“Yeah. I know Charlotte wants him to settle in an office job and find a nice guy.”
“I don’t see him as the office type.”
“Not at all,” Ray agreed. “Sean is going to follow his path, and that’s what worries me. He gets taken advantage of so easily, I think because he wants to prove he can make it on his own. It makes him particularly vulnerable to the wolves out there.” When Tristan didn’t respond, Ray huffed out a sigh. “Listen. I know you’re busy getting settled and everything with the transfer, but could you do me a favor?”
“Like?”
“Keep an eye on Sean? He’d hate that I asked, but he can get himself into these kinds of scrapes where sometimes he doesn’t make the best decisions. It’s hard finding your footing in a place like New York. You’re a little older and more stable, and I trust you.”
Oh, Christ. Tristan winced, recalling how he’d watched Sean jerking off in the middle of the night and hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what it would be like to taste him. Trusting him was like putting a fox in charge of a henhouse.
“I’ll do what I can.”
“Thanks. When you’re all settled, you’ll come out to the house? Charlotte’s been dying to meet you.”
“Sure.”
“Good talking to you. I’ll speak to you soon.”
“So long, Ray.”
He finished his coffee and picked at the salad for a few minutes before deciding he’d had enough.
“I knew that was the wrong choice.” The waitress dropped his check on the table. “Big guy like you needs a burger or steak. Something meaty to satisfy. You can pay the cashier at the front.”
Everyone thought they knew what was best for him. Despite her nosiness, he left her a big tip and paid the bill, then walked the miles uptown to the apartment building, where he stopped at the package room to bring up the weights he’d ordered. He wasn’t going to join a gym before he knew where he’d be living, so he’d make do at home. Several trips were needed as they were too heavy to bring up all at once.
Sean wasn’t in the apartment yet, and Tristan decided to work out. Stripping to only his boxers, he set up the tower of weights, put in his noise-canceling headphones to blast music, and began a lifting routine that left him dripping in sweat.
When he was done, he wiped down the weights, set them on the rack, and was about to head for the shower when the door opened. Sean walked in, carrying a few bags.
“Hey, Sean. How’s it going?”
Sean’s smile was mischievous. “I’m thinking, a lot better than you. I have cake. And fried chicken.”
Tristan’s jaw dropped. “You have the worst diet. It’s amazing you’re in as good a shape as you are.” He froze, meeting Sean’s round-eyed gaze and knowing they were thinking the same thing.
You only know that because Sean was naked in bed with you. And dammit, you can’t stop thinking about how good it felt to hold him.
Bright red, Sean ducked his head. “I guess I have an active metabolism. I dunno.”
Hoping to move away from the awkward moment, Tristan scrambled to find any other topic to talk about. “Anyway, how’d the job search go?”
Recovered from his embarrassment, Sean set the bags on the countertop, took out a wad of bills, and waved it. “Pretty good, I’d say, for singing on the street. So if you’re up for it, feel like celebrating with me?”
Chapter Eleven
Street singing wasn’t the fun job Sean had imagined at the outset. After leaving the corner of 76th and Columbus, he’d decided to walk farther uptown to the Museum of Natural History, where he’d figured on a larger gathering of New Yorkers and tourists. He’d mixed contemporary and oldies into his repertoire, and it worked, as he’d gathered an audience of varied ages. When he’d noticed many parents and babysitters with young children stopping to listen, he’d decided to add a few children’s songs as well that he’d familiarized himself with from his nieces and nephew and the restaurant.
That decision proved to be an unexpectedly brilliant one, as he’d drawn a huge crowd that rewarded him—not only with applause but lots of cash. It seemed parents loved to see their little ones walk up to put a dollar or three in his basket. He hadn’t stopped to count it, but seeing Tristan’s shock made him want to do it right then and there despite how hungry he was.
“Wanna see how much I made?” Sean set the money on the counter.
“Yeah, sure.”
He tried not to drool at the sight of the thick, corded muscles of Tristan’s strong thighs and his six…no, make that an eight-pack. His long hair was held off his forehead by a sweatband, and the sheen of moisture clinging to his biceps only added to his overwhelming presence. The man was perfection, and Sean had to bite his lip to keep from whimpering when Tristan took a seat at the kitchen island, ending the show.
God, even his sweat smelled good. Sean wanted to lick him from head to toe and bury his face in his chest. Just his luck, he’d spent the night cuddled up to all that delicious perfection, only to be too drunk to appreciate it.
