see his reaction. I’d snooped again. I’d texted his cousin the other day to ask if she knew his favorite breakfast.

While I waited for the waffles, I made quick work of very silently leaving the gifts on the coffee table in the front room. I poured us coffee, I brought out two plates, and I discarded the packaging from the birthday candles.

Forty-nine years.

I wanted the next forty-nine. Then we could die together and be buried at Wrigley so I could haunt our enemies.

That wasn’t too much to ask.

The waffles finally popped up, perfectly golden brown, and I dropped them on the plates. Ouch, that was hot. Whipped cream, spoon for the preserves, two mugs of coffee, candles, let’s go.

The rule to wake up Ben slowly still applied; otherwise, he’d get startled and brace himself for a fight. So I put down the food on the coffee table, no longer trying to be as quiet as possible.

“Is the birthday boy ready to wake up?” I sprayed whipped cream over the waffles—then obviously sprayed some in my mouth too. It was practically the law. “Ben?”

“You kiddin’ me,” he grumbled into his pillow.

“I’ll fucking sing,” I warned him.

I added strawberry preserves too, then stuck the 4 and the 9 candles into his waffle. My trusty Dearborn Clover matchbook got the job done.

“Happy birthday to Ben,” I sang. “Happy birthday to Ben. Happy birthday, silver Sox fox, happy birthday to?—”

“Trace,” he groaned through a drowsy chuckle.

I grinned and turned on the TV, then promptly muted the sound.

“Come on, I got stuff here for you.” I sat down on the foot of the bed and squeezed his calf through the covers. “I know you don’t gotta take a leak first, ’cause you do that around three every morning?—”

“Christ,” he grated out. He pushed back the covers, and I looked over my shoulder as he sat up, half disoriented, and squinted at me. Then at the setup on the table, then back at me. “Boy, what did you do?”

I smiled.

He scooted lower till he was right next to me, and he didn’t say anything at first. He just looped an arm around my neck and pressed his lips to my temple.

Keep going.

“You can’t be real,” he murmured.

Except, I was. And my whole fucking being screamed for more of his warmth. My hand was on his thigh before I could stop myself, and then I just left it there.

These days, I couldn’t even imagine going to bed without knowing he’d either join me soon or he was already there. Because of his job, and mine, we rarely crashed at the same time, and maybe that was for the best. I’d probably throw myself at him after a round of lazy pillow talk about the latest game or…fucking anything.

“Have you been going through my phone, bright spot?”

Oh shit.

I cleared my throat, and he eased back. Thank fuck, no hostility in his gaze. More of a cocked brow daring me to lie to him—and some wry amusement.

“What gave you that idea?” I asked innocently.

He huffed and flicked a glance at the food. “Three people close to me know I love toaster waffles with whipped cream and strawberry preserves, and one of them asked me just yesterday if I had something going on with you.”

Goddammit, Angie.

Was nothing sacred anymore?

“If it makes you feel any better, I only checked your contacts,” I said. “And just your old burner, not the work phone where you might actually keep dating apps. I think I deserve some praise for not going through that.”

At least he cracked a grin and not my skull.

“You think stroking my ego with made-up jealousy is going to derail me?”

“I’m certainly going to try,” I replied.

He shook his head in amusement and grabbed his coffee. “You’re the one with dating apps, kid. Not me.”

Whew. It was nice to have that confirmed.

“Not anymore.” I’d deleted them all. “I haven’t been with anyone since you fucked me six ways to Sunday in January.”

How was that for openness and honesty?

His coffee went down with an audible swallow, and he stared at the gifts. Kinda hard, too, like he was forcing himself to fix his attention there.

“I didn’t know birthdays involved torture in your family,” he said quietly. “Can we eat before I flip my shit?”

Oh, we were getting somewhere.

“Of course.” I stroked his thigh a little. “It’s your day. Open your gifts too. And don’t forget to make a wish when you blow out the candles.”

He released a breath and picked up his plate. Then he blew out the candles, and I could only wish his wish included me somehow. In a good way.

I had patience for the serious stuff, like our future together, but I absolutely hoped we could upgrade our dumbass friendship to include some benefits. Stat.

He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t affected. Tension rolled off him as he bit into his waffle, and he side-eyed me with a bit of whipped cream on his upper lip.

It would be so easy to lean in and lick?—

He cleared his throat and tipped his waffle at the gifts. “Which one do I start with, and why are there so many?”

Right. “Three isn’t many, and start with the smallest.” I began brushing my fingers up and down his thigh.

Perfect moment to realize he wasn’t wearing a tee. He usually slept in one, which was dumb. We should sleep naked and closer to the center of the bed.

He grabbed the smallest gift, and his mouth twitched with humor. Yeah, yeah, yuk it up. My gift-wrapping skills were flawless.

He had to tear it up a little, not unlike I wanted him to do with my ass.

Then he smiled when he saw it was a travel mug. He’d bitched at having to buy coffee when he was out working, and I was with him. Six or seven bucks for coffee? Fucking hell. It annoyed me every time, because you weren’t always close to a McDonald’s where you could get a decent cup at a more reasonable price. Dunkin’ worked occasionally too.

“This is perfect, Trace. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I leaned closer and rested my chin on his shoulder. “Medium-sized next.”

He took another deep breath and reached for the gift.

I shifted my hand to his back instead, and I ran my fingertips along his spine.

That earned me a shiver.

He was going to like this present too. I knew he would. Because for every day that passed, shit just got clearer and clearer for me. We were so similar. We complained about the same things, had the same priorities, and shared the same interests.

It was a set with three types of lunch boxes, one small, one large, one for soup. Good brand too, that promised to keep shit warm for a few hours, at least.

He exhaled and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

So was he.

