“What? You don’t know Clinton Hill?” the real estate agent’s voice rose in shock. She was very tall and pale, wearing a plain brown dress that seemed at odds with her overly bright and perky personality. Her shoulder-length hair was held off her face by a yellow, flowered headband. “It’s very trendy. There are at least five other people I’ve shown this place to, so if you’re seriously interested, I’d make them an offer ASAP.” Her phone buzzed. “Excuse me a moment. Feel free to walk around, and you’ll want to see the bathroom. They did an incredible renovation.”
“I don’t know Brooklyn at all, really.” Sean leaned a hip against the window frame. “I grew up mostly in Queens.”
“I’m pretty clueless too,” Tristan said, walking into the bedroom. “I’m from upstate, and my precincts were in the city. Well, damn.” He opened the bathroom door. “She wasn’t kidding. This is beautiful, like the rest of the apartment.”
As a kid who never knew if there’d be dinner on the table, Tristan couldn’t have imagined living in a clean, fresh place like this. This apartment was as far away from his grandmother’s ramshackle house near the upstate town of Liberty as one could get. In the summer it got brutally hot, as there was no air-conditioning, but the freezing winters were no better. The house was old and falling apart from decades of neglect, and Tristan had to stuff the holes in the walls with crumpled paper or old clothes to try and prevent the wind from penetrating. But it didn’t work. Nothing could fix what was irreparably broken.
Liberty. A town named for freedom that was anything but for a gay kid. But what could you expect when they used to celebrate members of the Klan? Tristan was lucky that all he’d suffered were some beatdowns for being the weird kid with no father and with a mother they all called a slut, but he gave as good as he got, and by the time he was sixteen and six foot three, everyone left him alone. If they’d discovered he was gay, things might’ve gone much worse.
He peeked into a few closets and eyed the empty room, figuring he could get a queen-sized bed in there, but not a king. The only downside. Tristan laughed to himself, thinking how far he’d come from that growing kid sleeping on a lumpy mattress with his feet hanging off the side. Whatever money his grandmother received from public assistance had gone toward rent and utilities, with the balance covering food and medicine for the emphysema and arthritis that had left her shackled to a wheelchair. As Tristan learned to drive, he became her only means of connecting with the outside world.
He grimaced at the ugly memories, forcing them out of his mind. They didn’t belong here, polluting the air, and he exited the bedroom to see Sean still at his spot by the window, that sweet smile reaching across the room to hit him like a punch to the stomach.
What the hell is happening to me?
Why was he picturing the two of them here, Sean’s long body draped over a couch as he ate whatever gruesome fast-food he’d brought home? He’d yet to get that morning’s vision of a nearly naked Sean out of his head.
Tristan hurried into the kitchen to inspect it, opening cabinets, drawers, the refrigerator, and turning on the high-tech faucet.
Oblivious to his swirling thoughts, the agent babbled on. “Once people discovered the gorgeous, large brownstones in this neighborhood, they were snapped up in the ’80s and ’90s for dirt cheap. Now it’s almost as expensive as the Heights and Fort Greene. Plus, it’s safe for young families. Are you two planning on having children soon? Maybe you should be thinking of a two-bedroom.”
Tristan, who’d been checking under the sink for potential leaks, almost hit his head when he whipped around.
“What? No. We’re not together. We barely know each other. This apartment is for me. Sean’s just along for the ride.”
As soon as he said it, he regretted his harsh words. A quick look at Sean’s stricken face was enough to get him scrambling to his feet, but he was too late.
“I gotta go,” Sean said and ran out the door.
“Shit,” Tristan muttered, disgusted with himself. He turned to the realtor. “Uh, I’m sorry, but I have to leave.” The two umbrellas they’d brought remained at the front door, and the rain was still pounding down in sheets. Tristan hated thinking of Sean caught in the mess.
“But I thought you were interested in this place?” The agent’s eyes went wide with dismay. “If you leave now, I can assure you, it won’t be available by tomorrow. And I’m not just saying that to get you to make an offer. These condos are in high demand. My office is just a few blocks away. Meet me there, we can write up the offer. You can go after your friend once it’s done.”
That made sense. The condo was exactly what he wanted. Even though he wasn’t familiar with the area or had even considered Brooklyn, the location was prime for him to get to his new job, and the price was perfect. Besides, Sean was a big boy. He could find his way home. Tristan was neither his lover nor his keeper. The smart thing would be for him to do what the agent said. Write up the offer and hope it would get accepted, and then he’d be able to move out to his own place. No more switching beds every week or waiting for the shower. He wouldn’t have to ask if it was okay to watch the game. No more temptation.
“Sorry. I’ll have to take that chance. I’ll be in touch.”
Instead of waiting for the elevator, he took the stairs. When he pushed open the doors to the building, the streaming streets were empty. No Sean. Of course not. He was the only idiot out in a storm, with the rain pouring over his face. He’d left the umbrellas upstairs, but fuck it. Cursing to himself, he bent his head and made a dash for the shelter of an awning halfway down the block but wasn’t able to escape another blast of water, and he was soaked and in a thoroughly piss-poor mood by the time the Uber pulled up.
Inevitably, when the weather was horrendous, the traffic was equally so, and it took almost an hour to get home. Tristan jumped out of the Uber and ran into the building, annoyed at himself for what he’d said, but equally annoyed at Sean for running out on him before they could talk about it. He burst into the apartment, and was surprised to find it dark.
“Sean?” He flipped on the light switches, but he instantly knew no one was home. Maybe he’d gotten stuck somewhere. If he’d taken the train, they were notorious for grinding to a halt during storms.
After another hour of pacing and peering out the window at the rain-swept streets below, Tristan gave up. Sean could be in half a dozen places—at the movies, at a friend’s house…maybe even with a guy. At that thought, Tristan’s stomach soured, but the possibility was real.
Sean was a social guy who loved being around people. He was a free spirit and followed no set schedule, waking up whenever he wanted and staying up late into the night. From the few facts he’d learned from Ray about Sean’s childhood, it sounded like he’d only ever been responsible for himself, unlike Tristan, who’d been forced from a young age to care for an ailing grandmother—and she’d only taken him in for what he could do for her. Neither he nor Sean had ever had a support system, and they’d both had to grow up fast, but where Sean chose freedom after the chaos of his childhood, Tristan thrived on order and structure.
Yet there was something about Sean that intrigued Tristan…tempted him…dared him to take that step and find out what the forbidden fruit tasted like.
Because finding Sean in his bed the previous morning had unleashed a barrage of locked-down emotions, and though he tried, he wasn’t able to wrestle them under control.
He should call up that broker and make an offer on the apartment if it was still available. The sooner he left, the quicker these disturbing thoughts of Sean would fade.
Instead he sat, waiting for a guy he barely knew so he could apologize to him for saying…he barely knew him.
Yet wanting to know so much more, despite the warning bells in his head that it was wrong. Even if it felt right.
Chapter Thirteen
