What If It's Us
Page 47
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“We have a really pimping house,” he informs me. “Oh, and we live with Dylan.”
“Of course we do.”
I have to admit, our Sim house fucking rules. Ben’s not shy about using cheat codes for money, so we’ve got a huge indoor pool and a sunroom for parties. There’s a dragon sculpture in the foyer and a light-up dance floor in Dylan’s room, and also the entire backyard is an amusement park, with a roller coaster and a carousel and a Tunnel of Love.
“For you and Dylan?” I ask.
“We don’t let Dylan ride it anymore,” Ben says darkly.
Ben walks us upstairs to our bedroom. OUR BEDROOM.
“We share a room?”
“Is that okay? This was actually mine and Dylan’s house, and I kind of . . . moved you into my room.”
He looks nervous, which makes me brave enough to scoot closer to him. “Very okay,” I say, resting my head on his shoulder. “I like being your roommate.”
He hooks his arm around my waist and kisses me softly on the forehead.
And something shifts. We don’t log out of the game, but Ben slides the laptop back onto his pillow. Then—it’s hard to explain, but he pulls me on top of him, and we’re not exactly lying down, but we’re not exactly upright either. He slides his hands beneath my shirt, and the warmth of his palms on my back makes me giddy. I thread my hands into his hair and kiss him without thinking, and The Sims’ music and chatter fades into the background, not nearly as loud as the thud of Ben’s heartbeat.
He draws back, breathing heavily. “Should we take this off?” He presses his thumb against one of my shirt buttons. He looks slightly terrified.
“Do you want me to?”
He nods quickly.
“Okay.” I scoot a few inches sideways, so I’m slightly less on top of him. My heart’s beating so fast it’s practically buzzing. “FYI, it’s hard to unbutton buttons when your hands are shaking,” I say, and even though it’s not a joke, we both laugh. We’re both breathless.
Ben grins up at me, his eyes landing first on my face, then my chest, then the wadded-up button-down in my lap. “Cute undershirt,” he says, catching its hem with his fingers. He meets my eyes, and I nod. And the next thing I know, we’re in our boxers, horizontal.
“This okay?” he says softly, and I nod into the crook of his neck. He traces his fingertips along my back and my shoulders, and then he kisses me fiercely. I can’t get over how warm his skin feels against mine. I run my hands along his stomach, which makes him squirm.
“Should I not—”
“No, you’re good.” He exhales. We stare at each other, smiling.
“So,” I say finally. “Do we want to try . . .”
His eyes widen. “Do you?”
“Maybe. Yeah.”
“Okay. Yeah.” He hugs me closer. And for a moment, we stay just like that—chest to chest, cheek to cheek. And then, slowly, his fingers trail closer to my boxers, slipping under their waistband. “This still okay?”
Holy shit. I laugh breathlessly. “Yup.”
So this is actually happening. It’s happening. It’s happening, and my whole body knows it. His hand slides down another inch. I don’t think I’ll ever not be hard again. His eyes never leave mine. He looks nervous. And he holds me like I’m breakable.
Another inch, and my heart leaps into my throat. Because how is this real? How is this possibly real? How is this the same me that woke up this morning in a bunk bed?
“Still good?” Ben asks softly.
I nod, but I’m strangely close to tears. I’m just—I don’t know. How is this happening? And how does this work? No, seriously, how does this specifically work? Who puts what parts where and in what order and when does the condom go on, and what about lube? I know fucking nothing about lube. And here’s Ben, peering at me sweetly, with those eyes and those freckles, and I guess he probably knows the mechanics, and I should probably warn him how much I’m going to suck at this. Unless he’s already figured it out. God. He probably already thinks this is a mistake, and I’m a mistake, and sex is a mistake, and also what even is sex? It’s so WEIRD. What a weird thing to want to do. Or maybe I’m the one who’s—
“You okay?” Ben asks.
“I’m freaking out.”
“Oh.” His eyes widen. “Okay.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“No! Arthur.” He kisses me gently and opens his arms. “It’s fine, okay? Come here.”
I tuck my head onto his shoulder, and he wraps his arms around me tightly.
“I’m really sorry,” I whisper.
“Don’t be sorry.” He kisses me again. “If you’re not ready, you’re not ready. That’s fine.”
“I am, though! I thought I was.” I bury my face. “I just—I don’t know.”
“So we try again another day. No big deal.”
