I woke up the next day determined to show Ross and Ben that L.A. could be fun and it wasn’t just a Hollywood soul-sucking machine. Ben had suggested that we go to the zoo, Ross had never been to a big zoo before but we figured he would get a kick out of it, and we guessed correctly.

The zoo was packed with families and children licking snow cones and dragging stuffed animals around. Tired dad’s in cargo shorts snapped pictures of their families and kids, moms pushed strollers, and a tired high-school aged kid painted kids’ faces to make them look like tigers or butterflies.

“Look Micah, elephants!” Ross said excitedly, pointing to the enclosure.

“Wow, let’s go see,” I said, grabbing his hand. I hoisted him up onto my shoulders, so he could see better through the throng of tourists. An elephant flicked their trunk lazily back and forth and paced throughout the enclosure.

“Do you think they like living in there? It’s not very well-designed, architecturally speaking,” Ben noted, ever the killjoy.

“Maybe you can construct them a new habitat,” I suggested. Ben rolled his eyes.

After we moved onto the tiger enclosure, we stopped to get snow cones from a small metal cart. Ross had never had one before.

“What flavor do you want? There’s blue, red, purple,” I said, reading off the list of flavors.

“Blue!” Ross said.

“What about you, Ben?” I asked. Ben shook his head no.

“Oh come on, even I’m getting one!” I said, it was true only a real heartless monster would say no to a good snow cone on a hot California day.

Ben gave in and got a cherry one, and so did I. Ross refused to get off of my shoulders so bits of shaved ice dripped down onto my scalp, but it felt good in the heat.

“You like that buddy?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Ross said with his mouth full. We walked around for a bit, stopping to lick our snow cones and stare at the spider monkeys who were swinging wildly from branch to branch. Suddenly Ben elbowed me in the ribs.

“Ow! What was that for?” I asked.

“I think that guy in the polo just tried to take our picture,” Ben said, pointing to a man in khaki shorts and a navy polo who, sure enough, had a camera with a fish-eye lens looped around his neck, classic paparazzi.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s just a paparazzi, it happens all the time. Someone must have tipped them off that I’m back in town for Hot Law.”

“I still think it’s rude though, haven’t these people ever heard of privacy?” he snapped. “How would they like it if I snapped pictures of their kids at the zoo?”

“They probably wouldn’t like it, but this is just part of my job,” I said.

“That doesn’t make it right.” His expression closed, shoulders tightening in that way that meant he was angry. I sighed.

After we had observed every creature we could think of, we went back to my apartment to grab our swim trunks so we could head to the beach. I already had beach towels, but I’d ordered toddler-safe sunscreen and various beach toys like molds to build sand castles, and buckets and pails. Ross was excited to show off his new swim trunks, which were red and covered with tiny navy anchors.

“You look very stylish,” I offered, double-checking to make sure that I packed everything in the beach bag. We walked over to the beach, and as soon as Ben saw the shoreline, he whipped his shirt off and started sprinting towards the waves. He dove into the water with the muscular grace of an Olympic swimmer, and swam out a few feet.

“Look at Ben go,” I said to Ross, pointing out his uncle as we set up our towels on a sunny patch of sand.

Ross looked out towards the water, fascinated. He tugged at my hand, trying to get me to move faster. “Here, we have to put on sunscreen first,” I said, slathering him with sunscreen on his arms, chest, and back. I had to teach him young that skin care was important.

“And you can go in the water, but you need your floaties and you always have to have a grown up with you,” I instructed, helping him put his floaties on. I reapplied my own sunscreen, and made him hold my hand as we made our way down to the shore.

“The water’s going to be a little cold, it’s not like a bath,” I explained as the water lapped at our toes. Ross squealed with delight as the water lapped over his feet.

“Here, wanna go a little deeper?” I asked. Ross grinned and we walked side-by-side until the water was up to his waist, and my knees. Ross let go of my hand and eagerly splashed around, awe-struck as he watched the waves.

“Big splash,” he noted.

“Yeah, that’s a wave,” I said.

Finally, Ben was swimming back towards us. He got up, and his tan chest was glistening with a combination of sweat and seawater. He was sporting a well-defined six-pack, and a small trail of hair ran down from his navel. He pushed his hair back with one hand, his hair looked more blond in the sun. He was hot, like “needs to star in a Baywatch reboot” hot.

“How was being at one with the sea? I’ve never seen you run so fast,” I teased.