I kissed his shoulder.

We gotta happen, baby.

“Next present,” I murmured.

I peered down as goose bumps appeared along his bicep, and he went for the last gift. Well, second to last, but I wasn’t sure I needed to offer the last one. If I played my cards right, he’d take it.

“This is a monster gift.” His tone held curiosity, so I gave him a bit of space to focus on it. Because it was a good gift. The guy at the store said it was one of the best.

Ben placed it in his lap and tore at the wrapping, causing the tape to snap. And as soon as he realized it was a toolbox, he exhaled a chuckle and shook his head.

“Christ—I don’t think you know how much this matters to me, Trace.”

“What do you mean?” I tilted my head. “I understand a handy handyman slash contractor like yourself will eventually have a whole collection of these, but I figured it was a good start.”

He smiled and ghosted his hands over the box. “More than a good start,” he murmured. “But it’s—” He sighed quietly and glanced at me. “I haven’t owned things in years. I’ve had a box or two stashed away at Ma’s, and I’ve had some tools at Garrett’s place, but… Buying things just hasn’t been on the radar for several reasons.”

That made sense. You didn’t need to be materialistic to find comfort in having some stuff to call your own. In a way, those things made up your home. They also signaled a next step for someone like Ben. His life was no longer about surviving the night.

I wanted him to set down roots here.

Fuck. I had to say this. It was going to be the least friendly shit I’d tell him today, but I needed him to know.

“You know what gave me the idea for the toolbox?” I pulled up a leg so I could face him fully, and I ignored the nerves tightening in my gut.

“I don’t know, me storing tools all over the stairs?” he joked.

I smiled. No. And this toolbox wasn’t meant for power tools.

“No, it was when you were talking about how you could make changes around here,” I answered. I nodded at my cheap entertainment unit that mostly held the TV and some old movies. A couple knickknacks from Chip. “You mentioned built-in shelves along that entire wall—and how you could build them without the landlord pitching a fit.”

“Well, you put up drywall in the back,” he replied frankly. “You make it so it can be dismantled easier.”

I nodded. “Things like that. And the kitchen table you’re working on. And the stuff about the fire escapes—you said I could grow vegetables there.”

“At least the one in the kitchen,” he confirmed. “That one gets sun.”

“Right. So you have all these ideas, and I want you to run with them.” I leaned forward and dropped my chin on his shoulder again. “I don’t know if you’re aware of all the things you mention in passing, but I listen. I’ve heard each one. You said something about shelves in the hallway too, and that it’s big enough to be more useful.”

He furrowed his brow. “And then you said you didn’t need storage space and more furniture.”

Maybe he shouldn’t listen to Past Trace so much? Did he ever consider that?

“That was the old me.” I smiled. “The new me has a roommate and plans for their future.”

Their future. Our future.

He raked his teeth over his bottom lip for a short second and dropped his gaze to my mouth.

“Sounds serious.”

“Very.” I mirrored his movement and dropped my gaze too, and he finally reached his limit.

He closed the last distance and covered my mouth with his, and desire and need exploded within me, sending sparks of heat through my bloodstream. A gasp got stuck in my throat. All I could do was throw myself into the kiss and climb him like a tree.

The toolbox landed on the floor with a clank, but neither of us cared. We deepened the kiss the moment I was on his lap, and he palmed my ass roughly and pulled me down on him.

Thank fuck, I’ve waited too long.

I cupped his face in my hands, feeling his stubble under my fingers, and tasted him on my tongue for the first time in months. It felt like the same shiver ran through both of us, and I couldn’t get close enough.

“Wait—”

“No!” My eyes flashed open, and panic bolted into my chest.

“I’m just gonna turn off my alarm, baby.” He rushed out the words.

Fuck. Holy fuck. My heart pounded, and I swallowed dryly. How much of a lost cause was I?

Functioning on autopilot as my ears began ringing, I got off his lap and planted my ass on the mattress.

Hold on. Had he called me baby?

He turned away from me to grab his phone off the armrest on his side. “Fuckin’ hell. The last thing I wanna do is rush this, but I gotta be out the door in half an hour.”

I could work with that. Fifteen minutes was enough to create a promise for later, and I could, uh, assist him in the shower.

“As long as you come back, I’m happy with a quickie,” I said.

He sighed and rolled back over, and he pushed himself up on his elbow. “I told you to aim higher—this is a great example.” He patted the spot next to him, and I was quick to get closer. “I don’t want you to be happy with a quickie if you’re scared I’m gonna leave, Trace.”

I leaned down and kissed him. “Yeah, okay. Can we fuck now?”

He narrowed his eyes and got pensive for a second, and just when I was about to remind him that the clock was ticking, he pounced and pinned me to the mattress.

Fuck. Was that a yes…?

He gathered my hands above my head and nuzzled my jaw. “No.”

Oh, for the love of?—

“The rest of the mornin’ will be about you,” he murmured. “You’ve already given me the best birthday a man could ask for.”

I was willing to hear him out.

He started kissing his way down my body, and he hooked his fingers into the waistband of my sweats.

I lifted up so he could yank them down.

“I have a suggestion,” I said. “Put your feet up here and lose the underwear.” In short, so we could sixty-nine each other.

He knitted his brows together. “You can’t just let someone give you pleasure?”

“You’re implying that me sucking you off wouldn’t give me pleasure,” I retorted. “That isn’t the case, genius.”

His mouth twitched with amusement. “Are you sure you’re real?”

Quite.

He didn’t need an answer, but I might circle back to this one day. He needed to know I actually loved to suck his cock, and I had a lot of catching up to do. ’Cause he’d deprived me for too long.

Once he was in position, I finally had his big cock in my face, and my mouth fucking watered.

