Ben didn’t let go of his bicep. It was thick beneath his hand. “Did my father send you?” He wasn’t sure why he wondered that. He never knew with his dad.
Dark eyebrows pulled together. “No.”
“What’s your name?”
The other man didn’t move. They blocked the doorway but neither of them cared.
“Please,” Ben added, not sure why he did. Maybe he would ask nicely for things from Tristan, but he didn’t from anyone else.
“Dante De Marco. And you?”
Italian, then. He could see it now. “Ben.” He didn’t offer his last name and he could tell by the spark in Dante’s dark eyes, that he realized Ben was being secretive for a reason. He wanted to push, Ben could see that too, but he didn’t.
“Let go of my arm, Ben. Sit down and have coffee with me. Or don’t. It’s up to you and it doesn’t matter either way to me. I don’t think it really matters to you, either. You’re used to being alone, just as I am. Maybe we’re better that way.”
He pulled his arm free and Ben let him go. He walked into the small diner, not the kind of place Ben usually frequented, with faded bench seats and old, stained table tops. Without being directed, Dante wound his way to a booth in the back.
Finally, Ben closed the door and followed him over. Why? He wasn’t sure, but it was better than being alone with his thoughts.
Once he sat, a waitress approached. She had graying hair tied back into a bun. She looked as tired as Ben felt. He missed uninterrupted sleep. Missed closing his eyes without his past coming for him.
“What can I get you gentlemen?” she asked.
“Coffee. Black. Two of them,” Dante ordered and then she walked away. Ben reached out and grabbed the man’s arm again.
“Don’t order for me.”
“Why is that, Ben? Because you want to pretend you’re in control when you obviously aren’t? I can see it, you know. The way you’re looking for control. Do you really want it?”
Before Ben could reply, the waitress came back with their coffee.
“Would you like anything else?” she asked.
“No,” Ben spat out before Dante could reply for him. Who the fuck was this guy to think he knew Ben?
The waitress looked at Dante next. “No, thank you,” he answered.
When she was gone, Dante leaned back against the booth. His movements were smooth, detached. They were familiar in some ways. He looked the way Ben wanted to.
“Let me guess, you can give me what I’m looking for? Tie me up and fuck me the way you did that boy in the club? There’s a problem with that. I top as well.”
Dante didn’t reply right away. He took a drink of his coffee and then set the cup down. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Regardless, I won’t be fucking you. I just...I see it in you. The need to self-destruct. I’ve been through it. I’ve done it. I’m still as fucked up as I was before. Maybe more so. The self-destructing didn’t help. This is only about coffee. Having coffee with someone who just might hate himself as much as I do.”
And he did. Christ did he hate himself. Hated himself for Bonnie. For needing his father as long as he did. For not forcing his mom to actually be a mother. He hated himself for loving Tristan as long as he did. For not being able to be who Tristan needed. He hadn’t been who Bonnie needed either.
“There’s no one easier to hate than ourselves,” Ben found himself saying. That was something he knew to be true. He maybe even hated himself more than he hated his father, because while the congressman pretended to be one thing in public, he never lied to his family about who he was and what he wanted. Ben did, and then he let people down.
“No, there isn’t.” Dante nodded toward Ben’s coffee. “Drink.”
He paused a second, studying the man. Dante let him for a second before he added, “Drink,” again.
Ben picked up his cup and swallowed some of the hot, bitter liquid. Neither of them spoke again as they sat at the stained table and drank their coffee.
CHAPTER SIX
Tristan,
I had coffee with a man last night. I can’t remember when I did something as simple as that. I’ve dated someone who I knew I would fuck, or spent time with someone I was semi-interested in, but as for meeting someone, having coffee and then saying goodbye, that’s a simple thing I haven’t done in a very long time.
Or maybe it’s not simple considering I watched him tie up a guy and fuck him before we had our coffee.
Does that change things? Probably. I don’t really give a shit, though.