“I haven’t been to the ocean since I was sixteen and Lindsey and my dad and I took a week-long vacation down at the Jersey Shore. When I saw the ocean again after all these years, I just couldn’t contain myself,” Ben confessed.

“I get it, I’ve hated not being near water.”

“I can’t believe you live so close to the beach.”

“It was one of the major selling points of the apartment.” Ross was having the time of his life splashing around in the waves, Ben grinned.

“I never knew that he liked water so much,” Ben said.

“Who doesn’t like the ocean?”

We spent the rest of the day building sand castles and chastising Ross for trying to eat seashells and seaweed. For a construction worker, Ben was terrible at sand castle construction and completely unable to construct a viable moat.

By the time we returned to my apartment, Ross was exhausted and eager to take a nap back in the guest bedroom. He passed out quickly with little to no complaint or insistence that he was too old for a nap.

“Wow, you really tired him out, we should take him to the beach more often,” Ben remarked.

“We all need a good day at the beach.” My phone buzzed, it was Antoni wondering if Ben and I wanted to go to the premiere party for a new line of rose-infused vodka, we would get free drink tickets and no cover.

“Antoni invited us to a party for a new vodka company tonight. We should go. It’ll be fun and there are free drinks,” I said.

Ben’s eyebrows crinkled. “But, what will we do with Ross? Besides, do I look like I have the right clothes for a night out in L.A.?”

“Okay, you got me there. But Antoni’s daughter is home from college for the weekend, I’m sure she’d be more than happy to watch Ross for the night. And, you’re in a great place to solve your wardrobe crisis, we can go shopping! Come on it’ll be fun, we can get you a whole new outfit and everything! You’ll be a new man.”

“Alright, I guess. It might be cool to go Ben’s posture relaxed for the first time since we’d landed in L.A. There was even a glint of curiosity in his eyes.”

“Oh hell yeah! We’re gonna party,” I said excitedly. I quickly called Antoni’s daughter to make arrangements for Ross. As I had guessed, she was more than happy to watch him and Antoni said he could even stay the night at his house so Ben and I could have some alone time. Sometimes I swore that Antoni made a better wingman than he did an agent.

We dropped Ross off at Antoni’s where his daughter Lola assured us that she was certified in child CPR and currently working towards her degree in Early Childhood Education. Ross immediately took a liking to her, and Ben relaxed.

Ben’s brow furrowed as I pulled up to our first stop on what I had nicknamed “The Benjamin Beautification Tour,” or BBT for short.

“Where are we? I thought we were going shopping for clothes,” Ben said.

“We are, but if we’re going to make a masterpiece, we need to get the canvas sorted out.” I had booked Ben an emergency appointment with my hair stylist.

“You,” I said, pointing at him, “Are getting a makeover.” I didn’t bother to mask the glee in my voice.

“Oh Micah, you weren’t kidding when you said I had my work cut out for me,” my stylist George said to me. George was a miracle worker, if anyone could tame Ben’s patchy beard and mop of curls, it was George.

George gently led Ben to his stylist chair. “Now Benjamin, can you tell me a little bit about your hair care routine?” George asked, running his fingers through Ben’s hair inquisitively.

“I don’t have one,” Ben said.

“Okay well, we can fix that,” George said. Deftly, he thinned out Ben’s hair and shaped his sideburns. He gave Ben a hot towel for his face, and trimmed his beard so it showed off the strong curvature of his jaw. While he was gently trimming away at Ben’s beard, he looked at Ben’s eyebrows.

“Ben, have you ever had your brows done?” he asked.

“No, isn’t that for girls?” Ben asked defensively. Taking him to an actual hair stylist was already messing with his toxic masculinity complex.

“Oh honey, unibrows know no gender,” George said.

“Come on Ben, you’ll feel better after you do it. You’ll just feel more put together,” I persuaded.

“Fine,” Ben grumbled. He flinched when George placed hot wax under and around his brows, and he howled when George ripped the pieces of paper off his face.

“Beauty is pain,” I reminded him. Afterward, George gave him a complimentary oatmeal and honey face scrub to use at night and patted him on the back congratulating for surviving his first time getting waxed.

