Blake & Ben (A New Beginning) - 2. Chapter 2 - "Things Make Sense"

- BLAKE ABEL FOSTER -

I wake up the next morning, feeling refreshed from a nice night of uninterrupted sleep. I rarely sleep the entire night without waking up for some unknown reason. But, last night, I slept like the dead.

I sit up in my bed, stretch and rub the sleep from my eyes. I lean over toward my night stand and grab my phone to check the time.

10:37 AM

God, I love summer.

I notice, on the lock screen, I have a Facebook notification.

Ben Smith has sent you a friend request.

My heart jumps and my stomach feels like it's doing somersaults.

Was I being too obvious yesterday, smiling like a buffoon and telling him the wallpaper on his phone was cute?

I slide the notification to the right, unlocking my phone and pulling up Facebook. It brings up his friend request and I immediately hit "Accept." Facebook then gives me the option to write on his wall. I almost click the home button on my iPhone, but decide against it. Instead, I write on his timeline.

Hey, neighbor! Thanks for the friend request. Feel free to text or call anytime you want to hang out.

My finger hovers over the "Post" button for a moment as I scan over what I just typed.

Okay... Doesn't sound too needy. I'm not conveying anything that says, "I want you, right here, right now."

I smile at that thought and hit "Post." Wish I could post something that conveyed that message, though. God, he's so handsome. Makes it hard for me to breathe just looking at him.

I so badly want to Facebook stalk him right now, look at his wall and read shit, scan through all of his pictures. But, just my luck, my finger would slip and I'd hit the "Like" button on a picture from like two years ago. I don't want to be that obvious. Because, I mean, come on... if you do something like that, it makes you look like that Michael Myers character off the movie "Halloween" when he's stalking his sister in the streets at the beginning of the movie.

I slam my head back down on my pillow and let out an audible sigh. He seemed so nervous yesterday. And the way he didn't want to let go of my hand when he introduced himself. Did that mean anything? Maybe I'm reading too much into it. I notice my phone light up on my night stand.

I reach over, pull it off the charger and lay back down, holding it above my face. It's another Facebook notification.

Ben Smith likes your post on his timeline.

Seconds later, another notification appears on top of that one.

Ben Smith commented on your post.

The butterflies return to my stomach, flapping their wings with reckless abandon. I lose grip on my phone and it slams down onto my face.

"Fuck," I yell. "Damn it!"

I rub the tip of my cheek bone, where the phone landed. I push myself up to my side, so I'm looking down at the phone. I slide the notification to the right, bringing Facebook up again. It brings up my post on Ben's wall and automatically scrolls down to his comment.

Same here, man. Call or text anytime.

Oh, snap! A smiley face! Fuck! Am I reading too much into this shit? Why can't "gaydar" be a real thing? Like an app on my phone or something so I can just scan him. Ya' know... see if he's something I can even pursue.

I back out of Facebook and bring up my text messages. I hit the compose button which brings up a blank message screen. I tap the blank spot next to "To: " and begin typing Ben's name. When it pops up, I click on it, adding his name to the recipient spot. I then click down in the free text spot and begin typing out the message.

Hey, Ben. What's up? If you're not busy today, my buddy and I may go to the city and grab a bite to eat, maybe go to the mall. You interested?

I hit Send. My heart beats quick, stomach churning. Hanging on to what his reply might say.

- BENJAMIN JAXON SMITH -

I look around at the bare walls of my bedroom. No posters, no pictures, nothing. I didn't even get my bed set or dressed up. I slept on top of the mattress, on my floor. Kind of reminds me of a jail cell - or what I imagine a jail cell to look like.

I climb off my mattress and look around my room, boxes here and there, bare dresser drawers against the wall, TV stand with my 42" TV sitting on it, not plugged in.

God, today's gonna' be great, I think to myself, sarcastically.

Only highlight of my day, so far, was sending a friend request to Blake and him accepting it. I couldn't tell you how happy it made me when he accepted and posted something on my timeline. If there was a "Love" button, I would have chosen that over "Like."

I get up and walk over to my window. It is located above the garage and looks out over the street. I glance down the street at Blake's house. Why does my heart yearn for him so much? I've never believed in love at first sight, but that's kind of what I'm feeling. But, why? I don't even know if he, quote, "Plays for the same team."

