The Virgin (Breakfast at Bennett's Book 1), page 2
Spencer helped out a couple of the students who were still working on their projects while the rest of the class set about sweeping the sawdust up, putting the scrap wood away, and stacking their half-finished projects on the shelves at the back of the class. With only minutes to the bell and a shop that was as clean as it ever got, Spencer dismissed his students a few minutes early.
He was gathering his belongings off his desk when he sensed a familiar presence. Turning, he found Jonah lingering in the doorway. His messenger bag was slung over his shoulder, his hair looking slightly more rumpled than usual.
“Tough week?” Spencer asked. He quickly checked his desk again to make sure he’d grabbed everything. He still had to lock the shop up, but he’d do that on his way out.
“I had to cover Paul’s history class last period during my free block.”
“You look like they put you through it.” Spencer strode over to the door where Jonah waited for him. He flicked off the lights and pulled the door shut. After making double sure that it was locked, he set off for the parking lot. Most days both of them ended up staying after class to get marking done, or in Spencer’s case, he sometimes had students come in to work on extra credit stuff. A couple of his kids had even volunteered to help other kids get their projects done.
Spencer had put weeks of work into securing funding for the shop programs because they weren’t exactly seen as essential. There had been a big push in the past to steer kids toward math and science, toward university degrees and doctorates, but the world needed people who worked with their hands. It needed carpenters and plumbers. People who brought other people’s visions to life and built homes.
One thing that Spencer had witnessed in his years teaching shop was the wonders it could do for a kid’s self-esteem. There were tons of kids who struggled with the academic subjects but excelled in his classes. He did his best to make sure all his kids had a good time in his class, but he had a soft spot for the ones who struggled elsewhere.
“Are we still on for dinner tomorrow?” Spencer asked.
“I have ribs marinating, so you and Damon better show up or I’ll die of indigestion.” Jonah was a hell of a cook. His entire family were kitchen gods, probably because they grew up in their dad’s diner. While Jonah and Colby had gone on to other things, Taylor, the youngest brother, still worked the diner with their dad Ethan. Spencer usually swung by there once or twice a month for breakfast.
“What are you doing tonight?” Spencer asked Jonah as they stepped into the parking lot. The warm breeze danced across his skin, reminding him there were a handful of months left in the school year. Spencer couldn’t wait for summer break to throw himself fully into his projects.
“Nothing much.” Jonah stuffed his hand in his pocket and pulled his keys out. “I’m probably going to stay up late grading papers and watching bad television.”
“Or you could watch good television.”
“That’s boring.” Jonah laughed. He turned to Spencer and, for a moment, Spencer thought he wanted to say something, but then the look disappeared and Jonah’s walls went back up. Even though Jonah was Spencer’s best friend and his colleague, there were things about him that Spencer didn’t know. Most of the time he was okay with that, but Jonah had seemed unsettled lately. If Jonah would open up to him, maybe Spencer could help, but unless Jonah was honest with him, there was nothing he could do.
“I need to get going, but I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” Once he had Spencer’s agreement, Jonah got in his car like his ass was on fire. Spencer watched him go before getting into his own vehicle. Eventually Jonah would crack, and Spencer would be there when all the stuff he’d been bottling up spilled out.
Spencer lived in a small house with a big shop on the outskirts of town. He was lucky to own anything, let alone a space that let him do what he loved, but it had been his grandparents’ place. His grandma had loved to garden, and though Spencer didn’t have a green thumb, he did his best to keep the yard tidy and the gardens from being overrun with weeds.
The shop wasn’t enormous, but it was big enough for two vehicles to park inside, not that he ever used it for that purpose. It was where he did all his wood and metal work at home. Lately he’d been more into his metal projects.
