“You have the hots for him, don’t you?” Kressley returned with a bowl of salty snacks and another beer and placed both in front of him.
Startled, Sean blinked. “What? Who? And thanks.”
“Your roomie. You said he was an ex-cop. That’s my secret fantasy, being rescued by a handsome cop and having him handcuff me to the bed where we do all the dirty, nasty things to each other we want.”
Well, damn. He hadn’t even thought about that, but yeah. Being at Tristan’s mercy wouldn’t be a problem. He drank more beer.
“He’s good-looking but not gay. He’s just a loner. Doesn’t like people. Including me at the moment.”
“But you wouldn’t kick him out of bed, would you?”
All that strength and power inside him? That warm skin and silky hair sliding over his body? “I mean…no.”
“Mmhmm. That’s what I thought. Listen, honey. Some men don’t know what they want until it’s right in their face. If you want this Tristan, get naked, crawl into bed with him, and let nature do the rest.” Kressley winked and wiggled away to help the other customers.
Sean laughed to himself at the foolishness. He and Tristan barely spoke. Imagine him doing what Kressley said. Tristan would probably clock him in the face. He sighed and finished his second beer. Better slow down before he couldn’t find his way home.
“No sad faces here. Wanna dance?”
Looking up from his drink, Sean met the twinkling brown eyes of a man in a dark-gray suit.
Why the hell not?
“Sure,” he answered, sliding off his seat.
If Tristan didn’t want him, maybe someone else would.
Chapter Eight
Three beers in, Tristan’s mood grew foul as he imagined Sean cuddling up to some random guy. He knew what men wanted when they went to hang out.
To cruise.
Sex.
It had been more than a year since he’d been to a gay bar—the last time was some place in Soho when he’d been in London for about six months and couldn’t stand sitting around any longer, staring at the four walls of his one-room flat. He’d ventured out to a neighborhood bar, where he had a few beers before a man sat next to him and they struck up a conversation. His instincts hadn’t sent up any red flags, and Tristan had followed the man to his apartment, where they’d had desperate, greedy sex all night long. Tristan had needed to lose himself in simple physical pleasure, and Peter had given him that with his eager kisses and willing body. Peter confessed he hadn’t yet come out to anyone, and nights like these were the only times he could be himself.
They’d had a six-month affair, but when Peter shyly told him he’d fallen in love with him and would be willing to come out for their relationship, Tristan had to let him down easy and step away. Peter was a nice guy, but Tristan wasn’t in love with him—it was impossible to love someone else when you didn’t love yourself. And besides, Tristan wasn’t the right man for someone to change their life for. To fall in love with.
He should’ve gone with Sean and hung out. Then he could keep an eye on the situation, in case things got out of control. Sean might’ve spent his youth in the system, but a sweet innocence surrounded him, drawing people to his presence. It made him vulnerable to the predators out there looking for someone to gobble up. As a police officer and as a detective, he’d seen a lot of the worst of humanity, and though Sean was a thirty-two-year-old man, he was still that lost, lonely child searching for love.
“Fuck it.”
He blamed his bad temper on his frustration in not finding an apartment. It was draining—every day he was seeing all these overpriced shitholes that were basically money grabs for people who hadn’t done a damn bit of work but figured they could get top dollar in a seller’s market.
Tristan scooped up his keys and phone and headed out. All he needed was a walk to clear his head, and he’d be ready for bed. He walked past the bar Sean had mentioned, then around the block twice before he passed it again and crossed the street.
Why was it so damn hard to leave?
For almost fifteen minutes he stood against the brick wall of a big-box drugstore and watched the people enter and leave The Dark Horse, but he didn’t see Sean. God, this was a stupid idea. He should go home and go to bed.
He walked into the crowded space, hating the press of people. The music was banging, and it was dimly lit, but Tristan welcomed it, as he could stay invisible. Feeling foolish that he was standing there while everyone else was laughing, talking, and drinking, he parked himself on a stool in the corner of the bar and scanned the place. He spotted Sean dancing with a guy wearing a suit and his gut cramped.
“Hi, gorgeous. I’m Kressley. What can I get you? A beer? Jack and Coke? Me? I suggest the latter. Goes down the easiest.” The bartender cackled, and Tristan smiled faintly, his gaze remaining firmly fixed on Sean, who’d moved on to dance with someone else.
“Just a Heineken. On tap if you have it, but if not, I’ll take a bottle.”
“Anything for you. Coming right up.” Kressley put the tall glass in front of him. “I haven’t seen you here.”
