“First time.” Tristan sipped his beer. Probably a good idea to take it slow, as he’d already had three. But seeing Sean move on the dance floor, catching the interest of all the men around him, had him draining his glass in three long gulps. How many times since that day on the basketball court had he thought about being with Sean, touching him…making love to him. Why did it take coming here for him to admit what he’d been denying? Probably all the male hormones in the air. Everywhere he turned, there were lips on lips and bulges in tight pants. A buffet for the choosing. He put his glass to his lips, having forgotten he’d already emptied it.Damn.
“I bet I can guess what you do for a living.” A man about his height, covered in tattoos and with a shaved head, smirked at him.
“Yeah? Another one, please.” He raised his empty glass.
“You’re a cop,” the tattooed guy ventured.
“Wrong.” He turned his back and found Sean dancing with two men. Bile rose in his throat, and he gave himself credit for not bulldozing through the crowd to grab him.
“He was only being friendly.” Kressley gave him a fresh glass. “You do have that cop look about you.”
Tristan tightened his grip on his glass. “Not anymore.”
“It’s like that? Is that why you’re so angry, sweetheart?” Kressley asked.
“I’m not angry.”
As he watched Sean moving his hips in a natural, graceful rhythm, Tristan imagined what he’d feel like under him…on top of him. He drank some more.
A well-groomed brow arched high, and Kressley’s eyes danced. “Honeeey, I might not know much, but I know when a man wants another man, and you have the hots for that guy on the dance floor. You haven’t stopped looking at him since you walked in. And I don’t blame you. He’s a cutie-pie.” He leaned in closer, dropping the teasing. “By the way, I recognize you.”
Tristan stared at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I used to be a substitute bartender at Man Up. Do you think I could forget you in a mask, cape, and a rhinestone jock? The filthy dreams I had about you…” Kressley winked. “And then you were gone. Almost broke my heart. And now you’re here, looking for love. Go up to him and ask him to dance.”
He remained silent.
Shit.
He’d never spent much time hanging out in bars, sharing confidences with bartenders. He didn’t confide in anyone, not even Terry. Much as he’d loved his partner, Tristan kept his personal life to himself, never acting on Terry’s subtle hints to fix him up with one of Monique’s friends or anyone else. Tristan thwarted any attempts to dive deeper into his family history by simply saying,“My parents are both dead.”
Whether that was true, Tristan had no idea, nor did he care. They might as well be, for all they mattered in his life.
“We’re roommates by chance and necessity at the moment. I’m not interested in him. Once I move out, we’ll never see each other again.”
Ugliness twisted in Tristan’s gut, imagining Sean going home with the guy. The few hours he’d managed to sleep every night had been filled with dreams of Sean, naked and moaning under him. It was why Tristan knew to keep away. Because once he touched Sean, he wouldn’t be able to stop.
“Oooh. You’re that Tristan?”
Tristan’s brow furrowed, and he blinked. “How’d you—”
“We were chatting, and he told me all about your apartment issues. Your name came up.” Kressley gave him a toothy grin.
Why did he feel like he was missing some important part of the conversation?
“It’s a one-bedroom, and we agreed we’d switch off who gets to sleep on the real bed each week. Tonight’s my night. But it’s still not a great situation.”
“I mean, if you’re concerned, either give him the bed full-time”—Kressley paused, and Tristan sensed he liked being a little dramatic—“orshareit. Don’t you trust yourself with him? If you’re not into him, it shouldn’t be a problem, right?” Kressley’s knowing gaze hit a bit too close to home.
“I don’t share my bed with anyone.” Tired of being psychoanalyzed, Tristan tossed out some bills to cover his tab.
“I’ll never understand some men,” Kressley muttered in disgust. “They want someone, but they’re too afraid to admit it. They’d rather be miserable and alone.” Shaking his head, he took the bills and walked away.
Tristan waited a moment, finding Sean thoroughly engrossed in a conversation with some guy. God knew what kind of bullshit he was being fed. But Tristan knew it was time to go.
Outside, the air had turned thick with humidity, and deciding to hell with being healthy for the night, Tristan stopped at abodegaand picked up a snack, then hurried home, as he smelled rain in the wind. He made it inside the apartment right before theboomof thunder hit. A beautiful but harrowing crack of lightning across the night sky made him jump. It was only ten o’clock, but he undressed to his boxers, looking forward to his night in a real bed and hoping he’d get a little sleep. The room spun slightly.
“Jesus, next time have only one beer. You’re getting sappy in your old age.” He scrubbed his face, pressing the heels of his hands into his burning eyes, surprised by the dampness, and decided to eat the entire pint of ice cream he’d purchased because nothing drowned out depressing thoughts like a big damn bowl of mint chip.
