Some Assembly Required (16 page)

He looked at it for another long moment before smoothing out the wrinkles and slipping it back over his head.

Patrick splayed out on his MILAN bed as the living customers shuffled around him. Lost in his own world, he tapped his pen on the crossword booklet. He had already done six of them. One more would get him just enough in the zone to face another day of the usual Impressions. The usual bullshit drama. The usual sameness of everything. And then check out, go to bed, and take it fresh in the morning.

He folded the book back on itself, cracking the spine.

“Ten across. Devoted.” He read the clue out loud as he rolled to his back. He quickly scribbled in his answer. “Doggedness.”

A customer crouched over the bed and flicked over the MILAN price tag. “Oh look,” she said happily. “Won’t it be perfect in the guest bedroom?”

Her bright-eyed girlfriend wandered over. “It’ll be an adventure to get it through the front door.”

The young woman frowned. “You’re right…. Maybe we should keep looking?”

This time Patrick didn’t even have to try to ward customers away from his bed. He personally saw to it that the MILAN line was the worst seller in their CASA. No matter what the managers had done, no one would buy any MILAN products. He smirked with the passing thought and crossed his legs.

He pondered the next clue. “Ekindu’s Friend.” A moment passed. “Gilgamesh.”

Patrick ran his tongue over his bottom lip, and the prickle of a memory made his stomach clench. The feel of Benji’s mouth on his invaded his thoughts before he could shut it out. Fucking idiot. Taking on Jabba didn’t even get his head back in the game.

Patrick dropped the crossword booklet over his face to block out the overhead fluorescent lighting. He couldn’t avoid Benji forever. That was rich.
Forever
. Even being around Benji ground his sharp wit into infantile putty.

Karin had teased him he was going soft. Who the fuck was he? This wasn’t junior high. This wasn’t passing love notes asking for confirmation of feelings by circling yes or no.

Patrick grunted as more customers muttered about buying his MILAN bed and deciding against it. Why couldn’t he be a seventeen-year-old acne-ridden teenager secretly sneaking peeks into
Tiger Beat
at the grocery store again? He’d take his crush on Val Kilmer to his grave, but even that embarrassment was infinitely preferable to crushing on Benji.

He snorted against the crossword pages. This whole situation proved if there was a God, he was a comedian.

“I need your assistance in Kitchens.” Karin said over him.

Patrick lifted one of the open halves of the book off his face and narrowed his eyes.

“I’m off the clock,” he muttered.

Karin tossed her head. “You’re dead. Time doesn’t matter.”

He answered her witty retort with a middle finger.

She tapped her foot. “We have a situation that I need your particular expertise for.”

Patrick sighed and cast the puzzle book aside. He peeled himself off his bed just as a customer lay in his spot, testing the MODENA mattress.

He growled under his breath. “That’s my fucking bed.”

Karin clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, big guy.”

Patrick went along with Karin’s nudging. “Fine. Show me the drama.”

“Who said anything about drama?” Her flats made a soft shuffle across the tile thoroughfare. The customers were emptying out for the night, and the crowds thinned to a trickle and then nothing.

Patrick scratched at the scruff on the back of his neck. “You did say—”

“Expertise.” Karin circled around him. “What’s gotten into you? Are you feeling all right? You should have healed up from your scuffle by now.”

Scuffle. Ha. It had been an all-out brawl. Trust Karin to underplay things.

“I’m fine,” Patrick lied. He stood straighter, and a shock of pain stabbed into his ribs. He slapped his hand over his chest, trying to ease it away. “Fuck.”

“Jabba took it out of you, didn’t he?” Her tone was irritatingly casual.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle. Nothing like saving an Impression from Wallville.” He shot her a glare.

“And crashing a car into the lobby.”

He smirked. “Cool, right?”

“You and I have different definitions of cool.”

“Smile, Karin. It might warm that withered-up thing you call a va—”

He blinked and she was nose to nose with him. “What were you about to say?”

“Heart. Warm your
heart
.”

She stepped back and fixed him with a dour look. “Uh-huh.”

