Seven
Ben jolted awake, his eyes assaulted with a flash of red—a high ceiling coated with an obnoxious slick of scarlet paint. The scent of coffee teased, and childlike voices squealed from afar, chased by a tinny laugh track. Can’t be real kids. TV…cartoons? He rolled to his right and the edge of the lumpy sofa, the coarse but colorful knitted blanket on his bare chest falling toward the floor. Grabbing hold and covering himself, his fingers poked through the blanket’s holes, his blurry eyes focusing, sliding along a black wall to meet two round, tanned—butt cheeks?! What the FUCK? Shifting up on his elbows, his bare heels digging into the sofa, Ben backed into the armrest, creating as much distance as he could between himself and Mr. Rock-Hard Buns crouched in a low squat.
“Hey!” The naked squatter looked over his shoulder. “Sorry, did I wake you? I’m Hunter.” He began to swing around, a musky scent accompanying his arrival.
Oh, good God, don’t! Ben squinted, but it was too late. Mr. Rock-Hard Buns, AKA Hunter, was full-on full frontal, his nine flaccid inches swinging with pride. Ben gulped, his eyes widening. He’s hung like a fucking donkey! He quickly looked away, his eyes scrambling for somewhere safe to land.
“Gotta get my squats done before jogging to the gym.” Hunter held his head high and scratched his head through his close-cropped brown hair. “They warm everything up, ya know?”
No, I don’t know, actually. A stack of men’s fitness magazines on the hardwood floor held Ben’s stare. He cleared his throat and played with the dark hair on his forearm, unsure where to look next.
Hunter leapt into jumping jacks. “Glad you got the keys off my neighbor, let yourself in. I meant to be here when you arrived, but work called. Did you sleep okay? Sorry it’s not big.”
Ben looked up—a big mistake—and got an eyeful of bouncing penis. “Oh, it’s big—”
“What?’ Hunter stopped jumping and scratched his rapidly rising and falling pecs, which were pumped up, hairless, and sculpted to male model perfection.
“Uh, I mean it’s big enough—the sofa, it’s great, thanks.” Ben gave an awkward double thumbs-up and bowed his head, keeping his sightlines PG.
“I know it’s not ideal.” Hunter exhaled heavily, surveying his home. “Most Airbnb guests only stay for a night then go elsewhere.”
Yeah, I wonder why, mate. Ben smiled politely and ran a hand through his messy hair, trying to tame the pieces pointed toward the red ceiling.
“Sorry about…” Hunter casually swept his hand down his naked body. “I usually warm up in my bedroom, but I’m storing stuff in my there for my new business venture. I like to stretch and warm up naked. It lets me see how my body reacts—it’s become a habit.”
“It’s okay, really. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“Exactly, dude! Hey, if you don’t mind the sofa, you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like. Your email said something about a couple weeks?”
“Hopefully, yeah, but I need to find a job, otherwise…” Stomach growling, Ben brushed his hair from his eyes. “I can’t afford to stay on anyone’s sofa. Time’s a-ticking.” He squinted toward the half-tilted window blinds and the gray day peeking in. “Speaking of, what time is it?”
Hunter squatted, picking up his phone from the floor. “Quarter to nine, the Sunday after St. Patrick’s Day—first one I’ve greeted without a hangover, I think…”
“Yeah, me too.” Ben nodded. “Hey, do you have a laptop or a tablet I could use? To search for jobs?”
“Want something under the table?” Hunter scrolled through his phone.
“Maybe.” Ben’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why do you ask?”
“Your accent—Australian?”
“British.”
Hunter nodded. “My buddy’s Spanish, here illegally. I’ve become an expert at finding cash-in-hand work. I might be able to help you land something…” He stared at Ben’s bandaged hand. “I was going to suggest joining his flat-pack furniture assembly biz, but—”
“I can do that.” Ben sat up, eyes keen and bright. “My hand—it’s just a cut. I’ll do anything.”
Anything, huh?” Hunter chuckled, giving Ben a once-over. “Okay. I’ll make some calls.”