“We don’t have a lot of other days.”
He rests his head on mine. “I know.”
We’re quiet for a moment, just breathing.
“Are you disappointed?” I ask.
“No way. I’m just glad you’re here.”
“Yeah, me too.” My throat feels thick. “God. Ben.”
“Mmm?”
“I really like you. It’s kind of scary.”
He shifts back to look at my face. “Scary why?”
“Well, for one thing, you make me not want to leave New York.”
“I don’t want you to leave either,” he says.
“Really?”
He smiles. “You think I’m half-assing this?”
“I don’t know.” I sigh. “I don’t know what it’s supposed to look like or feel like. I just know I really like you. This is serious for me.”
“I feel serious about you too.”
“Really?” I say again.
“God, Arthur.” He kisses me. “Te quiero. Estoy enamorado. You don’t even know.”
And I don’t speak a word of Spanish, but when I look at his face, I get it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ben
Monday, July 30
Summer has really stepped its game up.
I may have lost some pretty huge firsts to Hudson, but dating Arthur feels like a do-over. Every kiss with Arthur feels like discovery, like we become more comfortable with each breath. And we haven’t had sex yet, which is great. Not great like I didn’t want to do it, because wow, I really did and I still do. But great because we’re not falling outside of ourselves just to make the other person happier. I’m right for him and he’s right for me and that feels beyond right—the universe knew it was love before we did.
I still don’t know what comes next for us after Arthur leaves. His seventeenth birthday is on August 4. I don’t have the money to buy him something flashy, but my parents don’t really drop bank on gifts either. They make them. Instead of buying Pa a coffeemaker that would have to be replaced within a year, Ma made him an I love you, Diego mug that he cherishes. Like, if the apartment is on fire, he’s grabbing us and that mug. And instead of buying Ma a new prayer book, I helped Pa make an audio file of him reciting her favorite Bible verses to listen to every morning.
For my gift, I’m writing Arthur into The Wicked Wizard War. The small, mighty Arturo who is clueless to what chill is. He’s traveled from the land of Great Georgia to Ever York to build his reputation in some skills so he can gain access to House Yale. But then he meets Ben-Jamin, and the rest of the story is just going to be Ben-Jamin and Arturo becoming kings who make out a lot.
“Of course we do.”
I have to admit, our Sim house fucking rules. Ben’s not shy about using cheat codes for money, so we’ve got a huge indoor pool and a sunroom for parties. There’s a dragon sculpture in the foyer and a light-up dance floor in Dylan’s room, and also the entire backyard is an amusement park, with a roller coaster and a carousel and a Tunnel of Love.
“For you and Dylan?” I ask.
“We don’t let Dylan ride it anymore,” Ben says darkly.
Ben walks us upstairs to our bedroom. OUR BEDROOM.
“We share a room?”
“Is that okay? This was actually mine and Dylan’s house, and I kind of . . . moved you into my room.”
He looks nervous, which makes me brave enough to scoot closer to him. “Very okay,” I say, resting my head on his shoulder. “I like being your roommate.”
He hooks his arm around my waist and kisses me softly on the forehead.
And something shifts. We don’t log out of the game, but Ben slides the laptop back onto his pillow. Then—it’s hard to explain, but he pulls me on top of him, and we’re not exactly lying down, but we’re not exactly upright either. He slides his hands beneath my shirt, and the warmth of his palms on my back makes me giddy. I thread my hands into his hair and kiss him without thinking, and The Sims’ music and chatter fades into the background, not nearly as loud as the thud of Ben’s heartbeat.
He draws back, breathing heavily. “Should we take this off?” He presses his thumb against one of my shirt buttons. He looks slightly terrified.
“Do you want me to?”
He nods quickly.
“Okay.” I scoot a few inches sideways, so I’m slightly less on top of him. My heart’s beating so fast it’s practically buzzing. “FYI, it’s hard to unbutton buttons when your hands are shaking,” I say, and even though it’s not a joke, we both laugh. We’re both breathless.
Ben grins up at me, his eyes landing first on my face, then my chest, then the wadded-up button-down in my lap. “Cute undershirt,” he says, catching its hem with his fingers. He meets my eyes, and I nod. And the next thing I know, we’re in our boxers, horizontal.
“This okay?” he says softly, and I nod into the crook of his neck. He traces his fingertips along my back and my shoulders, and then he kisses me fiercely. I can’t get over how warm his skin feels against mine. I run my hands along his stomach, which makes him squirm.