I hear my phone vibrate. It pulls my gaze away from Blake's house as I lower the window blinds. I climb back onto my mattress, expecting it to be a message from Becca. The screen has already dimmed.

I press the button at the bottom of my iPhone, illuminating the screen. My breath becomes trapped in my throat when I see it's a text message from Blake. I swipe the message preview to the right to bring it up in full screen view.

Hey, Ben. What's up? If you're not busy today, my buddy and I may go to the city and grab a bite to eat, maybe go to the mall. You interested?

I'm smiling so hard right now, I'm surprised my face hasn't torn at the corners of my mouth. I sit there, unable to move my fingers. I'm happy, but petrified at the same time.

Of course I want to go. What the hell am I going to wear? How should I act? Jesus Christ, Ben! Pull yourself together! This isn't a date - it's just guys hanging out.

Without even thinking, I begin typing in my response.

Sure! Sounds great! What time we heading out?

I hit send. Since he has an iPhone as well, I see the grey bubble pop up with the three dots as he begins typing his reply. My phone buzzes for a split second as his reply pops up.

Oh, I was thinking somewhere around noon. That okay for you? I'll stop by and pick you up and we'll head over and pick up my buddy, Chris. You'll like him. He's a good guy.

As if my fingers have a mind of their own, I begin typing.

If he's half as nice as you, I'm sure I'll like him just fine.

I hit send and immediately slap my forehead with the palm of my hand.

Oh, God. Please don't be creeped out, Blake. Please, God. Please don't tell me I just made a huge mistake.

I see the bubble with the three dots pop up. I feel sick to my stomach. The bubble disappears, then pops back up again. After, what feels like an eternity, but realistically only about 10 seconds, his message bubble appears.

You're sweet. See you in about an hour.

Like an idiot, I raise my hands in victory. That has to mean something, right? Straight guys don't talk to each other like that, do they?

Please, God. Just let me have one ounce of happiness. Let me find someone to love, someone to love me back. That's all I want. That's not asking for too much, is it?

After that miniature prayer, I quickly hop out of bed and make my way to the shower. God knows I need one after moving boxes in all night last night.

- BLAKE ABEL FOSTER -

I can't believe what Ben said. I stare at it now, hoping there may be more behind that text message.

If he's half as nice as you, I'm sure I'll like him just fine.

My heart beats with excitement. I have to talk to someone. I pull up my contacts, go to the favorites list.

I hope I can add Ben in here in the not so distant future.

I push on Chris' name and immediately hit the speaker button. I always talk on speaker, much easier to talk on the phone that way. I usually hold the phone upside down and talk into like it's a microphone.

Finally, on the fourth ring, Chris answers. Voice groggy, filled with sleep.

"H'lo?" he says.

"Hey, it's Blake. Did I wake you? It's damn near 11:00," I say, with a jokey accusing tone.

"It's also summer, man." He yawns. "What's up?"

"Okay, I need a huge favor, man," I tell him.

"As long as it doesn't include manual labor, I'm up for it," he says, yawning again.

"Okay. Great. To make a long story short, new neighbors moved in down the street yesterday. They have a son, our age, will be a senior this year, too, when school starts back up. Needless to say, he's cute as hell. He-..."

"Uh! Gay," Chris says.

"No shit, Sherlock. Now, shut up for a minute. Like I said, he's cute as hell. Fucking handsome, since you want to be a dick about it," I say, laughing slightly. "Anyway, I invited him to hang out with us today. Figured we'd go to the city, hit up the mall, maybe get a bite to eat?"

"Yeah, man. I'm up for that. What time we going," he asks.

"I was thinkin' around noon. And, hey..." I say, trailing off a bit.

"Yeah," he asks.

"I'm hoping he, ya' know... might be..."

"A raging homosexual, like you," Chris says, chuckling.

"You read my mind, douche canoe. So, yeah. Help me study him a bit. If anything tips you off that he might be, as you so eloquently put it, 'a raging homosexual,' please... let me know. I haven't fallen for someone like this since... well..."

"Yeah, I get the picture... Since that one fuck stick. Don't worry, man. I got'chu. I'll study him like he's a frozen cave man. If I for any reason think he's a wrist hanger, like you, I'll let you know," Chris says.

