EWB: Enemies With Benefits

by N.R. Walker

And it was that—that, right there—that scared the shit out of me. Because he did have me. He had me i...

I was so good at pretending I didn’t feel anything. All my life, I’d put a lid on my emotions and locked it tight. But this felt too big to contain, too big to ignore. And maybe...

And one time our lock, Simons, took him down. Now, Simons was a good guy, a teammate, a mate even. I’d known him for years but I had to shove my hands into my coat pockets so I didn’t run out onto the field and take his head off for tackling Valentine like that.

Everyone on my bench said things like ‘good tackle, good tackle’ and it probably was a good tackle, but I didn’t like the fact he took down my Valentine.

My Valentine? I was losing my damned mind. Valentine w...

Apart from my enemy with benefits. Not that we were enemies anymore . . . My not-friend with benefits. A regular fuck. Someone I had an arrangement with. Someone I cared for. S...

“If it’s any consolation, he’s tryin’ not to look at you just as much as you’re tryin’ not to look at him.” What? I had to make myself not look. Don’t turn around. Don’t look over your shoulder.

“I won’t tell anyone.” I cut my eyes to Taka’s. I trusted him with my life, but now I was also trusting him with Valentine’s. “No one can know, Taka. He’s not out. His father would . . .”

Taka smiled as he swigged his beer. “Never thought I’d see the day.” “See the day for what?” “Where you caught feelings.” “I haven’t caught feelings.” Christ, what a stupid thing to say.

I bristled, but then I noticed the shirt he was wearing. The white button-down with the buttons I’d sewn on with red thread. And if you wear this shirt, it’s like you’re saying Marshall did this, and no one but us will know.

He’d worn that shirt because I’d told him it was like saying I’d been the one to rip the last buttons off, how no one would know but us. But I’d know. He was wearing it for me.

How did I not know that? How did some fucking random dickhead in a bar know that and I didn’t? Anger spiked in my blood, a thousand stinging needles in my heart.

“Don’t do it, man,” Taka said quietly. I looked up at him. “Do what?” “Don’t go in there.” I was so fucking angry—irrationally and stupidly—and hurt. I was hurt. This was bullshit.

I turned and pushed my way through the crowd, desperate for fresh air. I felt like I was drowning. Over what? Not knowing it was Valentine’s birthday?

That he never told me. That it wasn’t something he thought I should know. That I wasn’t . . . that we weren’t what I’d stupidly fucking thought we were?

And I’d have liked to think we were on the same page, especially after this last week, all the texts, me staying with him, getting into the bath with him because he was hurt...

Me staying the night and holding him while he slept because he wasn’t as fine as he said he was. He was a mess and I wanted to make him better. Me being in way over my head, and him . . . H...

“I’ve been trying to think of why you didn’t tell me,” I said. “And the only thing I keep coming back to is that we’re obviously on different pages here. Entirely different books, even.” He shook his head. “No.” “I think we are. Because here I am thinking maybe we had something, and it’s pretty fucking obvious that you don’t feel the same.”

He gasped like he couldn’t catch his breath. Over and over, he struggled to get enough air. Oh my god. He was freaking out. Valentine Tye was freaking out.

I went to him and wrapped my arms around him, holding him. “You’re okay,” I soothed, though I wasn’t sure he was. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t apologise,” I whispered, rubbing his back. “I gotchu.”

I took the glass from him, sat it down, then pushed him against the kitchen counter, my arms tight around him. His whole body was trembling, his breaths short and sharp.

“Don’t apologise.” “Panic,” he mumbled, his face against my chest. “I have panic . . . attacks.” Christ. Something else I didn’t know about him. “It’s okay,” I whispered, rubbing his back. “You’re okay.”

I rubbed his back some more. “You feel okay now?” He nodded, barely. But when I went to pull away, his hold on me tightened. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For not telling you. Birthdays aren’t something I celebrate. Never have. Not really.”

“I know.” He nodded, still not letting me go. “I didn’t think to tell you because . . . because I forgot. Not forgot to tell you. I forgot it was my birthday.” Jesus Christ.

I squeezed him and kissed the side of his head. “I’m sorry I got mad. I heard that guy tell you happy birthday, and it stung. He knew and I didn’t. And I . . . I don’t know what I thought.” Yes, you do. You thought this was about you. You didn’t for one moment stop to think about him.