My family loved to tell me that life wasn’t a movie, but if movies taught me anything it was that there was nothing a properly orchestrated head-to-toe makeover couldn’t solve. And hot damn if George wasn’t a wizard with scissors. Once he had been properly trimmed, Ben looked like even more of an Adonis. His beard was no longer patchy, his skin looked dewy and much to his chagrin, George managed to wax Ben’s thirty-something-year-old unibrow. Being able to see his brow bones brought out just how chiseled his face was, Ben was modest and I knew he’d never say so himself but he looked hot … even while he was still wearing a ratty tank top. I was absolutely elated, and I couldn’t wait to find him some pants that actually fit for once in his adult life.

“My skin has never felt so soft,” Ben marveled absentmindedly, stroking his chin as he sat in the passenger seat of the rental car.

“See what happens when you take care of yourself?” I asked smugly, refraining from throwing in an ‘I told you so.’

When we entered Neiman Marcus, Ben was wide-eyed. I figured he would be a little weirded out since his idea of high fashion started and ended with Brooks Brothers, but I didn’t expect him to look like a kid who had just walked into a candy store.

“Where should we start? Shirts? Pants? Accessories?” I suggested.

Ben bristled. “My pants are fine,” he snapped.

“No, they’re not. They’re at least a full size too big, your ass is not that baggy please get some pants that fit for the love of God.” I selected a dark wash straight-leg denim jeans from the rack. “Try these, and roll up the jeans like half a fold.”

“Don’t I need a shirt?” He eyed the denim dubiously.

“True Chippendale, maybe you should go for a full outfit. But, if you even look at flannel I’m leaving you here and making you walk back,” I threatened.

“Flannel is classic, and comfortable.”

“Have you ever considered a pattern that isn’t flannel?” I demanded. Ben shrugged.

“Here, what about this?” I found a faded denim-looking dress shirt that felt soft, knowing that Ben was big on comfort when it comes to clothes. “Or these.” I held up a black button-down dress shirt covered in tiny white palm tree outlines. “It’s still a pattern, it’s just more subtle.”

“But what if I get cold?” he asked, clinging to his comfort-based sensibilities, clearly unable to suffer for fashion.

“That,” I said conspiratorially, “is where a bomber jacket comes in.” I led him to a display of summer jackets, grabbing a light blue silken bomber jacket with black accents and cuffs and a golden zipper.

“See?” I held it up triumphantly.

Ben grabbed the jacket and determinedly marched towards the dressing room. Minutes later, he walked out looking sheepish … and hot as hell. I could finally see the outline of his calves through his jeans, showing off his muscular legs. He looked like he could at least be a print model, which was a definite step up. Honestly if acting doesn’t work for me I should just be a stylist.

“Is it that bad?” Ben asked.

I shook my head. “No. You look amazing.” I smiled, and he started to smile back, angling his body in the mirror and posing. He liked his new look, I could tell. Like all great men who weren’t just strippers pretending to be construction workers before him, Ben officially had Style.

“Really?” he asked.

I nodded, satisfied. My work here was done.

While we waited outside the club, Ben anxiously shifted from one foot to another. He was still getting used to his new clothes, occasionally tugging at the hem of his bomber jacket. I was in my element, I finally got to wear my new black cropped tee which was soft as hell, and my new Gucci jeans. The bouncer winked at me as we walked in, and I gave him a saucy wave.

The club was packed from wall to wall. Bass reverberated through the room, the DJ stood at the front of the club, sweating and furiously clicking through his laptop. Bartenders were concocting elaborate pink cocktails with floral garnish. A bouncer ushered us into a VIP section situated behind velvet ropes.

“You want a drink?” I asked, fishing the complimentary bottle of champagne out of the ice bucket next to the booth.

“Sure, that champagne looks top shelf,” Ben said.

I sniffed. “It is. Would you really expect anything less?”

Someone called out “Micah!” from the back of the VIP lounge—it was my friend Taylor. We’d done a couple laundry detergent commercials together, and we also failed to get on a season of Big Brother. Taylor had dyed his hair bleach blond for a part, but he was still wearing his signature basketball jersey as club attire look.

“Taylor! When did you get here? Antoni didn’t tell me you were coming!” I was happy to see him. He was one of my only real friends in the industry.

“I got the invite super last minute, you should come back to my booth. Who’s your friend?” he asked, eyeing Ben up and down. Ben looked uncomfortable, and took a nervous gulp of his champagne.

“Oh, this is my …” I hesitated for a moment, wondering what I should call Ben. Were we boyfriends? Co-parents?