The lights dimmed around them as CASA officially closed for the night. CASA became his fortress of solitude when the customers left. But there hadn’t been much solitude for him since Benji first walked through those doors and into Patrick’s afterlife. Why did Benji have to be his type? He cursed himself. Why couldn’t he have been an Impression that Patrick could guide into moving on? Then he’d have taken care of business in the shower like usual and gone about his hereafter. It was a puzzlement that they had to retrain themselves to engage the senses, but sex drive never faded, even in death. But the shower hadn’t been as tempting—or fulfilling—of late. Damn Benji.

They slipped around the divider into one of the simulated kitchen layouts, and Patrick froze.

Benji stood across the kitchen with Agnes at his side.

Patrick clenched his jaw as Benji turned his gaze to the floor.

An opulent table spread of steaming meatballs, gnocchi, and sweet tomato jam sat between them on the butcher-block bar. The scent of espresso wafted up from the tiramisu that sat ready on dessert plates, and Coke bubbled in wine glasses. Overhead, the FIORE pendant lamp twinkled like a dandelion puff sprinkled with dew. Opulent was stretching it a bit. As opulent as one could be with budget-conscious dishes and flatware, at least.

He shook his head at the lamp. He’d dissuaded a perky coed from buying one earlier today. The Impression who’d told him it would end up killing her boyfriend had been ridiculously good-looking, but all Patrick had been able to think about was how his hair wasn’t quite as shiny as Benji’s.

“What the fuck is going on?” Patrick grunted. Benji was the last person he wanted to see. Which would be impossible given the close quarters.

“The situation,” Karin said with a beaming smile that seemed to suck the joy out of him. “Handle it.”

Benji ducked as Agnes whispered something in his ear—probably the same lame-ass pep talk he’d just gotten from Karin, but creepier and more cryptic—before she patted him on the back and promptly disappeared. Benji stepped forward hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure of his welcome. And damn if that didn’t send a twinge through the heart Patrick wished he didn’t have. He didn’t want Benji to be afraid of him.

Patrick came closer. He might as well have been stepping into a boxing ring. He followed Benji’s lead, and they took their seats at the same time. Another bolt of pain sizzled through Patrick’s nerves. It had never taken him this long to recover from his excursions to the garage, but he had never taken on Jabba on his own before. The guilty memory made him break out in a sickly shiver.

Benji pursed his lips and was about to speak when Patrick headed him off at the pass.

“Just getting old and feeble,” he said with a grin.

“And senile,” Benji said with a slight frown. “You lost your mind taking on the Weople.”

“I was chasing my marbles.” Patrick rubbed at his ribs before settling. He glanced at Benji, noting his soft smile. Patrick fought through the flustered feeling by clearing his throat.

He couldn’t mistake the genuine concern that twisted Benji’s adorable features. “How are you feeling?”

“Like death warmed over, thanks.” Patrick chuckled humorlessly.

Benji furrowed his brows. “That’s not even close to funny.”

“Oh, and I’m sure you’re hilarious.” Patrick eyed the elegant meal between them, plated on cheap minimalist flatware.

“I’ll have you know I’m quite funny.”

“Looking,” Patrick slipped in at just the right moment.

Benji snorted. “We’re resorting to that?”

“Well, you are a kindergarten teacher.” Patrick grabbed his fork and then scooted a meatball across his plate.

Benji looked down at his plate. “I was.”

“You are,” Patrick said firmly. “You are and you always will be.”

Benji cracked a slow smile, and Patrick tightened his grip on his fork.

“That’s possibly the nicest thing you’ve said to me,” Benji said.

Patrick speared a meatball and took a bite. “What?” he said as he chewed. “I didn’t say anything.” He pointed with his fork over his shoulder. “There’s an Impression over there mumbling to himself.”

“H-how are you d-doing th-that?” Benji’s voice cracked and his eyes rounded.

“Making words?” Patrick took another bite. “Come on, cupcake. They covered the five senses in kindergarten. Next to head, shoulders, knees, and toes.”

“Eating.” Benji pointed. “Can you even taste it?”

Patrick tilted his head and glanced at his fork. He then speared another savory meatball with a swirl of sweet tomato jam. He scrutinized Benji as he took another bite. “Of course I can.”

Benji gaped at him and Patrick moaned around the mouthful of savory meatball, gnocchi, and sweet tomato jam. He reveled in Benji’s cheeks burning a bright red and watched him squirm in his seat.

Patrick swallowed and put his fork down. He swished the Coke in the wine glass and then took a sip. “Ah. Refreshing.” He set down the glass and resumed eating.