“Hello, old friend,” I whispered. “I missed you.”

Ben chuckled silently and nipped at my thigh. “I fucking can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“Deal with you! Shut up for a second, and don’t touch me yet.” With that said, he repositioned himself so I couldn’t even reach him, and then he sucked my cock into his mouth.

Fuuuck.

I bit down on my lip, and we locked eyes as he eased back and snaked his tongue around me.

I shuddered.

All traces of humor faded.

He got me from a semi to rock hard in seconds, and I pushed myself up on my elbows, needing to see properly. And also…I kinda wanted to convince him to give me that quickie after all.

Goddamn, that felt good. I blew out a breath, and he tongued the head of my cock before taking me in again. All the way, burying me in tight, wet heat.

“Only one thing would top this,” I said quietly. “If we replaced my cock with yours, and your mouth with my ass.”

He hummed around me.

“Without a rubber in the way,” I added. “Unless something’s changed since last time.”

It better fucking not have. I’d throw the mother of jealousy fits.

He shook his head and pulled back once more. “Nothing’s changed. Including my inability to say no to you.”

That boded well for me.

I pointed toward the floor on my side of the bed. “I keep a bottle of oil on the floor for lonely nights.”

“I’ve seen it,” he muttered.

I smirked.

He’d probably seen it when he vacuumed.

He grabbed the bottle, then sat back on his heels, offering me a mouthwatering view of all his masculinity. He was so goddamn sexy that I didn’t know what to do with myself.

He cleared his throat and drizzled oil into his hand. “Should we talk?”

“Fuck no,” I replied on reflex. Shit, bad move. “I mean, we definitely should—just not right now. I’ve missed you too much.”

There. More honesty.

Something softened in his expression. “Have you really?”

“Yeah. You kiddin’ me? I’ve grown allergic to the word friend.”

He chuckled under his breath and dropped his gaze to his cock as he slicked it up.

“Me too,” he admitted. Whether it was to the word friend or if he’d missed me too, I didn’t know. Maybe it was both. But we were done talking, and he showed me instead.

The moment he covered my body with his, he brought forth all the memories from last time, how he’d held me so tightly and communicated with affection.

Like a flip of a switch, everything was right in the world.

We fused ourselves together; my legs went around his hips, he kissed me deeply, I locked my arms around his neck, and he pushed inside me in one fluid motion that punched the air out of my lungs.

Mother of fucking cocks.

“Fuck,” he exhaled.

I clenched my jaw as the fire spread through me, and I spoke against his lips. “Tell me you missed me too.”

I cupped his face in my hands, and he rested our foreheads together.

“Every goddamn day.” He brushed his lips to mine and pulled out slowly, only to push in again, and I groaned. “I think about you all the time,” he murmured. “I always wanna get closer.”

I sucked in a breath, a storm of emotions unfurling within me. Overwhelming relief, determination, unbridled fucking happiness. He made me smile like an idiot.

“Good. Same here.” I kissed him again, and this time, we didn’t stop.

He fucked me in long, measured thrusts, his mouth and one hand never leaving my skin. It was a steady race, and he wouldn’t let me rush him. He just shook his head and told me to calm down. Let me savor this, he whispered.

A shudder ripped through me. How he could seduce me so thoroughly, I’d never fucking get. It was one thing to get me going physically, but to kidnap my mind? Whole other game.

I couldn’t look away from him.

He didn’t look away from me either.

The pressure built up inside me, only increasing when he started stroking my cock. I moaned and clenched down around him, spurring him on. Not the pace, just the force. He fucked me harder, not faster. The rest of the world didn’t exist. All I saw was this man and how I wanted to spend the rest of my life getting fucked like this by him.

I clung to him. Fuck breathing. I couldn’t stop kissing him. My fingers dug into his flesh—and my heels into his ass cheeks. It was as if I couldn’t get close enough.

It had to be us.

A heavy breath gusted out of me, and I started panting. And at fucking last, he sped up. He pounded into me and buried his face against my neck. I could tell he was almost there—and that he couldn’t multitask any longer, so I took over. I batted away his hand and stroked myself faster, to which he slipped a hand up my body and grabbed me in a light choke hold.

Fuck me.

He groaned against my neck. “You gotta come, baby.”

“Almost,” I gasped. Oh fuck, almost, almost, almost. Just like that—he hit the right angle, and I almost lost it. “Fill me.”

He cursed and redoubled his efforts, and all I heard was our heavy breathing and skin slapping against skin.

I was done for.

“Now…” I whimpered and screwed my eyes shut, and the pleasure took over. It crashed down on me in heavy waves and stabbed at—actually, the stabbing part was his cock. He slammed into me until he lost the fight too, and then he was coming deep inside me.

Ropes of come splashed against my stomach and chest, and I stroked myself through the climax.

We met in a messy kiss of tongues and teeth and moans until, one heartbeat after another, we lost steam. Lips touching, breaths mingling. I swallowed dryly and felt sore all fucking over. And happy. So goddamn happy. He couldn’t deny what we had going anymore. He fucking couldn’t. We were perfect together.

I kissed him slowly, coaxing his tongue out with my own.

He drew in a deep breath through his nose. “I wish I could stay here all day.”

“Me too.”

Hopefully another time. Soon.

* * *

We didn’t have any leftovers I could heat up for him, so I prepared two sandwiches for his lunch box, and I emptied the coffeepot into his travel mug.

By the time Ben emerged in the doorway, tucking his tee into his utility pants, I’d inhaled a waffle and made one for him too, since we hadn’t finished the ones from before.

“I hope two turkey sandwiches will work,” I said. “We should buy groceries tomorrow.”

“I can go by Aldi’s tomorrow after work.” He came over and hugged me from behind, and he buried his face against my neck. “Fuck, you smell like us.”