"Thanks, you fuckin' heterosexual. Christ, man. I know it's all in good fun, and I take no offense to it, but kind of cool it with those comments when Ben's with us, okay? If he is gay, I don't want him getting the wrong impression of you. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah, yeah," Chris says. "You know I don't mean that shit, man. Just bustin' your balls. If it ever pisses you off, just tell me and I'll knock it off. Last thing I wanna' do is hurt your feelings, man. Sincerely."

"Wow. That was... pretty gay, Chris," I say, laughing.

"Fuck you, turd burglar," he says, laughing as well. "I'll see you at noon, bro."

I hit the red phone button, ending the call. I walk over to my dresser drawers, open the bottom drawer and pull out a pair of black Under Armour boxer-briefs. I make my way to the bathroom and flip the light on. I walk over to the shower and open the sliding glass door and reach in to turn the shower on.

Upon finding the right temperature, I lean back out and walk over to the sink where I left my phone. I pull up my music and scan through the artists - I always have to have music playing when I shower. Don't know why - it's just a necessity. I immediately scroll down to the E's and push on Ed Sheeran's name. Dude's like my inspiration. I choose "Lego House" and put it on repeat.

I pull a towel out of the cabinet above the toilet and drape it over the door of the shower. I remove my boxer-briefs and step into the shower.

"I'm out of touch, I'm out of love. I'll pick you up when you're gettin' down..." I sing as I begin scrubbing away.

- BENJAMIN JAXON SMITH -

It only took me about ten minutes to shower, dry off, and slip into a pair of pink American Eagle boxers. I'm standing at my closet doors, staring at the clothes I managed to get hung up last night. Thank God! Otherwise, I'd be rummaging through boxes of tangled, wrinkled clothes right now.

Fuck! I don't want to be too dressy. Not too casual. Or, do I? We're just going to the mall, right? Yeah, casual sounds good.

I pull out a red American Eagle polo shirt that has a white American Eagle eagle logo on the right breast. I then pull down a pair of light blue jeans that has a big hole in the left knee. Funny how jeans come like that now. My mom thinks it's ridiculous.

I quickly hop into the jeans, zip up the zipper, button them, and grab a belt out of one of the nearly empty boxes and slide it through each belt loop before securing it to my waist.

I brush off a piece of towel lint that hangs on to one of the few hairs at the bottom of my belly button. I pull the shirt off the hanger and carefully pull it on, making sure not to mess up my already styled hair.

As I look at myself, primping my hair, in the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door, my cell phone starts ringing on my bed.

I walk over and see Blake's name on the screen as the incoming caller. Suddenly, it becomes difficult to breathe. I take a deep breath, and try to sound nonchalant as I answer.

"Hey, Blake," I say, with way too much enthusiasm.

Smooth, Ben. Reeeal smooth!

"Hey, man. I'm sittin' in your driveway. You ready," he asks.

"Oh, shit! Yeah! Sorry! I'll be right out," I say, hanging up the phone.

- BLAKE ABEL FOSTER -

I press the end button on my phone and plug the AUX cable back into my phone and quickly begin rummaging through the artists on my phone.

Ugh! I wonder what kind of music Ben is into? Don't want to play any music he might think is garbage.

I finally say screw it and settle on "Happy Little Pill" by Troye Sivan. I then press the "Shuffle" button - trusting my iPhone to do its job and give us some good music to listen to on our way to the city.

About 30 seconds later, the front door of Ben's house opens and Ben steps out. He pokes his head back in to yell something at one of his parents, I'm assuming. He spins around and descends the stairs.

Goddamn, he's handsome. Please be gay. Please be gay. Please be-...

Suddenly, the passenger door opens and he climbs in.

"Hey, man. How's it goin'," I ask.

"Pretty good! Thanks for gettin' me outta' there. Sick to death of looking at all the moving boxes," he says, accompanied by nervous laughter.

I put the car in reverse and back out of his driveway. Chris lives clear on the other side of town, so, we will have a few minutes of alone time at least.

Thing is, we don't really say anything. I'm nervous as hell and assume Ben is, too, by the way he's constantly fidgeting around and looking around my vehicle.

"Happy Little Pill" comes to an end and for a split second, I get even more nervous. Not sure why. But, in my opinion, the type of music a person listens to says a lot about that person. Music is my everything. It's gotten me through a lot of hard times - music from famous artists, music I've written myself.

I grip the steering wheel tightly when a noticeable "D'ow!" blasts over the speakers of my car and the rhythm to Michael Jackson's "Smooth Criminal" begins playing.

