Ben’s packed lunch, complete in a folded brown paper bag like a grade-schooler, blocks my access to the coffee creamer in the fridge. You’d think he was headed to his first day of school, not his first day of work. Except he left an hour ago and, surprise, forgot his lunch. If I’m going to try to rearrange my schedule in order to deliver it to him, I should probably go check his room to make sure he didn’t forget anything else important. Like his wallet. Or his phone. Or his brain. It’s a good thing he’s great with kids, because you’d never guess from his ability to adult that Ben would be a fantastic teacher.

Not that he’s a teacher yet. Summer just started, and decent teaching jobs are hard to come by, especially for a recent graduate, and especially in a field as specialized as music. In the meantime, he’s working at Game Over, a video game store in Old Town, Fort Collins. While a student at CSU, Ben spent way too much time and money there, so it stands to reason that he gets to recoup a little of that cash now. I know he’s bummed to be working retail after graduation, but at least it’s a cool store that he likes.

I flip through the calendar on my laptop and sip my coffee. I’m an independent small business consultant, which means I also run my own business. I can shift my work however I want each day as long as I meet my own deadlines. Not many people my age could do it. I myself graduated from CSU just last year, after only three years in college, but I’ve always been on the overly ambitious side of nerdy.

I text him a heads-up that I’m on my way, just in case he’s able to check his phone while working. Our apartment is across town from the store, but at this time of day, traffic shouldn’t be terrible. At least I’m hoping. I really want to get back to the analysis I’m doing for my latest customer, who’s trying to open a “social pot” bar in Old Town. Between the restrictions and regulations, as well as the potential of such a venture, the concept is fascinating. I’ve found myself working well into the night lately, completely forgetting about dinner. Or showering, much to Ben’s chagrin.

Game Over is as dead as I’d expect at ten in the morning, and I don’t see Ben anywhere. Checking my phone to see if he’s texted back, I only half-look where I’m going. I know the cashier is in the back corner, so I move in that general direction.

“Need help with something?”

Startled by another human presence, I jerk backwards and trip over my own feet. A beautiful guy with messy dark hair stands behind the counter, noticeably holding back a smile at my dorkiness, and I wonder how long he’s been watching me meander through the store with my phone stuck to my face. I can’t feel it, but I can tell by the twitching of his lips that I’m lit up like Rudolph’s nose.

“Umm, no. Well, yes. I’m looking for a guy. I mean, my …”

He gives in to the smirk, and it deepens as I stumble through my word vomit. I push up my glasses, even though they don’t need it. I’m well aware of my own nervous tics.

“Ben. He forgot his lunch.”

“Your Ben forgot his lunch?”

His eyebrow, which is pierced to match his ears and looks beyond hot, quirks up with the question. I used to have words. They have all left my brain, and I’m an empty shell of pale skin and blond curls and humiliation.

“I brought my Ben, I mean Ben, my lunch. His lunch.” I thrust the lunch sack onto the counter. “Here.”

I definitely don’t notice the twinkle in his dreamy dark eyes, or the strong hands with long fingers tipped with dark grey polish that grab Ben’s lunch. This isn’t a nightmare unfolding in slow motion where I gape at the beautiful man in front of me until drool dribbles at the corner of my mouth and I spastically flee the store in a sprint to my car. No, I exit the store like the poised, composed, intelligent man that I am.

From the safety of my old hatchback, I let out a string of curses and slam my head against the steering wheel. The horn honks and the old couple wandering the sidewalk outside jump, then glare. Can I melt into the seats already? Surely I’ve met my humiliation quotient for the day.

Thankfully once I get home, work pulls me back under and I forget my embarrassment for a few hours until my phone dings with a text.

Ben: Thanks for bringing my lunch sweetie. Although you might have consulted me first before sharing our relationship with my new coworkers. Love, Your Ben

Shit. I bury my head into my hands. I’m never going to hear the end of this.

Zach: Sorry! I didn’t mean to out you at work. He was really hot and I got tongue-tied. :-P

Ben: You’re a dork. You know I never hide.