He smelled like our body wash.

I shivered and tilted my head back, and he took the hint and kissed me.

Wasn’t this much better? Kissing and fucking and touching instead of…pretending we were just friends?

“I’m losing my mind over you, Trace.” He tightened his hold on me, and I let the relief and joy roll over me. “You didn’t have to make me lunch.”

“I wanted to.” I turned around in his embrace and locked my arms around his neck. “I want you to keep losing your mind over me too, so we can quit acting like this is casual.”

He took a deep breath and rested his forehead to mine, and he closed his eyes.

I felt the need to continue before he could let his fears do the talking.

I scratched the back of his head lightly. “Every time you share a glimpse of your creativity—what you could do with this place—you add stuff like, if that’s your thing, or, if you’d like… Or like the other day, when I was bitching about the coffee table being too far away. You said you could build me one of those tables you roll over the bed. Build me one of those tables.” I kissed his nose. “The problem is, all these ideas—I mean, I get it. I know you’re worried and just wanna make sure you’re useful. Which is something we should talk about later, ’cause it’s dumb.”

He exhaled a laugh through his nose.

“But I don’t want that table for me, Ben,” I continued. “I don’t care about the stupid built-in shelves or the fire escape green bean plants—if they’re just for me. I want them for us, ’cause…you make this place feel more like a home. But it means you gotta share it with me.”

Knowing he had to get to work, I had to wrap things up. This hadn’t been my plan anyway; I was supposed to reel him in slowly until he had no other option but to succumb to my charms. But here we were. He’d made me fucking talk.

“Look. Go to work,” I murmured. “I don’t wanna freak you out further by throwing details into the mix, but trust me—I got them. I’m not taking any of this lightly, and I know your situation. I know your priorities.”

He cupped my face and kissed me hard. “Trace, the only thing that freaks me out is losing this. Nothing I feel about you is casual or temporary, okay?”

I smiled into the kiss, but my stomach was a fucking mess of frazzled nerves. ’Cause now I had to go all day wondering if he was going to talk himself into this rocky start of what I hoped was the rest of our lives.

“We’ll talk more tonight?” he asked.

I nodded and kissed him again.

“For the record,” he said. “In the time I’ve known you, I’ve set up countless boundaries to protect myself from getting sucked into your world, and I failed each time. I’m not going anywhere because I can’t go a day without seeing you.”

Well, fuck me over, that worked. I let out an unsteady breath, and I mustered a shaky grin. Was this really happening? He was on board? He couldn’t go a day without seeing me?

We stood a chance.

* * *

Just parked.

Now I was nervous again.

I pocketed my phone and removed my apron, then signaled to Jamaal. “You ready to take over for a bit?”

He smirked and jerked his chin at his old man and Jerry. “Yeah, I think I can handle this crowd.”

Fair, fair. It was pretty slow at this early-bird hour. About a dozen tables were full, and Jamaal would have one more by his side soon enough. This early in the service, there was no need to make a reservation.

I thanked him and ignored Malcolm’s catcalling. That was what I got for having half jokingly said I was meeting my future man’s family today.

It was important to be confident, right?

Running a hand through my hair, I headed back out into the kitchen, and I made a beeline for the office. I just had to reapply some deodorant. We might have a lull in the service now, but it’d been a busy lunch rush.

I put on a new Clover tee while I was at it too, and then I had to read through our very brief chain of messages from today. To comfort myself—and to overanalyze.

He’d started it.

Cant stop thinking about a fucking Cubs fan.

He’d kept it light and funny, and I’d stupidly gone straight for matters of the heart.

That Cubs fan really liked it when u called him baby.

Luckily, his lunchtime response had unfrazzled most of my nerves.

Ill see you at five, baby.

“See? You got nothing to be nervous about,” I told myself. Except for the part where I really wanted Alvin and Elsie to like me.

Let’s charm the O’Clearys.

I left the office again and stopped by the kitchen. “Petey! We good on my Sox burn?”

He grinned. “Oh, absolutely. Everything will be ready in ten.”

Perfect. We couldn’t celebrate Ben’s birthday without taking a shot at the Sox.

I pushed the door open and spotted Ben next to the host’s desk right away. Since he’d picked up his family immediately after work, I didn’t have to feel bad about being in my work clothes too. And next to him, his mother and Alvin. The guy really took after his old man, only he was much shorter. He did look younger than his eighteen years; his features were still boyish but not overly so. He wore glasses too, and a curious expression.

I grabbed three menus from under the bar, then headed their way.

Don’t be nervous, don’t be nervous.

I was nervous.

As if on cue, I heard my sister making chicken noises in my head, and that actually helped. I’d never struggled to make friends. I was well-liked. Why wouldn’t Elsie like me? She looked like a sweet old lady. She kind of reminded me of my grandmother on Ma’s side. In appearance, at least. My grandma was a real introvert, and she only left her house in damn Milwaukee for Thanksgiving. But she was nice and looked the way a grandma should look, with the white hair, the big glasses, the glossy “but ergonomic” shoes, and the purse. Just like Elsie. She might even be shorter than Alvin.

Ben spotted me and fired off a sexy smirk, though I detected a hint of nerves too.

We were in this together, but I was going to let him lead the way. We’d barely talked, so I doubted he’d say anything about us to Elsie and Alvin.

That would be weird.

“Hey, guys,” I greeted with what I hoped was a charming smile. “Welcome to the Clover.”

“Alvin, Ma, I want you to meet Trace.” Ben took over the introductions. “Trace, this is my mother Elsie and my son Alvin.”

“It’s great to meet you both. Ben talks about you all the time.” I didn’t have to worry about social customs with Alvin; he stuck out his hand in a swift, almost militant move, and I shook his hand.