Spencer made a quick detour into the house to check on the food he’d started in the crockpot that morning. The kitchen had been updated in the nineties, which meant it was out of date again, but Spencer didn’t care much about aesthetic. Besides, he loved the wood cabinets and the beige tiled floor. The house had a million memories inside it. His grandparents had practically raised him, after all. It was his grandpa who’d taught him how to weld and how to run a chop saw. Everything he knew, he learned from him. Grabbing a couple of beers from the fridge, he headed out to his shop.
When his grandpa was still around, bless him, he’d been a packrat. And what he lacked in organizational skills, he’d made up for with enthusiasm and a memory like a steel trap. He could find a lug nut, a wrench, or a bent nail in any heap of junk. Clearing through it after his passing had been somewhat nightmarish, but the end result was a shop with industrial strength shelves from floor to ceiling along two of the walls. There was a workbench that ran the length of a third wall, and the fourth wall was taken up by garage doors. In the summer, Spencer often left all the doors open and worked with the fresh air blowing in. In the winter, he kept everything shut tight and had a couple of space heaters he used to keep himself from freezing to death.
Spencer popped the top off his first beer and leaned against the counter, staring at his current project. Right now, it was little more than a pile of chains, but eventually it would be a bear. He wanted to build the body out of thick chains, then add some texture in with smaller links. He ended up selling most of his pieces, but depending on how this one turned out, he might move it to the front yard and keep it there.
A knock on his shop door startled him, and he frowned as he crossed the floor to answer. He wasn’t entirely shocked to find Greta standing there. As an artist who specialized in upcycling, she often passed him bits she didn’t have a use for but thought he might be interested in.
“Come on in, Greta. You want a beer?” Spencer motioned to the extra one he’d brought from the house.
“No, thanks, I can’t stay. I was cruising the curbs this morning, seeing what little treasures I could find, and I found this box of pop can tabs.” Greta set the box down on the bench and flipped it open.
“There has to be thousands in there.”
“Right? Whoever started this collection was committed. Who knows what they were going to do with them. I have too many projects going right now, but I thought maybe you could use them, or you could take them to the school if you had an idea for one of your classes.” Greta smoothed her hands down the front of her paint-splattered overalls. She’d always sort of reminded him of one of those eccentric characters who were only supposed to exist in books. Her hair was a deep auburn, and the braids she kept it in were shockingly thick. When they first met, they’d flirted with the idea of dating, but that’s as far as it went. Their chemistry was limited to friends only, which suited Spencer just fine.
“I have no idea what I’m going to do with these, but I’ll think of something.” Spencer tucked them away on a shelf under the bench. “Did you want to check out my pile of castoffs?”
Greta’s eyes shimmered with delight. “Do you have any old wooden ladders? I’ve been trying to get my hands on them.”
“I don’t, but I can keep an eye out for you.”
“Damn. It’s okay. I’m sure one will turn up. There’s a light fixture I’ve been wanting to make for the loft, is all.” Greta lived in a constant state of renovation and decorating. It wasn’t a surprise to Spencer anymore for Greta to announce that she’d redone this or that in her house. Apparently this year it was light fixtures.
“I’ll leave you alone now,” Greta said, making her way toward the door to let herself out.
“Thanks for the junk,” he said to her retreating form. Her laughter rang out as she pulled the door shut behind her.
Spencer finished his first beer and got ready to work on his sculpture. The pop can tabs were now a nuisance in the back of his mind. A gnat, buzzing around his brain, begging for an idea. He finished his second beer, then grabbed his helmet and his gloves and started welding the feet of the bear. They were the trickiest part of the whole thing. Even though they’d be welded to the steel plate, they had to be built well enough to withstand all the weight they’d eventually hold.
A person with more sanity might’ve crafted the bear to stand on four legs instead of two, but Spencer wanted the sculpture to be as imposing and intimidating as a real bear.
He’d made okay progress when he stopped for a late dinner. Once the chicken breast in cream cheese with bacon was all shredded up, he added cheese and ate it in a bun. It wasn’t anywhere close to what Jonah could do, but it filled the hole.
