Some Assembly Required Page 3

  Karin clasped a hand onto Patrick’s broad shoulder and then dug in her nails. “May I have a word with you?”

  “Anthropomorphic,” Patrick said without a blink.

  Benji drew his brows together. “…what?”

  Patrick winked at him. “Jeopardy! Clue of the Day.”

  Karin gnashed her teeth. “We need help with assembly.”

  The way she enunciated every syllable told Benji that Patrick had shirked his duty to sit here in the café and harangue him. Not that he wasn’t interesting, if not exactly welcome, company. But he didn’t want Patrick to get in trouble on his account.

  “Ah.” Patrick sighed but didn’t seem the slightest bit exasperated. “The Divorce Maker sample again, huh?”

  “Divorce… maker?” Benji asked. What kind of CASA product is that? CASA was a place of happiness, Italian Muzak, and affordable, delightful furniture.

  Patrick popped up from his chair and then spun it back around, tucking it into its proper place under the table. He knocked the table with two knuckles and nodded to Benji. “Be careful what you touch here in CASA. Can’t have you getting sucked into the black hole of rabid consumerism.”

  “Do you ever stop?” Karin asked as she pulled on Patrick’s wrist.

  Patrick relented and followed Karin’s lead. He made a sloppy two-finger salute behind him. “Be cool, soda pop. Don’t wander too far, Benji.”

  Looking down at his meatballs, Benji flushed. Even his name sounded like a thick innuendo in Patrick’s mouth. Benji swallowed. He was going to be a flustered mess in class tomorrow. He could only hope for some classroom drama to take his mind off the way Patrick’s faded jeans hung low on his hips and molded to his ass like a dream. Perhaps Kevin would stick bubblegum in Brittany’s hair again. A screaming five-year-old would be the perfect distraction.

  The few sentences they’d exchanged had been the best conversation Benji had had in weeks. Despite it being incredibly odd, he’d been energized just by talking with him. And it had nothing to do with Patrick’s ass. Or mostly nothing. Okay, maybe a little. But it had been significantly longer than weeks since Benji had been in the presence of something that delectable, and no one could blame a man for noticing.

  Benji watched the family of six gather up their trays and leave before he turned his attention back to his own table. There was a mostly empty plate of meatballs and a coffee that had long gone cold sitting in front of him. He didn’t remember ordering either of them, let alone eating.

  Come to think of it, he didn’t remember coming to CASA this morning, either. His restless sleep had caused him no shortage of weekday morning pain getting up for school, but this was the first time he’d found himself somewhere he had no recollection of going.

  God, hopefully he had driven safely.

  He looked down and wrinkled his nose when he saw something staining his pants. Benji brushed at it, but it was stuck on pretty well. He could get a napkin and clean it up later. Clearly he’d had a busy morning. Stained clothes and a shopping outing he didn’t remember?

  It must be Sunday. He’d planned to spend it at home catching up on some very important teacher work, aka cutting shapes out of construction paper and tidying supplies. Kindergarten teachers might not have a lot of grading to bring home, but that didn’t mean they had tons of downtime, either. He’d spent an increasing amount of time in his classroom during the evenings and weekends. One positive of his breakup with Charles was a spotlessly appointed craft wall. His Pinterest account was practically smoking from all the use it got these days.

  Maybe he’d come in today to get some more of those SCATOLA stacking boxes. He’d noticed he was out of the small ones when he organized his classroom art supplies Friday night. Most teachers booked it out of the building as fast as they could on Friday afternoons, which made it an optimal time to stick around and get stuff done without interruptions. At least, that was his story about why he worked most Friday nights, and he was sticking to it. But he wasn’t a total stick-in-the-mud. He’d skipped the paints and markers and spent most of the night cataloging his glitter supply in honor of it being Friday. Never let it be said that Benjamin Goss didn’t let loose on the weekend.

  The sauce on his plate had long since congealed into an unappetizing mess, and Benji was about to take his tray to the trash can when a CASA employee swooped in and took it for him. He thanked her, but she stared right past him, muttering about lazy people leaving messes for others to clean up.