“Hi. You’re Dad’s friend,” he said. “He gets annoyed when Grandma asks questions about you.”

Oh really? I flicked a glance at Ben, who chuckled.

“And now I know why,” Elsie said with a quirk of her lips. “Nice to meet you, Trace.”

I shook her hand too. “You too, Mrs. O’Cleary?—”

“Oh, none of that. It’s Elsie. The Mrs. scares off potential suitors.”

All right, then! I grinned, liking her already.

“Ma, what the fuck.” Ben frowned.

Elsie looked up at her son. “What?”

“Come on,” I chuckled. “I have our table ready. Just follow me.” I turned around and headed for the main dining area, aiming for the booths in the back.

“Dad?” I heard Alvin ask quietly. “I understand it’s your birthday, but can I choose the dessert if we’re gonna share? You know how I get with cake.”

I was ready to make mental notes for future use.

“You can choose whatever you want for dessert, small fry,” Ben murmured. “I don’t think they have sponge cake on the menu anyway. You know what they do have? A hot fudge brownie with vanilla ice cream.”

“Oh. That’s one of my favorites,” Alvin whispered.

Score one for the Clover.

When I arrived at our corner, I gestured at the booth and offered to take Elsie’s jacket.

“I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of preparing some appetizers while we wait for our food,” I said. “Alvin, your old man told me you like mozzarella sticks…?”

“I do. Thank you very much.”

“No problem. Do you know what you’d like to drink, or would you like to browse the menu first?” I waited till they were all seated before I handed them the menus.

“Can I get a Fanta? With lots of ice?” Alvin glanced between Ben and me.

“Of course,” we said at the same time.

Elsie smiled and opened her menu. “Sparkling water for me, thank you.”

I turned to Ben. “Beer, hon?” Shit. That’d just slipped out. My bad.

He nodded and smirked a little. “You know what I like—but do you need a hand?”

“On your birthday? Hell no. I’ll be right back.” I made a quick escape just in case Elsie had picked up on my slip, though it didn’t seem like it. When I looked back over my shoulder, she was engrossed in the menu.

I ducked into the kitchen and let out a breath, hoping I could relax a bit now. So far, so good.

“Snacks comin’ up, boss.” Tonya had evidently already prepared the tray. “How’s it going so far?”

“I accidentally called Ben hon, but I don’t think anyone noticed.” I grabbed the tray. “Thank you—this is great.” Mozzarella sticks for Alvin, a salad bowl for the table, cheesy bread, Ben’s snack basket filled with deep-fried goodies, and some extra boneless chicken tenders.

“Looking forward to the next update!”

I chuckled and headed out once more, only stopping at the bar to get the drinks. Beer for Ben and me, sparkling water for Elsie, and Fanta with extra ice for Alvin.

Before I returned to the booth, I took a few photos of the tray so I could send them to Adam later. Our followers on Instagram would get a kick out of the joke.

I smirked and headed off, and I eyed the snack basket. One Snickers, two buffalo wings, a Twinkie, and a leftover mix of beef toppings frozen into a bar before it was dropped into the fryer. All deep-fried, all unrecognizable.

“Okay, here we go.” I set the tray on the table. “Salad, bread, and boneless chicken tenders for the table, mozzarella sticks for Alvin, and a birthday surprise for our White Sox fan.”

Ben hitched a brow. “For the record, we’re all Sox fans here.”

That was a shame, but I’d obviously assumed as much.

“I can only troll so many people at once,” I answered. “Behold, the Southpaw basket. Because like your mascot, you can’t tell what the fuck it is.”

Ben blinked.

Elsie started laughing merrily, which I took as a huge win.

Alvin scrunched his nose, then took on a curious expression. “Southpaw is a fuzzy frogillator.”

Yeah. Uh-huh. And that wasn’t a thing.

The look Ben gave his ma made it clear he couldn’t believe she was laughing at this. And then he’d slid me a look that said, “Listen here, you little shit.”

It was a good look on him.

I smiled.

I saw the amusement he was struggling to hide.

“This is banter, right, Dad?” Alvin asked to make sure.

At that, Ben turned to his boy and cracked a soft grin. “Yeah, that’s how Trace and I roll, it seems.” He glanced at me as I sat down next to Elsie. “After today, I’ll deny this for the rest of my life, but that was a good dig. Jackass.”

“As if I’ll let you,” I laughed.

He grinned and shook his head, then turned his focus on the snack basket. “Okay, so what am I looking at here?” He picked up one of the fried treats, and I was fairly certain it was the Snickers bar.

“Who knows?” I shrugged and smirked.

“If it’s fried, we like it,” Alvin stated frankly. “We even tried deep-fried strawberries once, and they were delicious. Remember, Grandma?”

“Of course, love. With the ice cream.” Elsie nodded. “They were tasty.”

I could fucking imagine. I had to try that.

“Damn.” Ben chewed and inspected the snack. “I’m evidently getting dessert first. Try this, bud.” He handed it to Alvin. “It’s Snickers.”

Alvin lit up and didn’t hesitate.

We kinda lost the O’Cleary boys to the snack basket for a while, but I didn’t mind. Elsie complimented me on our wit when it came to naming items on the menu, and I was a fan of compliments. I could actually take some credit too, ’cause I’d come up with at least half the names.

“I’m not sure I understand the Double Trouble reference, though,” Elsie noted. “Is that a sports term?”

“No, it’s the nickname for my friend’s daughter Bella,” I replied, peering closer at her menu. “There should be three items not named after sports or athletes. The Double Trouble burger, the beef—because it’s sacred—and the cheesy bread. It’s named after my nephew.”