Fuck! Scared the shit out of me. Damn it! I knew better than to trust my phone. I should have made a playlist.

I look over at Ben, nervously and shrug when he gives me a what-the-hell look, followed up my a smile.

"Yeah... sorry about that. I set my phone to shuffle," I say, snatching up my phone.

I hit the lock button, which brings up the music player on the locked screen. I hit the next button. It's silent for a moment, then something even worse than Michael Jackson emits from the speakers: "It's Britney, bitch!"

We approach a stop light and I do a literal facepalm.

Oh, Dear God! This has to be a nightmare. Wake up Blake!

Ben starts cracking up as I hand him my phone.

"Here... just, here. Take this. Please, find us some music. Save me from myself," I tell Ben, laughing right along with him.

Still laughing, followed up by an, "Oh, jeez!" he browses through my music. After a good minute or two, he sets the phone back down on the middle console as "Take Me To Church" by Hozier begins playing.

"Aaaaah! Much better," I say. "Thank you!"

"No problem," he says. "I almost thought about playing some Backstreet Boys when I scrolled past that. But, I think you've suffered enough embarrassment."

He giggles and I join him.

"Thanks, man. My taste in music is... well, it's diverse, to say the least," I say, shyly.

"To say the least," he agrees. "I'm not going to lie, I like that old poppy shit, too. It's a guilty pleasure of mine. Is it sad I know all the words to that Britney Spears song?"

I look over at him, for a split second. He's looking at me with hopeful eyes, hoping I won't think he's crazy or ga-...

I pick my phone back up, punch around on it for a second, then, in sync with her voice, I turn back to him and say right along with her, "It's Blakey, bitch!"

He loses it, laughing it up as I begin dancing the best, and as stupidly, as I can, while driving.

"Every time they turn the lights dooown! Just wanna' go that extra mile for you..." I sing in a rather feminine voice, as I look over at Ben and wink.

Ben laughs it up and finally joins in as the chorus comes around.

"Gimme, gimme more! Gimme more! Gimme, gimme more," Britney, Ben and I sing in unison.

We keep it up until I pull up in front of Chris' house. I had already called him when I left the house, so he's expecting us. I give the horn a couple of honks.

"You'll love Chris. He's a good guy. Been my best friend since the third grade," I tell Ben.

"Cool," is all he says, looking at the window, already seeming a little distant and shy.

Chris comes out of the open garage, wearing only a pair of black Adidas basketball shorts and his athletic shoes. He carries a red t-shirt in his hand.

Already, I have my phone in my hand. Prepared to send him a quick text that he'll get by the time he climbs into the backseat.

Smooth, dude. Subtlety has never been your strong suit, douche. Lol.

When he approaches the car door, he stops and slowly pulls the shirt over his head.

Oh, Jesus, dude...

He opens Ben's door - it's a two-door car, so Ben will need to get out so Chris can climb into the backseat. Nervously, Ben, doesn't budge. Then, realizing what's going on, he gets out of the passenger seat.

"Oh, sorry," Ben says.

"No problem, man," Chris says, extending his hand. "Name's Chris. Chris Bryant."

Ben takes his hand and gives it a firm shake. "Ben Smith," he replies.

"Good to meet you, man," Chris says. "Oh, shit. Sorry. Let me get back here so you can get back in your seat."

Chris pulls the mechanism on the side of the seat, causing the back rest to lean in on the seat, as the entire seat lunges forward. Halfway in, his ass still hanging out, Chris looks at me and winks. He's obviously trying to give Ben a look at "the goods."

I lower my head, bringing my palm up and resting it on the bridge of my backwards baseball cap. I shake my head in disbelief.

Finally, he climbs into the backseat. He grabs the front seat and brings it back into position for Ben. Ben climbs in and looks at me with a quizzical expression. I just smile, nervously, and shake my head in a don't-ask mannerism.

I put the car in drive as we begin our "journey" to the city.

***

The mall isn't as packed as I had originally anticipated. That's when I reminded myself, It's not the weekend, it's summer. And it's a Tuesday. I'm still stuck in the school funk. It hasn't quite hit me yet that it is officially summer vacation.

We hit up the music store first. I still need to pick up some new strings for my acoustic guitar. We walk through the entrance. Chris, who plays the drums - pretty damned good, I might add - makes a b-line for the drum section. I begin walking towards the guitars.