As if he’d magicked him out of thin air, Spencer’s phone rang with Jonah’s name flashing up on the screen. Spencer answered with his mouth full of food.
“Hey, Jonah.”
“Spence—” Jonah sniffled.
The hair on the back of Spencer’s neck stood on end. Something was wrong with Jonah—he heard it in his voice, broken and soft, and so devoid of anything that resembled the person he usually sounded like.
“Jonah, what’s wrong? Where are you?”
“I’m at—” Jonah must have covered the phone because everything went muffled for a moment before he returned. “I’m at Mystic. I’m stranded. Can you come get me?”
Spencer was halfway to the door, shoving his feet in his shoes before Jonah had finished asking. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. What happened?”
“I’d rather not—at least not right now. Okay? Please, Spence.”
“Okay, I’m on my way.” Spencer climbed in his truck.
“Thanks.”
Before Spencer could tell Jonah to stay on the line, he hung up.
“Fuck.” Spencer tossed his phone down on the seat and buckled up. His truck roared to life and he backed out of the driveway, wondering what the hell had happened to strand Jonah at a place like Mystic. There were definitely better places to go than that. Like The Anchor. Spencer had been to Mystic a time or two, usually because that’s where you went when you had an itch that needed to be scratched.
Ice flowed through Spencer’s veins at that thought, and it was quickly followed by molten hot fury. If someone hurt Jonah, they were dead meat. He’d worry about that later, though. First, he had to get his friend.
CHAPTER 3
JONAH
The night hadn’t started out as an absolute disaster, but it had quickly ended up that way, and Jonah had no one to blame but himself. What made him think that he could pick some random torso off an app and hook up with him in a bathroom stall that smelled vaguely of cum, piss, and god knows what else? Certainly not cleaner. The last time the bathroom had been scrubbed was probably sometime before the pandemic, and it showed.
To be fair, Jonah had thought they’d drink and dance, and maybe that would loosen him up a bit. But soon enough, his date—for lack of a better word—had followed him into the bathroom.
Jonah had tried to go along with it, but the minute the guy latched onto his throat and started sucking up a bruise, he’d grabbed Jonah’s very not interested dick. Jonah froze, horrified beyond measure and he worried that his date… Brett? Brent? Brant? Whoever… might be turned off. If anything, Jonah’s date took his lack of interest as a challenge.
“I can get you there. Don’t worry, baby.”
That’s when Jonah got the full-body ick. He shuddered from head to toe and shoved his handsy date off of him. A flicker of rage crossed the guy's face, and Jonah thought for sure he was going to get his face smashed in.
“Whatever. Fucking psycho.” His date spewed the words with as much venom as Jonah deserved and stormed out of the bathroom.
The whole encounter only lasted long enough to give Jonah what turned out to be the world's fastest, ugliest hickey known to man and a terrible case of the shakes. He might have made it home unscathed, relatively speaking, but he’d taken his credit card out last night to purchase some school supplies online and had forgotten to put it back in his wallet. The pittance of cash he had in his wallet wouldn’t get him around the block, let alone across town to where he lived.
All of this because he’d wanted to get it over with. It hardly seemed worth it.
His virginity had become an albatross around his neck, and he wanted it gone. Maybe he should pay someone. He counted his available cash and grimaced. He never kept much on him and that was his downfall. No credit card. No cash. No dignity.
He made it out of the bar and sucked in a lungful of air that didn’t stink like sweat and stale booze. Jonah pulled his phone out and called Spencer.
He managed not to cry, but it was a near thing. He was not sober enough to hold his shit entirely together and asking Spencer for help had fractured what was left of his decorum. The silver lining that he held onto was the fact that he had Spencer in his life. Spencer was his rock. His anchor point.
Jonah would rather walk home than ask either Taylor or Colby to come get him. And hell would freeze over before he’d get his dad to come get him. He hadn’t had to call his dad for a ride since he got his license when he was sixteen. Well, maybe a time or two after that, but Jonah always did his best not to bother his dad. He’d had enough on his plate being a single dad to three boys and a business owner.
