“Yeah, no, definitely,” I say, nodding a little too enthusiastically. I don’t know how I forgot about this feeling—the way being alone with Ben makes my heart feels like it’s buffering. My eyes flick to Mikey’s bodega roses, now displayed in a metal pitcher I found in Uncle Milton’s Judaica cabinet.
“Have you ever tried it?”
I shake my head.
“You should. It’s like a Levain cookie in drink form.” He pulls a spoon out of my uncle’s cutlery drawer. “Godiva’s the real deal. My mom got some in a gift basket once.”
“And she gave it to you?”
“Thought it was chocolate sauce, so she spiked my ice cream. Okay, try this.” He nudges a spoonful of liqueur toward me like it’s cough syrup, but suddenly freezes in midair. I tilt my head away, flustered.
“Here.” He hands it to me instead, and I bring the spoon to my lips. It’s not technically my first taste of alcohol, but I’m pretty sure it’s my first taste of alcohol not preceded by old people saying “borei pri hagafen.” I swirl it around in my mouth for a moment, and at first I think it tastes like chocolate, but worse. But the more I sit with it, the more I like it, and by the time I finish the spoonful, I’m sold.
Ben looks at me expectantly. “What do you think?”
“It’s so rich.”
“Yeah. I mean, I think it’s usually mixed in with something. Do you have any Bailey’s?”
“Who?”
“Bailey’s Irish Cream. Or bourbon. I’m trying to think of what would pair well with chocolate.”
“How do you know all this? Is Mario a bartender or something?”
“Mario doesn’t drink.”
“Oh—”
“And he’s twenty. He’s not—oh, you’ve got vodka! That should work.” Ben looks at me. “You’re sure your uncle won’t mind?”
“Yeah, it’s totally fine.”
“Okay, cool.” He pulls up a recipe on his phone. “So we just need enough for four people, right?”
“Three. Mikey doesn’t drink either.”
I mean, technically, neither do I.
Though it’s not that I don’t drink. I just haven’t yet. But once I tried a bite of weed brownie with Musa. Sure, it’s possible we didn’t know the brownie contained weed at the time, just like it’s possible we immediately spit it out and spent the rest of the night panicking about failed drug tests and broken futures, but the point is, I’m not the baby-faced kid I was two summers ago. And maybe Ben needs to know that.
“Okay, try this.” Ben passes me a glass full of what looks like melted chocolate. But as soon as I take a sip, I have to clap my hand to my mouth to keep from spitting it out. Ben’s eyes widen. “You okay?”
“Yup! No, it’s good!”
He takes the glass back and sips it. “Yeah, that’s a little strong. Let me mess with the proportions.” I watch him pour in more Godiva, trying not to think about the fact that Ben just sipped from my glass like it was nothing. Isn’t that kind of like a gateway to kissing?
I jump back from that thought so fast, I almost fall flat on my uncle’s kitchen tiles.
The moment my butt hits the couch, Dylan leans toward me. “I was just telling Mikelicious how you sang Ben that song about a rat.”
“Great.” I take a gulp of my drink.
“Look, in retrospect, it was a genius move. You’ve got the serenade, which is already a winner, but then you bring in the whole sexy rat angle—”
Ben shakes his head. “Rats aren’t sexy.”
“Rats are famously sexy!”
I take another swig of my drink.
Dylan pauses. “Oh, you know what? I’m thinking of rabbits.”
“What if you spent less time thinking about animals’ sex lives?” asks Ben.
“My point stands! Let’s not forget what happened after karaoke—”
“Okay!” Ben jumps up. “Mario’s downstairs.”
“I can buzz him—”
“I’ll just let him in. Back in a sec.” Ben practically bolts out the door.
Dylan leans into the cushions, draping a casual arm on the back of the couch. “This is nice, right? Guys’ night. Got my whole gay squad here. You two are adorable.” He waves a hand at Mikey and me, and then he points at the door. “They’re adorable. But you know who’s not adorable?”
“Patrick?”