“You’re the only person who does know me, Marshall. Only you,” he said. He pulled back now and his eyes were glassy. Glazed over. Yep, the drugs were definitely working. “I thought you were going to say we...

“I don’t want to end this,” I whispered, kissing him softly. “I thought you were going to tell me that this feeling wasn’t part of our agreement.” He smiled sadly. “This feeling.” I nodded. “This c...

“We need to talk,” I said. “But maybe tomorrow.” He nodded. “Tomorrow. Please don’t...

I cupped his face and pressed my lips to his. “I won’t. Please don’t tell me this is all one-sided.” He shook his head. “It’s not. But I don’t know what it is. I don’t want anything to change. I can’t offer you anything m...

“It’s special to me. And you didn’t just show me kindness. You showed me what was possible, and what I could have. And what I’ll miss when you leave me. What I will never find again. All I wanted was for you to fuck me. I never asked for anything else, and now I don’t know how to live without it.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” “Not yet.” God, he looked so damn sad. “I can’t ever come out, Marshall. I can’t ever be out.” “I know.” I brushed my thumb over his cheek. “I don’t expect you to.”

He smirked. “Thanks.” Then he seemed to remember something. “Oh. That guy in the bar who put his hand right here,” he said, sliding his hand down to my waist. “What was that?”

The guy who brushed past me? The one I’d thought the old me would have banged in the back alley, but the new me didn’t even consider it? The guy I think I maybe did bang in the back alley once . . .

“I didn’t like it,” Valentine said, frowning. I chuckled. “Is that why you came over and did the same?” “I don’t like it when ot...

He fisted my shirt. “Don’t go.” Oh god, Valentine. “I won’t leave. Me and Enzo can watch Rambo. He hasn’t seen it.”

could get used to this. Real used to it. So much had happened tonight. Things were admitted but not discussed. We definitely needed to talk, to clear the air, but for now it was enough.

I’d learned some things about Valentine tonight. He’d said he had feelings for me. Feelings that confused him. He’d freaked out when he thought I was leaving him. He’d been overwhelmed and panic kicked in.

He’d said I was the only person to ever know the real him. And maybe when I’d come here tonight, my feelings had been confused too. Leaving the pub, not knowing what anything meant. But lying there on his couch, with him in my arms and his cat purring beside us . . . my feelings were pretty freaking clear.

I didn’t hate Valentine Tye anymore. I hadn’t for a while. I didn’t know what it meant for us or where we went from here. But he was on the same page as me. And, for tonight, that was enough.

I woke up around six o’clock, sunrise barely cracking through Valentine’s bedroom window. He was lying on his side, facing me, sound asleep. His hair was messed up, his lips parted. He looked peaceful and so fucking beautiful.

And today was his birthday. And if he’d never really celebrated a birthday before, then I should make this one he’d never forget. I’d make it all about him. Starting with breakfast.

“Why are you watching me?” he mumbled. I laughed. “How could you tell with your eyes closed?” He made a face and rolled over, buryin...

“Don’t be weird.” I kissed the back of his head. “Happy birthday.” He froze for a second, then groaned as he deflated. Did...

And this was the reality of seeing someone who was not out, who could never be seen in public with me. Not just any guy, but especially me. A guy who he’d had a somewhat public feud with for over a decade.

His eyes met mine. “Just this is enough for me,” he said. “It’s more than I’ve ever had.” Christ. It just made me more determined to do something.

Because fuck it. I looked twice at the little balloons and decided that was too stupid, got to the end of the aisle, and went back for the stupid balloon because fuck that too. And a stupid bouquet of stupid supermarket flowers at the checkout. Because fuck that as well.

I took the flowers out first. “Happy birthday.” He stood there, stunned, maybe horrified. He didn’t take them. He just stared. “Marshall . . .”

“They’re only supermarket flowers. They were at the checkout. It was a stupid idea,” I said, feeling like a grade-A fool. Until he got all teary. “No one’s ever bought me flowers before,” he whispered. Oh shit. Oh god.

He let out a breathy laugh and took them, his chin wobbling a little. “Thank you.” “Happy birthday,” I said again. He nodded and looked at the flowers as if they were some award-winning florist arrangement.

Valentine laughed but he wiped a tear from his cheek. “Christ, this is . . . I don’t know why I’m crying.” God, why did it hurt so much to see him cry?