“Fuck it.” He took the container to the bedroom and settled in, and though the television was on, he wasn’t paying attention.
What was Sean doing right now? Was he still at the bar, or did he go home with a stranger? Had Tristan been stupid to leave?
“I’m not his keeper. He can do whatever the hell he wants,” he muttered and shoved another spoonful into his mouth. When he’d scraped the last of the ice cream from the container, he grunted in annoyance, knowing he had to go to the kitchen and throw the container out. That done, he returned to the bed and settled in for his usual restless night’s sleep. He set the TV timer to turn off in half an hour, and true to form, his eyelids grew heavy as the stories of crime in the city flickered on the screen and the thunder rumbled…
He opened his eyes, rested and feeling…great? How the hell had he slept the whole night? Aside from that awful jet lag when he’d returned from London, that never happened. Early morning sunlight diffused through the sheer curtains, but that wasn’t what had him stunned and barely breathing. Strong arms were wrapped around his neck, and someone was pressed up on him. Sean was in his bed. Naked. A very warm, very hard dick pushed against his stomach.
Tristan froze.
Fuck. He had no idea what to do.
Chapter Nine
Delicious warmth surrounded him, that comforting feeling of coming in from the most frigid, bone-chilling day to have the heat sinking into your blood, stealing over you from toes to nose-tip as you took that first sip of hot chocolate, maybe laced with a little whiskey…
“Mmm,” he moaned, still slightly drunk but aware enough to realize he wasn’t alone. He blinked, and though his vision remained fuzzy, he recognized that solid chest and huge snarling-lion tattoo. That, more than anything else, woke him from his stupor.
“What the hell…” He jumped away, tumbling to the floor and banging his head against the nightstand. “Ow, dammit.”
“You okay?” Tristan peered over the edge of the bed.
Sean gazed up at him, rubbing his ear with one hand while simultaneously trying to cover his nakedness with the other. “Uh, yeah.” Spying his briefs about a foot away, he motioned to Tristan to turn away. “Do you mind? I wanna put my underwear on.”
“Yeah, sure, good.” Tristan obediently looked away.
Sean crab-walked to them, his head spinning, but once he managed to wriggle into them, he immediately felt less vulnerable. He dropped his head in his hands and peeked through his fingers. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I was in bed with you.”
Grim-faced, Tristan’s jaw hardened. “Yeah. Okay. Don’t worry about it.” He averted his eyes again. “I’m up anyway, so if you want the bed, feel free.” Without giving him a second look, Tristan left him sitting and, for want of a better word, escaped to the bathroom.
Slowly, Sean levered himself up and shuffled to the bed.
Jesus, what the hell was I thinking?
Hearing the shower running, he decided to leave Tristan to his privacy and go make some desperately needed coffee. He’d staggered in around two a.m., having staved off the last guy he’d danced with, who’d wanted to go someplace “with a quieter vibe,” a.k.a. Sean’s apartment. They’d closed down the bar, and he’d stupidly allowed whomever it was—Ronnie? Robbie?—to walk him home, but left him outside on the sidewalk despite repeated attempts to get an invite upstairs. Maybe he’d slipped and had a few—okay, way too many—but even in his drunken state, he knew enough not to bring a stranger home.
But apparently not enough to stay out of Tristan’s bed.
Because, you idiot, that’s who you really want.
The coffee machine beeped, and he poured the first cup, savoring the nutty flavor. Tristan came out of the bathroom, fully dressed, and gazed at him warily.
Knowing he had to get in front of his mistake, Sean raised his cup. “Sorry again for getting in your bed. I had too much to drink and must’ve forgotten we’d switched.”
“It was a surprise, for sure.” Tristan’s smile was tight, but at least he wasn’t shooting daggers at him as expected. “What happened?”
Feeling foolish, Sean stared into his cup. “I guess I let loose a little too much? I was dancing with a bunch of guys and lost track of how much I’d had to drink. But when we closed the place down, this guy wanted more. Just because I kiss you doesn’t mean we’re gonna sleep together, you know?”
Tristan’s eyes narrowed, and he folded his arms. “And?”
“He walked me home, and I left him outside, but I was still pretty wasted. When I got upstairs…” Face hot, he shrugged. “It won’t happen again.”
“What won’t? The getting drunk and kissing a stranger, or climbing into bed with me?” To Sean’s shock and surprise, Tristan swung himself onto a barstool and steepled his fingers under his chin. “I think I was the better choice.”
“Y-yeah. Obviously.” Growing annoyed, Sean poured himself more coffee. “But neither is going to happen a second time.” He took out a mug. “Want some?”
“Yeah. Black, please. How can you be so sure?”
Sean shuddered. “Ugh. How can you drink it like that? And I know because I was upset, okay? I got a text from my ex, and it bothered me, and I wanted to forget about it.”