"I just have to grab some stings for my guitar. Feel free to look around if you want," I tell Ben.

"Mind if I just tag along with you," he asks.

Nothing would please me more.

"Nothing would please me more," I respond, immediately regretting it.

What the hell did I just do?!

I start having a mini panic attack. What a time for my voice to spew forth my inner-thoughts. Before I can freak out any further, Ben smiles at me.

"Good," he says.

Whoa! What's going on here?

My body refuses to move. The only thing I can do, apparently, is move my eyes and my mouth. I look over at Chris, back near all the drum sets, drum sticks and other drumming accessories. Then, I look back at Ben. I can't help it, I smile at him.

There's just something about him that draws me in. The way he smiles, the way he moves, the way he gets quiet out of nowhere - like when we pulled up in front of Chris' house. I want to know more about him.

Only then do I realize I'm still standing there, smiling like a buffoon. I snap out of it and look back over towards the guitar strings, packaged up in their plastic sleeves, hanging on the wall.

"So, yeah..." I begin. "I'll just go grab some strings and we can get outta' here, as soon as we pry Chris away from that drum set back there."

I point at Chris standing and staring in awe at a massive drum set. First time he laid eyes on it, I believe his exact words were, "I think I just came..."

- BENJAMIN JAXON SMITH -

Blake got the strings he needed and he was right, we had to pry Chris away from the drum set. But, not before Chris caressed the drum set and said to it, "You will be mine. Oh, yes! You will be mine."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Blake said. "Nice 'Wayne's World' reference. Let's go, man."

I didn't really have anything that I needed at the mall, and told them that. Again, mentioning I was just happy to be out of the house.

Blake's words still ran through my head though, as I looked at him browsing through the hats in the sports apparel store.

"Nothing would please me more."

I can't help but feel there was more to that sentence. Something more implied.

God, I hope there is. I honestly feel myself falling for him.

I'm pretending to look at a shirt when he approaches me.

"The Steelers, huh," he says, motioning to the shirt I'm "looking" at. "That's my man. Pittsburgh's my favorite team! There's a little fun Blake fact for you."

"Oh. Yeah... I'm not that big into football. Basketball all the way, baby," I lie.

To be honest, I'm not really into sports. I've watched maybe two basketball games in my entire life. And that was because Dad was hogging the TV both times.

"Yeah, I enjoy a little basketball every now and then. Who's your team," Blake asks.

I'm nervous and begin playing around with a loose string on my jeans. Just then, Chris approaches us and saves me.

"You two girls done shopping yet? I'm as hungry as Taylor Swift looks," he says.

Blake gives Chris a look that I don't really follow. Chris shies away from us and makes his way towards the exit.

"Let me pay for this hat real quick and we'll stop off at the food court," Blake says, walking towards the guy at the register. There's a small line already forming.

I decide to go out to where Chris is, on a bench out in the open area, directly across from the sports apparel store. He sees me coming over, smiles and bobs his head up. I sit down next to him.

"Oh, man," I say. "My feet are killing me." They're really not, I'm just trying to make small talk. "So, what was up with that look Blake gave you?"

"You caught that, huh," he asks.

I nod.

"It's not really my place to discuss, man," Chris replies.

"What, did a female family member of his die in a freak shopping accident or something," I ask.

Chris smiles and shakes it off.

"Nah, man," Chris says, smiling. "Seriously. It's not my place discuss it."

"Oookay," I say, somewhat confused.

I go to stand up, but Chris pulls me back down.

"Look man, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to sound like a dick. I'm not holding back information from you because I'm a dick, or because I don't like you or something. Because, I do. You seem like a chill dude. It's just... it's not for me to say. Blake's the only one who can answer that for you."

Chris smiles, his eyes seeking an audible "Okay" from me. Or something that shows I understand.

I give him both - I nod and say, "Okay, man."

"Alright. Good. So, how you liking it in Liberty so far? You have to leave a girlfriend behind when you moved or anything," he asks.

I snicker under my breath. Maybe a little bit more than that.

"No. No girlfriend. But, yeah, I like it in Liberty, so far," I say. "Not doing so bad for myself, already made two good friends."

"Hell yeah, man," Chris says, holding out his fist. I bump it with mine. "So, what was so funny with the 'No girlfriend' comment?"

Oh, shit! Did I make it that obvious?

"I, uh..." I stumble over the words.