Spencer’s familiar truck pulled up to the curb after an eternity of Jonah standing outside the bar collecting looks that ranged from amusement to pity. Jonah climbed in the passenger seat and tugged his buckle on as Spencer pulled away from the curb.
“Thanks,” Jonah said after a few blocks. He appreciated the lack of questions, even though he knew Spencer must be exerting legendary restraint.
“Jo–”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” The lie was a boulder in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t unlike that feeling he got when he had the flu and knew he had to get sick. It was inevitable. And once he was, he would feel better. All Jonah had to do was open his mouth and tell Spencer, but he didn’t want to admit how pathetic he was.
“Did you want to see the progress I made on my new piece?” Spencer asked instead of prying.
Jonah almost wished he’d have pried.
He smoothed his hands down the legs of his too-tight jeans. “Yeah, that’d be great.”
“Greta came by earlier today.”
“Oh, God. What did she bring you this time?” Greta was always bringing Spencer little treasures. Sometimes big treasures. They had a unique bond and sometimes Jonah wished he did something crafty so he’d have another way to bond with Spencer.
“A box full of pop can tabs. There has to be like a million of them.”
“Where the hell did she find that?”
Spencer shrugged. “Where does she find anything?”
Spencer peered at him from the corner of his eye. Eventually the questions would come, and Jonah had to prepare himself for it. At least he was away from the bar now and feeling steadier than he’d been earlier.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” Spencer asked as they pulled into his driveway. “Because I can still turn around and go wring his neck.”
Jonah’s stomach fluttered uncomfortably at the thought of sweet Spencer going after anyone in a violent manner. “I’m fine, Spencer. The only thing hurt is my stupid pride.”
And his dignity. And his ego. Probably his heart and his self-esteem. The list went on, but physically he was unharmed.
“You know the door code to get into the shop. I’ll grab us some water and I’ll be right there. Do you need food?”
“Just the water.”
Spencer gave Jonah a strange look, then nodded and headed into the house. Jonah wandered out back and punched the door code into the keypad and let himself into the shop. He never got over how metallic the shop smelled. Like copper and vaguely of grease, like the scent of engine oil had made itself a permanent part of the concrete floor.
It never ceased to amaze him that Spencer could look at a pile of chain, for example, and say, “Wow, I can make that into a ten-foot-tall bear.”
He’d made a full suit of armor once out of car parts and other scrap metals. It wasn’t a proper suit of armor like a medieval knight would have worn, but rather an interpretation of armor. Something that looked like a Transformer had a baby with a scrap heap. It was impressive.
Jonah sank into one of the chairs in the corner that Spencer kept for when he had company or when he was working on something that allowed him to sit down. It also wasn’t unheard of for Jonah and Damon to invade Spencer’s space when he disappeared for too long.
Spencer entered the shop carrying three bottles of water and a couple bags of chips. He pulled one of the other chairs over and sat down on it, handing Jonah two of the bottles of water. “Hydrate.”
“Yes, Dad.” Jonah cracked the first bottle open and made himself drink half before stopping.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Spencer tore a bag of chips open and held it out to Jonah. “Sour cream and cheddar.”
“Do I have to?” Jonah grabbed a handful of chips and stuffed them in his face. The effects of the alcohol he'd drunk was quickly fading, leaving him feeling wrung out.
“You should at least tell me if you’re okay with how you got that giant hickey on your neck.”
Jonah’s jaw dropped and he reached up, covering the hickey on his neck. “Shit.”
He’d somehow forgotten about his ugly-ass mark in his panic and his pity party. “It was consensual, I swear. I just…” Jonah sighed and let his hand drop away. “It’s pathetic and talking about it makes me feel even worse, so I don’t want to.”
He shoved another handful of chips into his mouth and washed it down with more water.
