He blinked and met Tristan’s eyes. “N-no. I’ll be okay, I think.” He wanted to stay like this with Tristan touching him. Uncertainty spread over Tristan’s face, but he didn’t remove his hand. Every nerve ending prickled under Sean’s skin, and he couldn’t recall the last time a simple touch had rendered him incapable of breathing. God, he wanted to kiss him so bad, he physically ached. His lashes fluttered, and Tristan cursed.
“Shit. We should go home and put some ice on it, and then you should rest.” Tristan put an arm around his waist. “Is that okay? Can you stand? I won’t let go. I promise.”
“Yeah. Not gonna argue.” He had to restrain himself from snuggling and nuzzling into Tristan’s solid chest. Good thing they’d picked the courts only a few blocks away.
When they entered the apartment, Sean was surprised to find Tristan steering him toward the bedroom instead of the sofa. “Uh, it’s not my week.”
Still holding him, Tristan gave him a funny look. “I know. But you need to be comfortable. It’s not like I’m getting in there with you.”
“You could.”
Sean meant it as a joke, but he couldn’t help his mind running wild at the image of him and Tristan in bed together. His heart pounded as Tristan’s smile faded, replaced by a dark intensity that gave Sean goose bumps.
But all Tristan said was, “Let’s get you into bed. I’ll bring the ice.”
Tristan left after helping him lie down, and Sean wondered if he’d imagined Tristan’s fingers brushing his shoulder.
“I feel like an idiot,” he muttered upon Tristan’s return with an ice pack and painkillers.
“Nah. Trust me, I know how you feel. I’ve had to chase suspects who stopped short to wallop me in the face so hard, I thought my teeth cracked. I learned never to get that close after the first time.”
Sean swallowed the pills. “I know it was stupid to say it was cool, but you must’ve seen some wild things being undercover. What was the strangest thing you ever had to do?”
An almost wistful expression crossed Tristan’s face. “I was once a male exotic dancer.”
In the middle of swallowing his Motrin, Sean choked and wheezed, the pill getting stuck in his throat before he gulped the rest of the water. “What? Are you kidding me?”
The mattress dipped as Tristan sat on the edge of the bed. “Who would joke about that? I worked in a club as part of an undercover operation to scout for human-trafficking victims. I was there for over a year, dancing three to four times a week.” His eyes twinkled. “Made some damn good tips too.”
“I’ll bet you did,” Sean murmured. “Were you…I mean, did you have to, uh, strip or do lap dances? That kind of stuff?”
And if you did, why the hell did I miss out on that?
“No lap dances. That wasn’t something I was willing to do. Even for the force.” Tristan huffed out his laughter, his long hair waving around his face. “I wore a mask and a cape, and I’d strip down to this rhinestone jockstrap. Who knew they made shit like that? Uncomfortable as hell.”
Oh, Sean knew about them. And thinking of Tristan wearing one was enough to fulfill his fantasies for the next month.
Sean lowered his lashes, trying not to stare at Tristan’s crotch. He grew weak, not from the knock to his face, but from the thought of Tristan all on display. “I’ll bet,” he said faintly. “Did you find anything?”
“No. Luckily, they were totally legit. The owner was a little odd, but a father figure to all the men. He even helped people get into rehab, and then hired them or found them jobs. Turns out, they were a nice group of guys who ended up all coupled off. Kind of funny to watch it happen.”
“So they never figured out you were a cop? When you left, you just walked out and never saw them again?” His cheek hurt, and he could feel it had become swollen. When he touched it, Tristan’s brows drew together in a frown.
“Keep the ice on it so it doesn’t bruise too bad. And yeah. I was there for over a year but kept to myself. The guys were friendly enough, but I didn’t want to get involved in their personal lives or take away their work. For them, dancing was their only means of income. When the investigation proved all was kosher, I gave my notice, and that was it. I don’t think they ever knew who I really was. Guess I was pretty much a loner.”
“Some things never change, huh?”
He’d meant it lightly, but Tristan rose to his feet. “I’d better let you rest.” The door closed behind him, and Sean cursed and got to his feet to follow him.
Tristan was at the sink, pouring himself a glass of water.
Sean circled the island. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just that you’ve been here all this time, and it’s kind of hard not to notice you haven’t had any visitors or talked to anyone.”
Tristan drained his glass, the strength of his tanned throat mesmerizing Sean as he swallowed. “I grew up in a small town upstate where no one ever left. But me. I hated it, and when I graduated from high school, I left as fast as I could. My closest friend—my only friend—was my partner, and he died.”
As an extremely social person, Sean couldn’t understand the concept of only having one friend, although he might need to rethink that theory, as everyone he’d considered himself close to had not only disappointed him in his hour of need but hadn’t called him to see how he’d made out after the storm. Aside from Charlotte, he was as alone as Tristan.
“Maybe you’re the smart one,” he mused. “Growing up, I thought if I had a lot of school friends and showed I was popular, it would make my foster parents want to keep me.” The memories came flooding back, how he was so proud to show he could fit in, but in the end, they never kept him. He was too wild, they said. Too unmanageable. And away he went until someone else took him in.
