My friends call me G.
Gi.
As in Benji First.
As in Ben—the son of the lead singer of the Dead Sergeants—and Lexi—Stella’s lifelong best friend and confidante’s—lovechild.
Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!
Racing from the bathroom back into the parlor to beg Easton not to disclose a single detail about me or my reasons for being here, I’m stopped short by the sight of Easton laying on the table, the purple outline of the sketch running from his hip bone to the top of his ribs. Buzzing gun in hand, Benji lifts his head when he spots me. “So, Easton tells me you’re from Texas, and your dad used to date my tía Stella.”
Fuck.
Lost in You
Phillip LaRue
Natalie
Slumping back into my seat next to the table, Benji frowns as he reads my dread-filled expression. “I’m sensing you didn’t want me to know that?”
Technically, Stella’s not his aunt by blood, but I have zero doubt that she has been present in his life in a way blood isn’t at all relevant.
Easton’s eyes catch mine before I flit them away, jaw tightening.
“If it helps,” Benji says, “I can tick off at least a dozen things we haven’t made our parents privy to.”
Easton remains silent as I begin to fume, face burning in response, unsure of how much has already been revealed. All it took was a trip to the bathroom for him to break my confidence. Benji continues, a smile growing on his face as he pauses his gun. “So, you blackmailed my boy into a story to get dirt, huh?”
“Jesus, really, G?” Easton snaps as Benji’s eyes challenge me for an answer.
“I…I,” I falter as I try to decide whether to flee or attempt damage control.
“It’s okay,” Benji assures, placing two black latex-covered fingers across the outline before running the needle along the pattern on Easton’s side. I can’t even look at him for fear I’ll take Benji’s gun and start working on a different sort of art. “It’s cool, Natalie. East explained it, and believe it or not, I get it. My own parents are a shitshow.”
“Well, apparently, it was poorly explained because mine aren’t,” I snap, standing and glaring down at Easton. He stares back at me, remorse shining in his eyes. “Is this fucking funny to you?” I shake my head, not believing that he sold me out so easily. “I guess I deserve it,” I shoulder my purse, “but I assure you, your secrets are still safe with me. Have a nice fucking life.”
“Fuck, man, sorry,” Benji whispers as I stomp toward the door.
“Natalie, stop,” Easton calls as I push out of the parlor and glance around, having no idea where I am or which direction to go. Choosing right, I lift my phone and start to order a car when it’s ripped from my hands. Keeping my eyes down, I refuse to look at Easton as I go to retrieve it from his hand, his bare, heaving chest in my line of sight as he easily holds it out of reach. “Hey, hey, it’s not like that.”
“It’s exactly like that,” I snap. “You told him everything!”
“I’m sorry, okay, he’s a dumpster fire at subtlety.”
“Well, now it’s obvious where you get it.” I’m so pissed, I still can’t look at him, but I hear the shake in my voice. “If you’re intent on humiliating me as payback, you’ve done an amazing job already, and maybe I do deserve it, but game over, okay? This can’t get back to my dad, Easton, or your mom, not ever.”
“That type of shit is not in my makeup,” he snaps. “I’m not capable of manipulating a situation that way.”
“You mean not like I have? Do you even realize you just insulted me, again?”
“That’s your guilt twisting the words into something other than I intended.” He grips my shoulders. “Look at me.”
I flick up my gaze as Easton stares down at me in earnest, a glint of the panic I felt last night reflecting back at me.
“Benji is as real as they come, and he gets shit like this—people like us—who live a little emotionally further above the surface than most.”
“That’s not me.”
“No? Maybe it wasn’t, but it seems to be now.”
I exhale as he squeezes my shoulders in prompt.
“He’s a brother to me in every sense but blood. I trust him with my life, just like I’m trusting you, fucking blindly, I might add. All I’m asking you for is the same.” He exhales harshly as I trail the goosebumps erupting across his exposed skin. Gripping the sleeve of his jacket, I go to return it, and he stops me, his voice sharp. “Don’t.”