Wait.What?
"You wear condoms in your scenes?" I should have been more nonchalant about asking, but I wasn't. My verbal filter needed a serious replacement because who asks that? But then again, there were men who still wore condoms in pornos? According to Zoey, STD testing had become so standardized in the industry that most men didn't wear them anymore, because the chances of catching a disease was very slim.
I still thought it was kind of fucking gross, but whatever. Yet another reason why I was not in porn. I couldn't imagine a guy dipping his bucket into more than one well before mine.
What I lacked in a verbal filter, Tristan lacked in modesty. His towel fell to the floor when he stepped into a clean pair of boxer briefs, and I got fifteen seconds worth of smooth butt-cheeks to appreciate. "I do. It's a stipulation in every contract I sign. It's harder to get work because of it, but I'm not willing to compromise, you know?"
Suddenly, I gained a whole lot of respect for Tristan.
I wanted to ask him how much work he did during the month, during the year, over the course of his career but I didn't. I knew he wasn't feeling well, and I doubted that we were at that point in our friendship where we could ask each other anything, like I could with Nikki, Zoey, and Josh. Zoey liked to send me pictures of her turds when they were "special ones," as she called it. I guessed that's part of what made our friendship special, because I laughed when I saw the pictures instead of being grossed out by it.
"That's good, Tristan," I told him, but my face was still flushed. Those were a ton of fucking condoms and that fact was not easily forgotten. "So does that mean I don't have to rinse my hands off with bleach since I touched your bed?"
He was facing me then, with an indescribable expression. "No, you don't need to scrub the skin off your arms either. I'm not a whore." I knew he wasn't feeling well, but I opened my mouth to make a smartass comment about his whore status when he recognized the look in my eyes and gently slapped a hand over my mouth. "My mattress is the epitome of cleanliness, Kat. Trust me."
I snorted while his warm fingers lingered over my lips. "Fine, fine." I mumbled beneath him until he pulled them away. I caught his eyes flickering to the bed. "You should lay down and rest. I'm gonna guess that you don't have any medicine in the house or food, so I'll be back in a little bit. I'm just going to run to the drugstore and come right back."
"Okay." He nodded, stepping around me to lie down on his bed. "You'll be back though?"
He pulled the sheets up to his neck, leaving the comforter thrown off to the side. He looked so cute with his sad face and pouty mouth. I stepped toward him without even thinking and ran a hand through his hair to brush it off his forehead. "I will. If I'm not back in an hour, take another shower, okay?"
"Okay," he mumbled with a drawn out sigh.
I was out of the house and in my car heading to the grocery store I saw on my way over at almost midnight, hoping it was open late. Since I didn't exactly check his cupboards to see what he had, I figured I was better off assuming he didn't have anything sick-appropriate in the house. Luck was on my side, because the grocery store was open. I roamed the aisles looking for Gatorade, saltine crackers, bread, canned soup, tea, the generic kind of Tylenol, and two different kinds of over-the-counter flu medicine.
It took me a little over an hour to make it back to Tristan's house and I slipped back inside. I made sure to lock the front door, toe off my shoes, and grab the Theraflu bottle, leaving the other stuff in the bags on the stairs. I sneaked into his room to find his bare back peeking out from under the covers again.
"I'm back," I said softly, watching the muscles in his back tense up.
"Shit, Kat. I didn't hear you come in," he said, flipping over to rest his back against the headboard. His light brown hair was all wet again, the telltale sign that he'd taken another shower, and his abs looked just as nice as they had before.
"I bought you some Theraflu," I told him, peeling off the plastic that covered the top before pouring some of the thick, red liquid into the tiny measuring cup. "Drink it."
Tristan made a face at my outstretched offering before plucking it from my fingers. "I hate this crap." He kept the disgusted face, as he tipped the cup back and gulped down the contents. Tristan shivered once he was done and stuck his tongue out. "That's gross."
"You're fine," I snorted and took the measuring cup away from him. "I'm going to go put up the stuff I bought for you. You don't mind if I put it away, do you?"
He shook his head and even waved his hand a little. "Do whatever you want downstairs.Mi casa es tu casa," he said in a perfect accent.
"I'll be back then," I told him before walking out. I took my time to look around the second floor of his house on the way downstairs. There were three other doors on the other side of the hall. A simple, metal chandelier illuminated enough to see that he only had a few things hung on the walls. I decided to maybe snoop later on when Tristan was asleep... if I was there long enough.
I jogged down the stairs, grabbed my two bags of groceries, and took inventory of the bare walls of the staircase. There was an opening on the right side of the room, and I peeped in to see that it was a formal dining room. I turned the opposite direction, spotting a living room that opened up to his kitchen. After flicking on the nearest light switch, I made my way into the kitchen, which was all stainless steel appliances, sparkly, black granite countertops, and mahogany cabinets. It was my dream kitchen come true.
Finding things in the spacious kitchen took some time because even though it looked like Tristan was neat, he didn't have anything organized intelligently. I finally put a pot of water to boil, so I could make him some echinacea tea like the kind my mom used to make me when I was sick. She claimed it helped make me get better faster. Years later, I learned that it was known to help boost a person's immune system.
I headed back upstairs with a bottle of orange Gatorade under one armpit, his tea in one hand, and a packet of saltine crackers in the other hand. When I walked in, Tristan was resting with his eyes closed but opened them as soon as he heard my footsteps. I moved his stereo over on his nightstand to set the crackers and Gatorade.
"Drink this," I told him, handing him the cup.
He winced as he tried to sit up. He peered inside the cup but frowned at the discomfort in his body. Flu muscles pains were the worst. "What is it?"
"Tea," I pushed the cup closer to him. "Don't be a pussy, just drink it."
"I should be offended that you call me a pussy, but I'm not," he said softly with a tired smile on his face. He looked at the cup again before taking it from me, sniffing it, and then gagged.
"You're the worst, you know that?" I laughed at his bullshit. "Just drink it. It's good for your immune system."
Tristan made another face before sipping the hot liquid. "I'm really not picky, but this tastes like ass."
