Although…damn. If he wasn’t so freaked out, it would’ve been fucking hot. He couldn’t think of any place he’d rather be than under Tristan McDermott.
Rein it in, buddy.
“Okay with me?” Okay to have this god living with him? It might cost him hours of cold showers and blue balls, but hell yes, it would be worth it. “Y-yeah. I guess we could make it work. Somehow.” He forced a smile. “We’ll flip to see who gets the couch.”
“Or switch each week.” Tristan sipped his coffee. “Just to be fair.”
Sean would sleep standing up if it meant he’d wake up to a half-naked Tristan every morning. “Sure. We’ll figure it out.”
A quick curve of his lips was Tristan’s attempt at making nice. “Great. I’m glad you’re so easy. Makes it simple.” He pushed his hair off his face and grimaced. “Would you mind if I borrowed a towel so I can shower? I can’t stand myself anymore.”
“Take whatever you want from the closet by the bathroom. All this is Charlotte and Ray’s stuff. I didn’t buy anything ’cause I’m still waiting for my renter’s insurance check to come through. Takes forever.”
“Great. Thanks.” Tristan downed the rest of his coffee and passed him on the sofa to get to his suitcase. “I’ll buy some stuff for myself today, now that I know I’m staying.”
Tristan bent over to take stuff out of one of his bags, and never had a more perfect butt graced his vision. Even in wrinkled slacks, Sean could see how tight and muscular it was.
“Is that all you came with? Two suitcases? I thought you said you lived there for a while?” Sean was dying to know more about the mysterious, gorgeous Tristan. A tattoo wrapped from the middle of Tristan’s side to his tight abs, and underneath it, Sean had spied an ugly-looking scar. He wondered what had caused it.
Clothes slung over his arm, Tristan glanced at him. “Yeah. I lived in a furnished flat, so I only had my clothes to pack up.” With that, he left and shut the bathroom door behind him.
So Mr. Chatty he wasn’t, but Sean could deal. At the moment he had more important things to figure out than his sex life. Like what the hell he was going to do to make some money. His bank account was draining at an alarmingly fast rate, even though he never went out and barely spent money on food. Best he could think of was to wander around and ask in restaurants if they needed servers.
When Tristan walked out in a haze of steam, again in no shirt and wearing gray sweats—Mother of God, the man was going to drive him crazy—Sean had to rush past him.
“Sorry. Gotta go job-hunting, and I need to brush my teeth.” He grabbed his toothbrush and watched Tristan lower himself gracefully to the couch and pull out his phone.
“What do you do?”
Sean spit and rinsed. “I was a singing waiter in one of those themed Times Square places. I made pretty decent tip money, but my boss kept trying to get in my pants, and I kept refusing. Even though he knew the trouble I was having finding a new place to live, he used the time I had to take off as a perfect excuse to fire me.”
“You should’ve reported him.”
Sean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. Sure.” He ran a brush through his hair. “I’ll see you later. Feel free to use whatever you want. You can hang your stuff up in the closet. There’s plenty of room since I don’t have any suits.”
“Thanks.” Stone-faced, Tristan sat motionless on the couch as Sean collected his wallet and keys and put on his sneakers.
“Bye.” Tristan didn’t answer, and Sean shut the door.Hmm. What got into him? Whatever. He’s not my friend; he’s barely an acquaintance.
Two hours later, he sat on a bench and stretched out his tired feet. How could there be so many restaurants in New York City, yet none were hiring? But he knew why. No one wanted to give up a sure thing. The restaurant service industry was filled with people waiting tables and hostessing, but in reality, most were pounding the pavement on their days off, going to casting calls and auditions, hoping for that one big break. None of them could afford to walk away because they knew if they did, there were a thousand Seans looking to jump in and take their place. He finished the last of his iced coffee and set the cup beside him on the bench.
“Rough day?”
He glanced to his left and met the friendly gaze of a spry, silver-haired man with a little furry dog at his feet. She wore pink ribbons at her ears and paid Sean no mind, finding the pigeons and sparrows much more interesting.
“Kinda, yeah. Job-hunting.”
The man’s face creased in sympathy. “That is rough. Name’s Clarence. That’s Tillie.” He pointed to the dog, who yipped and was fed a treat from his pocket.
“I’m Sean.”
“What do you do?” Clarence asked.
“Just a waiter.” Sean shrugged.
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of. Servers and kitchen staff are the backbone of the restaurant industry. If you’re not there, I don’t get my food.” His blue eyes twinkled behind his round glasses. “And that’s not a pretty sight.”
Despite his aching feet and troubled heart, Sean laughed. “I can’t imagine you getting too angry. You seem like a nice person.”
