Ronny shrugged. “How should I know?”

Ben watched him intently. “You always know more than you should.”

“Well, how much did you really like her?”

“I thought I liked her all right.”

“Yeah?”

He snagged a leaf from a low hanging oak branch, shredding it piece by piece in his blunt, square fingers. “Hell, I hate talking about crap.”

“I’m not making you do it.”

They walked side by side under crepe myrtles showing new green leaves, almost glowing in the night. Some of the cockiness and swagger restored to Ben’s posture. He said, “God help me, I was never such a son of a bitch before.”

“Really?”

“I treat my girls pretty good. At least I think I do.”

“Please. You’ve gone through women like they were standing wheat.”

The moment turned, Ben holding some deep amusement close. “Whereas you …” He had a twisted grin, now; he had thought of something.

“Oh, I’m waiting for this.”

“I mean, fuck, Ronny, how can you tell a man is a virgin any fucking way? You were probably a virgin twenty times last month.”

Ronny fell speechless. He felt a flash of protest and then shook his head.

Ben chuckled, then got quiet. “I piss you off?”

“Of course not. You were always a fucking tease anyway.”

“Not me. I’m very direct.”

“And I never pretended to be a virgin more than five times in a month. So fuck you.”

He laughed. “You’re getting better at cussing, a little bit. Must be my influence.”

Inside the room Ben flung Ronny onto the bed and jumped onto him. The bed swayed some but held up. “Better not do that again. You got that beer?”

“Under the bed, if you didn’t just flatten it.”

“You mind?”

“I hear you’re a mean drunk.”

He reached for the warm beer, popped it, swallowed, leaned back against the wall. Putting the can to Ronny’s face, feeding Ronny beer as if he were an infant or a pet, all the while smirking. Ronny fought with the notion that he should refuse to drink, then gave in, so quickly he wondered whether there was anything he would refuse Ben. They did beer kisses and Ronny licked beer off Ben’s chest. Ben poured it, careful not to make a mess. “This is not a dorm, Ben,” he admonished himself, “this is that lady’s house. Delancey, right?”

“Mrs. Delacy.”

“That’s too long. What did you call her?”

“Miss Dee.”

“I like that. Miss Dee.” He swallowed with intense satisfaction, drank the rest of the can, reached for another one, fed more to Ronny. “I promise I’m not going to get stupid. I just feel so goddamn much better.”

They came into focus for each other, in the easy place, and the talk turned simple again. Ronny relaxed. “Do what you want, boss.”

“You’re being so fucking congenial I may have to slap the shit out of you.” He grinned, set down the beer, and pulled Ronny against him. “That was me speaking out of my darker nature.”