  Apparently even CASA employees could have bad days. He didn’t see how, since it was one of the happiest places on earth, but Benji conceded he might feel differently if he worked here.

  He didn’t bother getting a cart, since that would only give him an excuse to stock up on more ridiculous things he didn’t need. He’d learned long ago that CASA was like a gas: it would expand to fit any space, so you had to limit how much opportunity you gave it. Going in with just a yellow shopping bag meant you could only buy what you could carry. Going in with a cart meant coming out with more things than a person could conceivably use in a lifetime. It was kind of like Costless in that respect.

  Benji stretched, moving his shoulders up and down and rotating his neck back and forth. There was definitely something off about him today, and not just that he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten to CASA in the first place. He hadn’t felt this stiff since the time he’d taken a drunken dare to climb the gigantic rock wall in the college rec center. He’d gotten up and down it without problem—a minor miracle—but when he’d woken up the next morning, he hadn’t been able to open his hands or lift his arms above his shoulders. He’d had to have his roommate help him wash his hair.

  Curiously, there wasn’t any pain. The stiffness in his joints and muscles was troubling, but he couldn’t have done anything too terrible to himself. He’d downed Advil like candy for the first few days after his rock-climbing fiasco, but the gentle stretches seemed to be working out the kinks this time. He rolled his shoulders again, luxuriating in the stretch. He sat up straighter, the aching soreness between his shoulder blades that had kept him hunched over fading. Maybe Patches was to blame. He wasn’t exactly tiny, and he pulled at his leash something awful. Benji indulged in one last shoulder stretch and stood up. If walking a dog could make him this sore, he really needed to work out more. The tiny gym in his apartment’s basement was damp and creepy, but he clearly needed to stop making excuses and get down there.

  He nearly ran into four people on the short walk from his table to the escalator, so he decided not to head downstairs to pick up a bag. The place seemed crowded, even considering it was a Sunday, and people were obviously harried and distracted. He’d just grab a bag from one of the displays around the showroom floor.

  An arm settled around his shoulders before he’d made it more than a few feet, startling him so much he stopped dead in the middle of the crowded aisle. People flowed like water around him, not even looking up to glare at him for his rudeness. It was bizarre.

  Benji craned his neck, scowling when he saw that the person who’d assaulted him was familiar. Sure, he’d spent a few minutes thinking about what it would be like to get Patrick’s hands on him, but not in the middle of a busy store where stopping unexpectedly could get you rammed with a cart at best, and taken out by a sale-crazed soccer mom at the worst.

  Patrick released him and offered him a shark-like smile. “What are you shopping for today?”

  Benji swallowed. What had he decided he’d come in for again? Storage boxes. Right.

  “Organizational stuff for my classroom,” he managed after a hard swallow to wet his dry throat. He glanced over at Patrick’s arm, torn between missing the heat and heft of having it around him and irritation that Patrick had accosted him like that. Irritation won out. “Do you commit felony assault on all of your customers, or am I just special?”

  Patrick’s grin didn’t dim in the slightest. “That was a misdemeanor at best,” he purred in a tone that had Benji blushing. P
atrick let out a delighted laugh. “Oh, you’re such an innocent one. This is going to be fun.”

  Benji swallowed again, not because of a dry throat this time but to make sure his voice didn’t break when he answered. Patrick was the most inappropriate person he’d ever met, and it was both terrifying and more than a little arousing. Benji definitely needed to get out more.

  “What’s going to be fun?” he asked, wary.

  “Why, being your personal shopper for the day, of course,” Patrick drawled. “Whatever did you think I meant?”

  Patrick’s gaze flicked up and down Benji’s body, and Benji’s cheeks flared hot again. He’d never been so blatantly checked out before. He couldn’t help but wonder what standard Patrick was using for comparison and whether he measured up.

  Benji shifted uncomfortably but didn’t back down. “I don’t need a personal shopper. I’m only here for some boxes, and then I’m heading home.”

  Patrick flinched but covered it up with a stretch. “That’s what they all say,” he muttered.