Karin and Agnes had spared nothing in the romantic setup, Patrick noted as he scanned the dimmed showroom. Trying to get Patrick in the mood for Bella Notte or some such level of BS. It wasn’t going to work. He would see to that. He had broken too many rules with Benji, and he had to set his limits.

“I got a question for you,” Patrick said, muffled by his meatball. “Do you think every store or restaurant has its own version of purgatory? What do you think is over in the Sacratomato Pizza Kitchen down the street? Man, I used to love that place. What would the demons be there? I mean, there’s the Weople here. The SPKers have to be something, you know?” He swallowed and then sipped his Coke.

“Patrick.”

Patrick nearly spat his Coke. He’d never heard his name sound like that before, infused with want and jealousy and a thousand other things he didn’t have a name for. Benji sounded wrecked.

He quirked a brow at Benji, hoping against hope that his face was blank and didn’t show how much Benji’s voice had affected him.

“Teach me,” Benji said, his eyes still wide and his gaze locked on Patrick’s mouth.

Whoa. Hello, loaded comment. Patrick cleared his throat.

“Teach you what?” he asked.

Well. One loaded comment deserved another.

“How to eat.”

Patrick’s stomach clenched as his mind dive-bombed into the gutter. He fought for a smooth recovery. He ran a hand over his face, and took a breath.

They locked gazes, and Patrick stubbornly set his jaw. If he was going there, he was all in.

After taking a glistening meatball on his fork, he held it out across the table. “Open wide and say ‘ah.’”

Benji wasn’t going to take the bait. There was no way. Patrick was sure of it.

He wasn’t prepared when Benji leaned forward and parted his lips in that perfect seductive pout.

Stop
, Patrick mentally screamed, cursing himself instead of Benji.

He threw the fork aside and shot from the table. Benji sat back, his mellow expression making Patrick angry. Anger was good. It was a hell of a lot more familiar than the tenderness from a minute ago.

Benji thought he had him all figured out, did he? He thought he could predict Patrick’s mood swings and hang on for the ride? Well, good for him. Because Patrick would be the first to admit that even he didn’t have a backstage pass to whatever the fuck was going on with him right now, so fuck Benji very much if he thought he did.

“This is how it’s going to be, huh?” Patrick growled as a jolt of hot pain raced down his spine. He gnashed his teeth and knitted his brows. In all of his bravado, his body cruelly reminded him he had gotten his ass kicked by a guy on a motor scooter.

“I don’t know. You tell me,” Benji said, unimpressed, and he crossed his arms. “You were the one going there.”

“Fine,” Patrick snapped and flung the dishes off the table with a vicious swing of the arm. “Let’s go. Right now. Here.”

Benji maintained his unimpressed expression. “Mmm-hmm.”

“Oh come
on
.” Patrick said, reaching for the waistband of his jeans. “Just two dudes fucking like jackrabbits in the middle of a CASA showroom. Takes fucking in public to a whole new level.”

Benji frowned. “Fucking? Is that what you think this is?”

Patrick had his fingers at the button and fly of his jeans but hesitated. “That’s exactly what this is.”

“This?” Benji gestured between the two of them. “
This
? I’m stuck here for….” He fell silent and then shrugged. “All eternity or whatever, and you think this is a momentary thing?”

“Work with me, cupcake.”

“Benji. My name is Benji.” He glared at Patrick. “And I’m not going to be just another notch in your MILAN bed.”

Patrick retreated to the kitchen counter and leaned back against the fake sink. Curling his fingers under the lip of the counter, Patrick clawed his fingernails into the particleboard. He couldn’t win anymore. And he had never been the most gracious of losers.

Benji appeared in front of him, his energy radiating off his smaller form into Patrick’s tense frame.

Patrick couldn’t look at him. But it was no use when he felt Benji’s warm fingers across his cheek. He swallowed, and Benji leaned closer. Benji had him powerless. All of his aggression, his taunts, his jabs, anything to push Benji away, were for nothing.

Benji pressed against him, his head to Patrick’s chest.

They stood in silence. Patrick maintained his grip on the counter.

Benji pulled away and every part of Patrick screamed for him to come back. But when he did return, Benji tilted his chin up and placed the softest of kisses on Patrick’s mouth.