“Ah, I see.” She smiled and perused some more. “I notice there’s no poking fun at the Packers. Ben hates the Packers.”

“As any self-respecting person would,” I said with a nod. “We don’t talk about the Packers. We named our garbage bins in the kitchen after them, but they don’t exist out here.”

She laughed softly and shook her head. “You sound like him too, dearie.” She tapped a finger against the T-bone steak. “Ben, sweetie, you should order the Bear Down, T-Formation.” She turned to me. “He loves a good steak.”

Who didn’t?

“It’s a solid choice.” I smiled.

In the end, Ben did choose the T-bone—with a baked potato—claiming he’d been eyeing it on the menu for a while, another thing I filed away in my O’Cleary folder. Elsie opted for the turkey with steamed vegetables, and Alvin wanted the crispy chicken sandwich with extra fries. To which I felt the need to warn him that the portions were pretty big, but Ben assured me Alvin would eat it all—and then whatever the rest of us might not finish.

Alvin grinned sheepishly. “I eat a lot.”

You couldn’t tell, but fair enough. Extra fries, it was.

* * *

Unlike his dad, Alvin was not a man of few words. He was making it much easier for me to form my plans. Halfway through dinner, he’d rambled excitedly and frankly about his obsession with water, with side tracks covering fish tanks, colored shrimp, pH, the biodiversity of Lake Michigan, and his dream to one day visit the Emerald Coast.

And wasn’t that just convenient? My folks lived near there. Their house was just south of Tallahassee.

Alvin was very proud of his seashell collection too.

“You remember when your ma and I gave you that coral for your birthday?” Ben grinned around a mouthful of food.

Alvin scowled at him. “We agreed not to talk about that. I forgave you.”

“We wore you down,” Ben argued, chuckling. He looked over at me. “When Alvin turned seven, Lindsey ordered a pink coral as an extra gift for him, and we thought it was gonna be a hit.” He nodded at Alvin. “Kid didn’t speak to us for two months after.”

I lifted my brows.

“Coral should never be harvested from the ocean,” Alvin responded vehemently. “It’s one thing if a piece gets washed up on a beach, but I think we both know the ones idiots make money off aren’t random bits they found onshore.” He flicked me a glance. “For the record, I only collect seashells found on the beach. I make that very clear on eBay, and I contact every seller who isn’t clear about the origin.”

The guy was passionate.

“Good to know.” I stifled my grin by taking another bite of my cheeseburger, but I chewed quickly to circle back to the Emerald Coast. “By the way, my parents live outside Tallahassee. That’s pretty close to the Redneck Riviera, innit? Last time I was down there, my old man and I drove over to Destin.”

Alvin stiffened in his seat. “They have some of the most beautiful waters. I want to see that entire coastline so badly.”

I shrugged. “You’re very welcome to visit. I road-trip down there once a year.”

Was I crossing a line? Fuck it. Elsie didn’t look bothered one bit, and Ben was just watching us in silence as he ate.

Alvin chewed on his lip and glanced at his dad.

“Don’t look at me, small fry,” Ben chuckled. “That’s kind of Trace to offer, but you might wanna discuss this with Rose. Florida is far away, and you’d need to spend several nights away from your own bed.”

Alvin grew pensive, suddenly looking way more like Ben, and he turned back to me. “Could my dad come too?”

“Of course,” I said. “And your grandma if she wants. My folks love visitors.” Only half a lie. Ma would be over the moon for these specific visitors if it meant her son was finally in a relationship.

Ben and my dad had only met in passing, but I knew they’d get along great.

“I’m gonna talk to Rose,” Alvin decided.

At that, Ben reacted. He furrowed his brow. Confusion, surprise, and wariness flitted by in one swoop. And I could, for once in my fucking life, practically read his mind. Maybe the option of seeing the ocean hadn’t existed before, so he wasn’t sure how to deal with the situation. Maybe he was surprised Alvin would even consider it; he’d told me about his son’s inability to even go through with a sleepover at a friend’s house, and that was in Elmwood Park. And last but not least, I bet he was thinking ahead. It was another thing he’d shared. Ben had to be two steps ahead to consider ramifications and things that could go wrong.

But I was a man of my word, and if Alvin wanted to see Florida, I’d make sure it happened. I wasn’t just talking out of my ass.

Unbeknownst to Ben, I’d talked to Scottie and Tina. I mean, I’d kept shit casual and hypothetical, but yeah, I’d asked about the hardships of having a kid with special needs. And I didn’t have to worry as much about the jargon with them. They knew I meant well.

I was ready to show Ben I was in it for the long haul—and that I knew it wasn’t always gonna be sunshine and roses.

* * *

True to his word, Alvin ate his entire meal, plus the leftovers of our appetizers. I didn’t fucking know where he put it all. He just grinned and said he took advantage every time they were in a restaurant. Apparently, he loved steakhouse food, bar food, all things fried, so…he’d come to the right place.

While Alvin and Ben whispered something to each other, Elsie filled me in about their birthday traditions. That was when they ate out, though they’d “missed” Ben’s last three birthdays. In other words, Ben had come up with an excuse to get out of it, presumably because he hadn’t been able to afford restaurant dining.

I felt for him. He’d fought for so fucking long. Was it wrong that I wanted to take care of him? More than that, I just…wanted to share everything with him. He’d made me crave something that wasn’t the Clover.

“Excuse us for one moment,” Ben said with a smirk. “Alvin wants to check out the arcade games.”

Yeah, no problem. “If you beat Adam’s top score, I’ll give you free desserts for a year,” I told the kid.

Alvin beamed. “I will give it a go!”

Ben chuckled and slid out of the booth after his boy. “I should warn you, he’s got a competitive streak.”

“Which he got from you,” Elsie pointed out.

