“The thing is,” he said uncertainly, “I’m not sure I’ll always know the difference. Between me wanting to please you, and what I actually want.”
Horrified, Tristan tried to school his expression so Colby wouldn’t think he’d said anything wrong. Bryce never stopped talking to him about this stuff, about consent in every form, about knowing and asserting his own lines and respecting other people’s. He did his best to live it, though he still got it wrong sometimes. The thought of Colby’s boundaries having been so trampled that he no longer even knew where they were... Sickness stirred in his stomach, crept up the back of his throat.
Swallowing it down, he gently squeezed Colby’s arm. “Then we’ll figure it out together,” he said.
Colby smiled at him, unsure but trusting.
Much as Tristan wanted to stay here like this with him, the cold dampness in his pajamas was starting to get seriously unpleasant.
“Don’t know about you, but I could definitely do with getting out of these,” Tristan said, and shuffled his way to the bathroom.
When they both climbed back into bed, clean and dry, Colby reached for him, like it was already natural, and Tristan curled into his side.
“I meant what I said,” Colby murmured after a while, voice soft in the hush of the room.
“About the boxers?”
He snorted. “About wanting this. With you.”
Tristan’s heart felt too big for his chest. “Me too.”
He knew there were still a thousand things they hadn’t talked about, but for now, this was what mattered. One another, shared warmth, and a pair of ridiculous banana boxers.
Chapter Twenty-four
TRISTAN
He woke with his legs tangled with Colby’s, his cheek pillowed against the curve of Colby’s shoulder. Sometime in the night, they’d both shifted closer. Or maybe they’d never really drifted apart.
Tristan didn’t move. He didn’twantto move. He wanted to lie there with Colby as long as he could, warm and happy. He was tracing little patterns across Colby’s back with his fingers when a knock came at the door.
He jumped, and Colby stirred, mumbling something sleep-rough and confused.
Tristan gently untangled himself and padded over to the door. Cracking it open, he found Bryce there, coffee mug in hand.
“Morning,” Bryce said.
“Morning.” Tristan kept his voice soft, pitched low so Colby could rest a few minutes more. But his breathing sped up. Hedidn’t know what this was about, and he didn’t want a repeat of yesterday, of Bryce rejecting his mate. And, by extension, him.
Bryce’s eyes flicked past him, toward the bed. And then came back, cool and unreadable. “You got a minute?”
Tristan stepped out, tugging the door shut behind him. “What’s up?”
Bryce sipped his coffee. “Just wanted to check in about everything.”
“Well, that sounds vague and terrifying.”
“You slept with him,” Bryce said, and it sounded determinedly neutral, as if Bryce were shielding his real thoughts.
“We shared a bed,” Tristan said, his face heating.
Bryce raised an eyebrow.
Tristan sighed. “Yes,thattoo. It wasn’t—we didn’t go all the way. But yeah, we were together.”
Bryce’s jaw tightened. Then he said, “Was it whathewanted?”
Tristan’s heart stuttered at the betrayal, and unaccountably, tears pricked in his eyes. “Yes,” he said firmly. “It was.”