Ben: You made a distinct impression, though. He’s pretty cute. I might get tongue-tied myself.

Great, now I’m going to forever be known at his work as the dorky lunch guy. It’s a good thing I’m not that into video games.

Zach: Don’t let the BF hear you say that.

Zach: And you’re never at a loss for words.

I smile to myself for coming up with a decent retort. I was a gullible soul before I met Ben and had to learn the fine art of banter.

Ben: Jay is NOT my BF. We’ve only gone out twice.

And probably won’t more than that, either. Ben is the serial dater from hell. He claims he’s picky, but I think he just gets bored easily.

Zach: Was thinking baked ziti for dinner?

Ben: Jay wanted to take me out to celebrate 1st day. Save me leftovers for lunch tomorrow?

Zach: As long as you remember to take it this time.

Ben: If I forget, it gives you a good excuse to ogle Craig some more.

Zach: I hate you.

Zach: Craig - is that his name?

I get a squirting eggplant emoji in response. Classy.

* * *

I’ve just finished packing the remains of the ziti for Ben tomorrow when my phone rings. “Mom” displays on the screen, starting an internal battle on whether to answer or not. If I don’t, I know I’ll get a lecture next time I see her about how she could have fallen and needed my help and would have been stranded because I couldn’t be bothered to pick up the phone. Ugh. I hit answer and go searching for the antacids.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Zachariah. I was worried for a second that you weren’t going to answer.”

Sigh. Still getting the lecture, even though I did answer the phone. No surprise there. Her end of the line remains silent and I realize she’s waiting for an apology. Fuck that.

“Well, I did answer. What’s up?”

“You know, dear, you really should answer the phone. It could be an emergency. Oh, I saw Linda at church today while I was delivering boxes of juice for vacation bible school next week. She said to tell you hi.”

And she’s off. A few well-placed “uh huhs” are all that’s needed for the next half hour, and I manage to get the kitchen completely clean, ziti pan soaked and scrubbed, and a load of laundry started before she hits me with the question that stirs dread in my stomach every time.

“Have you heard from Parker lately?”

Parker is my cousin. Our mothers are sisters, and although it’s not a competition, somehow both have decided that Parker is the winner anyway. I haven’t heard from Parker. I never hear from Parker. But I don’t get to say so as she keeps talking, because she didn’t really care about my answer in the first place.

“He and Shelby are driving up from Denver this weekend, so I thought we’d do a nice family dinner Saturday night. I know he just loves your knots, so I told him you’d make an extra batch, just for him.”

The recipe is actually called rosemary twists, because you twist them in a pretzel shape, but once they’re baked, they come out looking more like knots. The first time I made them, Ben was going through an mpreg shifter book phase, and kept calling them knots to disturb me. My mom heard, thought that was what they were called, and they have been “knots” ever since. When Ben joins us for dinner, he makes sure to say things like, “Knot me, Zach” or “Zach, your knot is so good.” I think the furthest he’s gotten without raising suspicions is, “I need you to put your knot in me now, Zach,” but my mom just seemed worried that Ben was going to get sick from hunger.

“You didn’t think to ask me first? I might have had plans already.”

Mom huffs like she knows as well as I do that there is nothing going on in my life but work. “And if you had, then you’d cancel them. It’s a family dinner, Zachariah.”

I don’t actually hate Parker. He’s not a bad guy. Yes, he has tassels on his loafers and alligators on his shirts and unironically uses words like “synergy.” But he’s always nice and has never been underhanded or snarky about my sexuality like the rest of my family. Sure, he never seems embarrassed when the family fawns over him like getting a promotion with some big government contractor is the modern-day equivalent to walking on water, but he never really angles for all that attention, either.

“Okay, Mom. What time should I be there?”

I try to hide away for the rest of the call in bed with my head buried under my blanket. Maybe, if I’m quiet, I won’t ever have to leave. And maybe, if god doesn’t hate me enough already, Ben won’t wake me up having wild monkey sex with Jay in the room next door.