“Even better,” I replied. “There are tokens under the register behind the bar. Grab at least ten of them and consider that my investment toward Adam’s downfall. He’s infuriatingly good at pinball.” We only had four games, and pinball was the one that annoyed me the most.

“We’ll see if it’s necessary,” Ben decided. “Son, you want your headphones?”

Alvin hesitated. “Maybe that’s best. I want to concentrate.”

Definitely a competitive streak. I liked that.

Ben grabbed the headphones, and I watched them head toward the other end of the bar, Alvin remaining close to his old man the whole way.

“I’m surprised he didn’t tell me to behave,” Elsie noted.

I cracked a grin. “Would you have listened?”

“Of course not,” she laughed. “My son’s in love for the first time, and it appears to be reciprocated.” She eyed me over the rims of her glasses, and my stomach tightened with nerves. Holy fuck, she just put that out there like we were discussing the damn weather. “I have questions.”

Yeah, so did I, Mama O’Cleary.

“Uh, is he?” I had to ask first.

She lifted a brow. “Is that not clear? And before you answer, it’s a genuine question because he can be so dim-witted. Talking isn’t his favorite, especially when it comes to feelings.”

I scratched my jaw and glanced over at the arcade corner. “We’re both pretty bad at that, but I think I’ve gotten better at reading him. He shows me more than he tells.”

She nodded in understanding. “Then I have faith in you. He speaks in his own language, much like Alvin.”

That felt absurdly good to hear. Like, butterflies-in-my-stomach kind of good. Holy shit.

“So how do I give off the reciprocating vibe?” I wondered.

She laugh-snorted and promptly covered her mouth with a hand. “Sorry.”

What the hell?

I grinned, half confused. Was my question that weird?

Amusement lingered in her gaze. “I should clarify that Ben’s been acting strangely about today’s dinner for almost two weeks. First, it was ‘The dinner’s at my friend’s sports bar. I think you’ll like him.’ Then it was Trace this, Trace that, and he got all cranky when I asked if you were more than a friend. And today, on the way over here, he snapped at me—said he didn’t wanna jinx anything.”

Aw, my big oaf. How fucking cute was that. And hilarious.

“So I had my suspicions about him, but I wasn’t sure about you,” she said. “Until you invited his son to your parents’ house in Florida five minutes into dinner.”

Oh. Well…five minutes was a stretch. Fifteen minutes, at least!

“I’m going to tell you a story about my son,” Elsie told me. “Growing up, he was quite popular. He played football—he was good at it—and he had many friends. One in particular. Sheila. A very sweet girl. We always assumed they’d become an item eventually because of how they acted together. Always joking, always laughing, always walking to school together. He even carried her books.”

I had no reason to feel jealous, but I couldn’t help the small spark that shot through me. It was dumb and so uncalled for.

“But as his friends around him started dating, he just…didn’t,” Elsie said. “Sheila confessed her feelings for him sophomore year, and he was devastated because he lost his best friend. He didn’t feel that way about her. About anyone.”

Yup, totally uncalled for. Sorry, Sheila.

“I started worrying that he was homosexual,” Elsie admitted. The tension shifted, and I could tell she felt bad about something. “I’m sure you can imagine how I grew up.”

I nodded with a dip of my chin. The Catholic working class of the fifties and thereabouts? Come on.

“When he met Lindsey, I was so relieved that I missed out on the complete personality change he’d gone through,” she went on. “Looking back on those years now, I am ashamed of how I let that play out. How I allowed my own son to conform to whatever he thought was acceptable to society—by me, by his father, his whole family. He stopped making jokes. He stopped laughing.” She sighed and shook her head, and she refolded the napkin on her lap. “I’m glad he could forgive me, but I don’t intend to make the same mistake twice.” She lifted her gaze to meet mine, and I saw a sense of conviction. “Ben has been different lately, and it’s not only his new job’s doing. It’s you.”

I sat a little straighter, and I clamped my mouth shut to keep from asking what she was probably about to elaborate. I didn’t wanna miss a single word.

“You see, Ben needs someone he has great chemistry with,” she said. “Someone who shares his sense of humor, and someone who enjoys the back-and-forth ribbing you two seem to have going on already. That’s when I see the boy I raised. He’s more energetic now. He cracks jokes when he stops by, and he finds joy in the most mundane tasks. Like grocery shopping.” She smiled. “He mentioned you two went to the store the other day and found something for your soup kitchen. And the way he told me—it was as if it’d been the funniest field trip in school.”

I grinned. We did have a good time together, whether we were watching a game or walking the aisles at Aldi.

“You’re not another Sheila, dearie,” Elsie said. “You’re the one he probably didn’t believe existed.”

My pulse drummed faster, and I looked over at Ben and Alvin. The kid was engrossed in the game, but Ben was glancing my way.

You in love with me too, hon?

I bet he was suspicious, wondering what his ma was saying to me.

I cleared my throat and faced Elsie again. “In the spirit of communicating better, I wanna spend the rest of my life with him.”

She smiled and patted my hand. “I’m glad to hear it. He’s worth it. You’ll never find someone more loyal—and thickheaded. He doesn’t always give himself the credit he deserves.”

Yeah, no shit. I chuckled. “I’ve learned that much about him.”

* * *

No top score for Alvin yet, but Ben had struck a deal with him I was ridiculously happy about. They were gonna come here for dinner a few times a month, which worked great for my plan. Because maybe next time or the one after that, it’d feel like a good move to show Elsie and Alvin the upstairs.

Maybe I’d ask for Alvin’s advice on what kind of fish I should get. How to set up a tank and such. And if he started finding gym chalk or bath bombs up there, he might wanna stick around for a movie night or, in the future, a sleepover.