"Sorry about the wait, guys," Blake says, approaching us, toting another shopping bag.

Thank. Fucking. God.
Whew! Both Chris and Blake have saved me from making a fool of myself today. Pretty soon, I feel like my luck will run out, though.

"No problem," I say, standing up quickly, hoping to slip past Chris' question.

Chris stands up, too. His glare won't leave me. I catch a quick smile and a nod of understanding.

Shit. Did he figure it out?

"Can we please go get something to eat now," Chris asks.

"Well, of course," Blake says. "You're buying, right?"

"Hardy-fuckin'-har," Chris says back. "Funny fucker, ain't he?"

- BLAKE ABEL FOSTER -

We make our way to the food court. They don't have a wide variety to choose from, but their Panda Express is pretty good. Chris and I have already loaded up our plates, paid for the food and found a booth. Ben is still staring up at the menu boards of the different "restaurants."

We slide into the booth, sitting across from each other. Chris leans in and speaks quietly.

"So, would you like to know a little about Bachelor Number One," he asks.

I smile and lean in. "Spill it, man."

"Well, he must have noticed your demeanor when I made that comment in the store back there," Chris begins, tearing into a plastic wrapper and pulling out a plastic fork. "He started asking me about it. And I told him-..."

My eyes go wide.

"Chris, man! You didn't!"

"I told him..." Chris says, raising his eyebrows, as if he's scolding me for interrupting him. "...it wasn't my place to say. He cracked a joke about it. Yadda-yadda-yadda. I asked how he was liking it in Liberty and asked if he left a girlfriend behind when he moved."

"Yeah," I ask, leaning in closer.

"Well, he kind of laughed it off. Like the thought of him having a girlfriend was the most absurd thing he's ever heard. When I asked him what was so funny about having a girlfriend, he got pretty fidgety and nervous. And that's when you came over," he says.

"So, what do you think," I ask him. "You think he might be..."

"I'm sort of leaning towards gay, man. The rest is up to you, bro. Talk to him. No harder than me talking to a girl," he says.

I give him a look as if to say, "Really, dude? Really?"

The thought that Ben might actually be gay, and from what Chris tells me, it sounds hopeful, makes me smile. I still have a huge, dopey smile on my face as Ben approaches the table. He stands at the end of the table and looks from Chris to me, almost as if he's deciding who to sit next to.

Finally he sets his tray down next to mine and sits down next to me. I feel Chris' foot nudge mine under the table as he looks at me with a smile on his face.

"What'd I miss," Ben asks, noticing Chris' shit-eating grin.

God, Chris. Is subtlety not in your repertoire?

"Oh, nothing," Chris says. "I'll be right back. Gotta' drain the main vein."

He gets up from the table and heads over to the restrooms.

"So, what'd you end up getting," I ask Ben.

"Guess I followed suit. Opted for some Panda Express, as well," he says.

He begins unwrapping the fork from the plastic sleeve. It skips from his hand and falls into the space between us in the booth. Acting on instinct, I go to grab it for him. Not realizing how quick he was to react, by the time I go to grab it, his hand is already around the fork and my hand wraps around his.

I don't immediately pull my hand away, like I would in a situation such as this. It feels so right, my hand on his hand, his touch. He doesn't pull away either.

I look down at my hand on his then look up at him. His eyes are already on mine. His eyes dart back and forth from my left eye to my right eye.

I can tell then that he feels something, too. He smiles at me and I smile back. Just then, Chris returns. We instinctively flinch - me letting go of his hand, his hand coming back up from the bench.

"Whew! Much better," Chris says.

He sits down and begins digging in to his meal. I guffaw at Chris.

"Jeez, dude. You ever think about chewing your food before swallowing it whole," I ask.

He flips me off and continues eating. Suddenly, I realize that Ben has scooted in closer to me. The sides of our thighs touching, he's sitting so close.

My heart kicks up a beat, not believing what I'm about to do.

"Don't do it, Blake. Don't do anything stupid," says one voice.

"You'd be stupid NOT to do it, Blake," says the other.

I reach under the table with my right hand and find his left hand resting on his thigh, palm up - like he is waiting for it. I slide my hand on top of his and interlock our fingers.

I look at him, he doesn't look back. But, under the table, I feel him gently squeeze my hand and feel his thumb slowly graze back and forth over my thumb.

And right then and there, everything feels right. Things make sense. I squeeze his hand back.