“I’m his friend from back home,” Ben said quickly, reaching to shake Taylor’s hand.

“Wow, Micah had friends before he moved to L.A.? No seriously, that’s great. You should come hang with us,” he said, gesturing towards his booth.

“A ton of people are here: me, Dev, AJ.” He listed off a variety of local D-list actors who I hadn’t seen in months but were plenty of fun to be with.

“Come on, Ben,” I said, grabbing his hand. “You deserve a real night out for once in your life.” We slid into the booth. AJ quickly hugged me and Ben before he could object.

“Micah, Micah’s boy toy, it’s great to see you.” Unlike us AJ was already at least half a bottle of rose-infused vodka deep. He poured us glasses and I quickly finished my champagne.

“What’s so special about this vodka anyway?” I shouted over the music.

“It’s ninety proof or something, I have no idea but it tastes good,” AJ said. I took a sip, it was tart and crisp, definitely not cheap tasting. “Not bad. Want some?” I offered my glass to Ben. He took a swig and smiled, downing the rest of the glass.

“Maybe L.A. isn’t so bad after all,” he said, picking up his own glass, visibly more relaxed.

“That’s the first thing that he’s liked about L.A.,” I yelled to AJ.

“I mean, when you deal with Hollywood assholes all day you deserve a stiff drink,” AJ said. Ben clinked his glass in agreement.

The DJ switched to a Rihanna remix and everyone in our booth started to head for the dance floor, which was crowded with sweaty, grinding, guys.

“Come on you two, finish your drinks and let's dance!” AJ said.

Ben shook his head. “I don’t dance, but I’ll watch you.”

I rolled my eyes and dragged him out onto the dance floor, strategically dancing around him and forcing him to at least be in proximity to dancing. I didn’t let him do the classic “too cool to dance so I’ll lean against the wall” that he so often employed in high school.

“Come on Ben, loosen up! Loosen those hips.” I grabbed his hips, pulling him close. He was still stiff as a board. “Don’t do Riri dirty like that, come on, dance.” I ran to the bar and brought back shots.

“Come on,” I said, passing him the shot. “You just need to loosen up.” We clinked glasses and downed our shots with ease. Part of me wondered whether Ben should be drinking at all, but didn’t everyone deserve to let loose on vacation? I made a mental note to cut him off and grab him a seltzer water if he seemed to be getting out of control. Ben was a grown man, he could have fun and control himself, right?

It took four shots but Ben was finally loosening up, and I was taking full advantage of the range of motion that this crop top, and ten years worth of modern dance classes, afforded me. Ben started to do this shuffling/ pushing on empty air combo that he must have thought was dancing? It somehow endeared him to me even more.

“Yaaasss Ben!” I encouraged him. AJ bumped Ben’s hips with his ass and Ben blushed.

“Let him have his moment,” I hissed.

“Oh he’s definitely having a moment, he looks like my grandpa trying to dance at my cousin’s wedding,” AJ whispered. I mouthed ‘I know’ to him.

Ben took off his jacket and tied it around his waist. AJ whistled, “Damn Ben, I didn’t know you were trying to lobby for the NRA in the middle of the club, cool it with that gun show!”

“Bang, bang, baby,” Taylor cooed. “Did you ever lift with those arms? Shit.”

“Oh yeah, I lift at the gym sometimes. I gotta get into working out again,” Ben said offhandedly.

“No, I mean dance, those biceps could heft seven ballerinas and a twink without a second thought,” Taylor said. He worked as a dance teacher when he wasn’t trying to break into pilot season.

“I dunno, I’ve never thought of it,” Ben said.

“Lift me,” I said. Maybe it was the four vodka/rose concoctions, maybe it was the club or the fact that we were surrounded by my friends, but I was feeling that sort of recklessly delightful kind of flirty that I hadn’t felt since I was nineteen. Ben balked at me.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Even when he was trashed he was such a safety slut.

“Come on Ben, I danced for years I know what to do. Here, just grab my waist,” I said, placing his hands around my waist, “and lift. I’ll help.”

Ben sighed, and lifted me up with ease, giving me a twirl. When he put me down, I pulled him close and kissed him, tasting the vodka on his lips.

“The two of you could star in a Dirty Dancing reboot,” AJ teased.

Ben smirked, and wrapped his arm around my waist possessively. “I mean, Micah would throw a fit if anyone put him in a corner,” he said.