He wouldn’t have to move abruptly and drown in panic. We had time. It could take months—hell, years. Whatever. Slowly but surely, Ben and I could turn our home into his too.

I had a feeling Elsie would be easier to get on board, because it was clear she liked being close to her son and grandson. Furthermore, Ben was protective of her—and judging by the stories he’d shared, he wanted to look out for her since she’d given up the rest of the family to be there for him.

I got it.

I also got that I was thinking so far into the future that I should be terrified, but this was what Ben had been talking about. He always needed to think ahead for Alvin’s sake. So I was gonna do the same thing.

“Are you gonna finish that, Dad?” Alvin pointed his fork to Ben’s leftover hot fudge brownie.

Ben rumbled a laugh and looped an arm around Alvin’s neck. “No, you go ahead. I’m full.” He kissed the side of his boy’s head before sliding the plate closer to him.

I’d done that for Chip too, pretending I was full so a happy kid could increase his sugar intake. ’Cause kids could never get enough sugar or something.

It was sort of doing it for me, to be honest. Watching Ben be a dad was not only hot as fuck, but heartwarming. And that was so unlike me to even notice. I mean, kids…? I hadn’t bothered getting to know Bella until she could form words. Babies were fucking useless—and way too fragile. I always worried I’d drop them. We had a few parents working here, and every now and then, they brought their newborn in…

I suspected Sandy was next. His wife was about to pop.

“I should be getting yous home soon,” Ben said. “I’ve received my gifts, so you’re no good to me anymore.”

Alvin laughed. “You’re joking, I can tell!”

I grinned.

Elsie shook her head in amusement, though I could spot something that ran way deeper. She was happy to see her son happy.

He was happy about those gifts too. He had a gift card from Elsie, along with stern instructions to buy a new trimmer, which he’d apparently mentioned thinking about buying. And from Alvin, a key ring that said Best Dad in the World and a bag of salty licorice imported from Denmark.

Every person had their flaws. Ben had two. The Sox and his love for salty licorice.

“He used to buy a bag every Friday after work when I was little,” Alvin had told me.

It’d prompted Ben to rank Northern European countries according to their licorice skills. His favorite kind came from Denmark, then Sweden followed, and Norway, Germany… I forgot the rest.

My old man liked that shit too. It was foul. And Armas, our weekend security guard, had inherited that like from his Finnish family or whatever. There was something seriously wrong with people from Northern Europe.

What kind of words were Heksehyl Haxvral anyway? It sounded like something you choked out before you barfed.

The second or third time Elsie yawned—all subtle behind her hand—Ben quirked a smile and asked, “You ready to go, Ma?”

She smiled back. “It’s all this food. I feel like I need a nap.”

“Yeah, me too.” Ben flicked me a quick glance as he finished his coffee.

Oh, I wouldn’t turn down a nap with him. I’d even keep my hands over the covers, figuratively speaking.

Unfortunately… “Some of us gotta get back to work.” I yawned too, triggered by Elsie.

“But you’re not working too late, are you?” Ben asked.

I shook my head. “Just a couple more hours.”

He inclined his head. “That’ll give me time to bring these two home and then take Pippen out.”

It was a plan.

He nodded back toward the bar next. “Mind getting me the check?”

Was he serious? “On your birthday?”

He gave me a look. “I invited yous here, genius. I’m fuckin’ payin’.”

Jesus Christ. I slid out of the booth. “Fine, but we’re gonna fight about this later. There are limits, man.”

He winked. “Can’t wait.”

Jagoff.

* * *

Trace followed us outside the bar, and I didn’t give a fuck anymore. I dipped down and kissed him as my ma put on her scarf.

Who had I been kidding anyway? She already knew. Hell, even Alvin had asked if Trace was my boyfriend.

Now, that was a weird fucking word.

Boyfriend.

He was much more than that.

“I’ll see you later.” I cupped his cheek and kissed him once more.

He smiled and slid his fingers underneath one of my suspenders. “This is good progress. So open and official.”

“Right?” I matched his grin, one part relieved, one part fucking dazed.

This kind of happiness didn’t exist in my world.

“Dad? I thought you said you didn’t know if he was your boyfriend.”

Thanks, son.

Trace laughed under his breath and eased back. “I’ll let you deal with that. Drive safe.” He offered a two-finger salute to Ma and Alvin. “Looking forward to the next dinner, you two.”

“It was wonderful meeting you, Trace,” Ma said.

“Bye!” Alvin waved.

I chuckled and draped an arm around Alvin’s shoulders, steering him down the sidewalk. “Let’s get you home to your fish and videos, small fry.”

“I’m actually gonna listen to a podcast when I get home,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I’ll probably need to go to the bathroom soon too. I ate so much.”

Yeah, legit. He never ceased to amaze me on that front. Granted, he could eat a lot at Ma’s too, but this was next level.

“All right, Ma. We’re alone,” I said. “Fire away.”

She pushed up her glasses and linked her arm with mine. “Sorry, sweetie, I don’t have anything to say. I already talked to Trace.”

That wasn’t reassuring one fucking bit.

She patted my arm. “I like him, son. Just…make sure you take care of yourself. You’re not a spring chicken anymore, and he’s very young.”

And the hits kept coming.

“It wouldn’t kill you to pick a salad every now and then,” she finished.

I frowned. “It might.” I was messing with her.

She sucked her teeth and shook her head. “I’m telling you. Those steaks go straight to your heart.”

What the fuck.

Why would she remind me of that shit on my birthday? Especially when I indulged once a fucking week. For living above a sports bar, my diet was incredible. Unlike Trace, I didn’t have to force myself to eat vegetables with my protein, and unlike Alvin, I wasn’t obsessed with deep-fried food.