  Benji had no clue what he’d said that had upset Patrick. He felt a twinge of guilt at knowing that someone was hurting and not trying to help, but part of the new four-point plan for a happier life that he’d come up with while staring at his meatballs this morning was not getting involved in other peoples’ drama. And as cute as he was, Patrick had drama written all over him.

  Patrick’s sadness was fleeting, just like Benji suspected most of Patrick’s moods were.

  “Right. Well, first things first, let’s find you some new pants.”

  Benji frowned at him. “Why? Wait, CASA sells pants?”

  “No.”

  Patrick’s eyes were sparkling again, and Benji took a deep breath, figuring that overreacting was exactly what Patrick was hoping for. Instead, Benji sidestepped out of the main aisle to get away from the crowd of shoppers who seemed to be paying them no mind and held Patrick’s gaze, refusing to give Patrick the satisfaction of asking what he meant.

  It took a few seconds longer than Benji expected, but Patrick eventually caved.

  “We have a huge Lost and Found, which is where we’ll go get you some pants.” He looked Benji up and down and wrinkled his nose. “As to the why—because you smell like you rolled around in dog shit.”

  Benji looked down, a blush flaring up his neck. He’d noticed the stain earlier, but he hadn’t picked up on the odor until Patrick said something. Now it was all he could smell, mixing in the most putrid way with the perfumes and other scents wafting off the people walking by. His stomach rolled.

  He should just go home. But something was keeping him here—and it wasn’t just his growing attraction to the mercurial and mysterious Patrick. When Benji thought about leaving the CASA, he felt vaguely nauseated and panicky.

  Patrick was still watching him, his lips curved into a bit of a smirk like he was following along with Benji’s internal monologue. Benji shook his head, trying to dispel the wave of unease he’d felt when he’d thought about going home.

  “Fine,” he said shortly. “Show me this vast utopia of forgotten pants.”

  Patrick snorted and put his arm around Benji’s shoulders again. The skin of his forearm brushed against Benji’s neck, and a small sigh escaped his lips at the sensation. Patrick felt warm, and Benji realized he’d been shivering. The panicky feeling disappeared too, and his head felt clearer and less muddled.

  Patrick leaned in and pressed his lips close to Benji’s ear. “Easier to steer you this way,” he murmured.

  Walking against the arrows in the aisles was always a bad idea, but to Benji’s surprise no one snarled at them as they squeezed past, walking the wrong direction. Probably because he was being forcibly escorted by an employee, Benji reasoned.

  Patrick didn’t talk again until he’d ushered Benji into the employee locker room.

  “Sit,” he said, pushing Benji down onto a bench between two banks of lockers. He pointed at Benji, a stern look on his face. “Stay.”

  Benji huffed out a laugh. “I’m not a—” His throat closed, cutting him off with a choke. He shivered again, his head throbbing and his vision dimming for a second. There was some reason he couldn’t say the word, and it was a good one, he knew that somehow. But it floated at the edge of his consciousness, tantalizingly close but too far away for him to remember exactly what had happened to make him fear it.

  He blinked hard and the locker room swam back into focus, as did a concerned Patrick bent over in front of him, his hands a welcome, grounding heat on Benji’s forearms.

  “—dog,” Benji finished lamely. He swallowed, his throat still feeling a little constricted.

  Patrick reached up and tweaked him on the nose. “No, I can see that. No canines here, just us dudes. But you know, I’m not confirming or denying the rumor that there’s a schnauzer running around the warehouse.”

  He massaged Benji’s forearms with his large, warm hands, and Benji melted into the soothing contact. Patrick coughed and pulled away suddenly. Benji took it for what it was—the sound of someone trying to will away awkwardness. It was something he was intimately acquainted with himself. Patrick stood up and coughed again. Well. Maybe he was under the weather.

  “I’m going to run to the Lost and Found and get you some pants.”

  Benji didn’t bother to respond, since Patrick was already out the door. He’d been on the verge of saying he could go with him, but he was suddenly grateful to be sitting. A huge wave of exhaustion swept over him as soon as Patrick was out of sight. Benji wasn’t out of it enough to forget where he was, but he was tired enough not to care that curling up into a ball on a bench in the CASA employee locker room was outside his usual bounds of propriety.