Everyone laughed. Ben and I continued to dance and make out, eventually he came out of his shell, dipping me and twirling me while still managing to dance like an old man at a wedding. By the time I called us an Uber back to my place, it was nearing 2 a.m. Ben was tipsily sitting on the curb smoking a cigarette that he bummed from a stranger. I sat down beside him and leaned my head against his shoulder, just wanting to feel him next to me.

“Did you have fun tonight?” I asked.

He nodded. “I actually really like your friends.”

“Don’t act so surprised. What did you expect? The Kardashians?”

“Nah, I just didn’t think they would be so, like, chill.”

“Well, L.A. is full of surprises,” I teased. I leaned over and kissed him, running my hands down his chest. I was drunk, Ben was hot. He deepened the kiss, cupping the back of my neck. His hand reached down and toyed with the waistband of my jeans, cautiously but full of wanting.

“Do you want to?” I whispered, pulling back for a moment.

“What?” he asked, looking a little confused.

“Sleep with me,” I clarified, pausing before I kissed him again even if it killed me.

“Yes,” Ben said.

And that’s how we ended up dry humping in the back of an Uber on a Friday night in Los Angeles. I straddled Ben, seat belts be damned, gnawing on his neck to leave what would surely be a remarkable hickey. Ben grabbed my ass and spanked it playfully, tugging on the hem of my crop top, casting it aside. I was starting to sweat, Ben gripped my shoulder, it seemed like there was no way that we could be any closer.

“You guys okay back there?” our Uber driver asked. He was an elderly man in a Fedora, and I’m sure his Friday night was taking an entirely new direction with us in the backseat of his sensible Prius.

“Yeah, we’re great,” I panted, groaning a little bit as Ben reached inside my jeans, playing with my already hard cock. “Ben,” I whispered, “have you ever given road head?”

“No, not in an Uber!” He sounded horrified. I knew he had those small-town hang-ups about public sex.

“Are you sure?” I asked, kissing him again.

“Yes,” Ben panted. “This will be worth the wait.”

Ben

When we got back to Micah’s apartment, Micah locked the door and quickly undid his belt, pleasantries be damned. I was rock hard and I knew that Micah wanted me, too. I saw my own need reflected in his eyes. Micah grabbed me, and kissed me roughly, leading me back onto the couch. His hands lingered at my hips, and grazed the denim over my rock hard cock.

“Wanna have fun?” Micah cooed.

He bit my neck and sucked, I groaned. “Yes.”

Micah grabbed my belt and quickly undid it. I stepped out of my pants, still kissing him. He pulled away quickly, and ran into his bathroom, the sound of drawers opening frantically in the other room.

I stood there awkwardly, turned on and waiting. “You okay?”

Micah appeared a moment later, holding a condom and grinning. “No glove, no love, Benjamin,” he purred.

I almost laughed. “Wait, really?”

Micah looked at me, aghast. “Of course, Ben! You have to be safe.” I was tipsy and a little confused, Micah ripped open the condom wrapper with his teeth not wanting to lose the momentum.

Micah teased the elastic waistband of my boxers. “Bend over,” he demanded, grabbing a handful of my ass. I obeyed him, quickly getting on my hands and knees on the couch, resting my elbows on a small pillow. Micah grabbed a generous portion of lube, lathered up, and grinned at me.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked. His cock was erect and pulsing, glistening almost, a thick vein lovingly hugging the underside.

“Yes,” I groaned.

Micah gingerly spread my ass cheeks He leaned forward and kissed the back of my neck, biting softly. I heard something rustle, then I realized that he was grabbing the lube that he kept in his nightstand. We kissed for what seemed like forever, then, when I was about to lose it completely, he flipped me over. Every cell in my body vibrated with desire, the last thing that I wanted him to do was stop. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” I was so turned on I could barely get the words out. he plunged his cock into me. Every inch of me was alive because of him. He gripped his hands on my shoulders and dug his nails into me, scratching. It was electric. Micah kept pumping. I was in a state of suspended disbelief, nothing mattered except for Micah: his sinewy arms, his soft but strong lips, even the sound of his breathing -- gruff yet primal. It was like we had forged our own world.

“Faster,” I said, panting. He obliged, and when he came a strangled cry emerged from his throat. He grinned at me and kissed my shoulder. I smiled back, he may have been satisfied but I was still hard.

“Micah,” I said flipping over so that I was laying on my back, my erect cock up in the air.