Ben had always prided himself on being smooth, or at least not making a total fool of himself in social situations. But tonight? Tonight, he’d reached new heights of awkwardness, and even that felt like an understatement.

It started when he locked eyes with her across the bar—her, the woman who practically lit up the entire room the moment she walked in. She had an effortless kind of beauty, the sort that made him do a double-take. She seemed almost too perfect, like some goddess sent down to toy with mere mortals.

It hadn’t taken him long to strike up a conversation. He was good with words, smooth when he wanted to be. And for a moment, everything was going great. She laughed at his jokes, even touched his arm in that playful, almost flirtatious way that usually spelled success.

So, when he complimented her looks—specifically about how natural she looked—he thought he was being charming, smooth even. But the flicker of something in her eyes told him otherwise. It wasn’t anger, not even hurt, just a subtle shift, like a quiet warning bell that he didn’t fully understand until she casually mentioned she was trans.

Ben's world tilted. It wasn’t that he had an issue with her being trans—not at all. But in that split second, his mind went into overdrive, overthinking every word he'd said. Had he made her uncomfortable? Had he come off like a jerk? Was that compliment he gave her earlier a backhanded one?

Panic flooded in. Fuck. He felt like an asshole.

He opened his mouth to say something—anything—to smooth things over, but his brain had checked out, leaving him standing there like an idiot. He replayed the last few minutes, cringing internally. It wasn’t that he cared she was trans. Hell, Ben didn’t give a damn about that. What mattered to him was how he might have made her feel.

“Hey, no, that’s cool,” he said finally, his voice lower now, more careful. “I—shit, i don’t have a problem with that. I just don’t want to come off like some jerk who didn’t know.”