  He felt a little better once he was prone, but the nausea had returned in full force. He breathed carefully through his mouth, even though the smell of his pants didn’t seem to be as strong anymore. He didn’t know how much time passed, but it couldn’t have been too long because no one else came in or out of the locker room while Benji waited for Patrick to return.

  Patrick bounded over to him, a pair of jeans and a familiar-looking striped yellow shirt slung over his arm. He wrapped his hand around the back of Benji’s neck, fingers gentle as they cupped around the curve. Benji instantly felt better, the dull thrum in his head easing and his vision clearing again. The nausea made it uncomfortable to sit up, but after Patrick guided him through a few deep breaths—while not letting go of his loose hold on Benji’s neck—Benji felt infinitely better.

  “I went ahead and brought you a shirt too, since yours is a bit worse for the wear. Get changed and we’ll head back up to the showroom. It’s busy today, lots to do.”

  Benji’s gaze flickered over Patrick’s matching yellow shirt. Shit. Benji kept forgetting that Patrick was at work.

  “You can head back up. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

  Patrick snorted dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “But you’ll make Karin mad.”

  “Pfft!” Patrick gave a dismissive toss of the head. “Karin’s always mad. That thing she does, where she curls her nose up like she’s smelled some bad fish? That’s normal.” He shook a finger. “Now, it’s Agnes you need to watch out for.”

  “Agnes?”

  He nodded. “Agnes.”

  “O… kay.”

  Nothing out of Patrick’s mouth seemed to make sense, but Benji was used to straying behind a bit. And Patrick’s hard-to-follow tangents were infinitely preferable to Charles’s long rants about the lax rules of organic certification. Patrick was a quirky one. And more than a little confusing. Benji wasn’t sure if he should give in to the way his pulse sped up every time Patrick smiled or if he should be running for the nearest exit….

  Benji stood up carefully, pleased when the movement didn’t bring back his headache. Patrick had the decency to look away while Benji pulled his pants off and slipped on the borrowed jeans, trying hard not to think about the fact that they w
ere very likely unwashed.

  “How does someone lose pants at a CASA, anyway?” he asked once he was dressed.

  “Well, Benji, when a man loves a woman—or another man, for that matter—very much….”

  Benji slapped his hands over his ears, laughing. “Never mind, never mind. I don’t want to know. I’d rather not think about these jeans having jizz stains on them somewhere.”

  Patrick grinned at him. “Those are new. I raided the uniform closet. They fit okay?”

  Benji looked down, surprised to find that they did actually fit very well. Patrick must have an eye for that sort of thing.

  “They’re great, thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it. I was tempted to grab you the pair of sweatpants Karin had to remove from one of the chandeliers in a display bedroom last week, but I decided to take the high road.”

  His smirk gave Benji the impression that Patrick wasn’t too familiar with the high road. “I appreciate your beneficence.”

  “Ooh, I bet you’re a Sunday New York Times crossword kind of guy with a vocabulary like that.”

  They were back on the showroom floor by now, and even though there were people flocking around the two other employees Benji could see, everyone was still leaving Patrick alone.

  “How’s this for a crossword clue? Five letters, iconic phrase from Lewis Carroll’s classic.”

  Patrick put a finger to his lips, considering. “Eat me? My dear Benjamin, I don’t think I’ve known you long enough for you to come on so strong. I’m not that kind of man, dear sir.”

  They wandered through the store, Benji listening raptly while Patrick regaled him with tales of the shenanigans he’d seen over his years at the CASA. Patrick made it sound like he’d been there forever, which made Benji wonder if his estimation of Patrick’s age was off or if Patrick had just started working there at a really young age. He couldn’t be more than early to midthirties, just like Benji. If he was, he’d aged incredibly well.

  Benji did a double take when he passed a kitchen display with a gorgeous subway tile backsplash and a starkly modern clock on the wall. “What time is it, anyway? Is that right?”