“Should I not—”
“No, you’re good.” He exhales. We stare at each other, smiling.
“So,” I say finally. “Do we want to try . . .”
His eyes widen. “Do you?”
“Maybe. Yeah.”
“Okay. Yeah.” He hugs me closer. And for a moment, we stay just like that—chest to chest, cheek to cheek. And then, slowly, his fingers trail closer to my boxers, slipping under their waistband. “This still okay?”
Holy shit. I laugh breathlessly. “Yup.”
So this is actually happening. It’s happening. It’s happening, and my whole body knows it. His hand slides down another inch. I don’t think I’ll ever not be hard again. His eyes never leave mine. He looks nervous. And he holds me like I’m breakable.
Another inch, and my heart leaps into my throat. Because how is this real? How is this possibly real? How is this the same me that woke up this morning in a bunk bed?
“Still good?” Ben asks softly.
I nod, but I’m strangely close to tears. I’m just—I don’t know. How is this happening? And how does this work? No, seriously, how does this specifically work? Who puts what parts where and in what order and when does the condom go on, and what about lube? I know fucking nothing about lube. And here’s Ben, peering at me sweetly, with those eyes and those freckles, and I guess he probably knows the mechanics, and I should probably warn him how much I’m going to suck at this. Unless he’s already figured it out. God. He probably already thinks this is a mistake, and I’m a mistake, and sex is a mistake, and also what even is sex? It’s so WEIRD. What a weird thing to want to do. Or maybe I’m the one who’s—
“You okay?” Ben asks.
“I’m freaking out.”
“Oh.” His eyes widen. “Okay.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“No! Arthur.” He kisses me gently and opens his arms. “It’s fine, okay? Come here.”
I tuck my head onto his shoulder, and he wraps his arms around me tightly.
“I’m really sorry,” I whisper.
“Don’t be sorry.” He kisses me again. “If you’re not ready, you’re not ready. That’s fine.”
“I am, though! I thought I was.” I bury my face. “I just—I don’t know.”
“So we try again another day. No big deal.”
“We don’t have a lot of other days.”
He rests his head on mine. “I know.”
We’re quiet for a moment, just breathing.
“Are you disappointed?” I ask.
“No way. I’m just glad you’re here.”
“Yeah, me too.” My throat feels thick. “God. Ben.”
“Mmm?”
“I really like you. It’s kind of scary.”
He shifts back to look at my face. “Scary why?”
“Well, for one thing, you make me not want to leave New York.”
“I don’t want you to leave either,” he says.
“Really?”
He smiles. “You think I’m half-assing this?”
“I don’t know.” I sigh. “I don’t know what it’s supposed to look like or feel like. I just know I really like you. This is serious for me.”
“I feel serious about you too.”
“Really?” I say again.
“God, Arthur.” He kisses me. “Te quiero. Estoy enamorado. You don’t even know.”
And I don’t speak a word of Spanish, but when I look at his face, I get it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ben
Monday, July 30
Summer has really stepped its game up.
I may have lost some pretty huge firsts to Hudson, but dating Arthur feels like a do-over. Every kiss with Arthur feels like discovery, like we become more comfortable with each breath. And we haven’t had sex yet, which is great. Not great like I didn’t want to do it, because wow, I really did and I still do. But great because we’re not falling outside of ourselves just to make the other person happier. I’m right for him and he’s right for me and that feels beyond right—the universe knew it was love before we did.
I still don’t know what comes next for us after Arthur leaves. His seventeenth birthday is on August 4. I don’t have the money to buy him something flashy, but my parents don’t really drop bank on gifts either. They make them. Instead of buying Pa a coffeemaker that would have to be replaced within a year, Ma made him an I love you, Diego mug that he cherishes. Like, if the apartment is on fire, he’s grabbing us and that mug. And instead of buying Ma a new prayer book, I helped Pa make an audio file of him reciting her favorite Bible verses to listen to every morning.
For my gift, I’m writing Arthur into The Wicked Wizard War. The small, mighty Arturo who is clueless to what chill is. He’s traveled from the land of Great Georgia to Ever York to build his reputation in some skills so he can gain access to House Yale. But then he meets Ben-Jamin, and the rest of the story is just going to be Ben-Jamin and Arturo becoming kings who make out a lot.
