There was absolutely no reason to look at it and not just because I would have heard it ding if I had any kind of new message. No…it wasn’t worth checking because not only had Memphis and I not exchanged numbers, he’d made it pretty clear he wasn’t interested in seeing me with the way he’d left the motel ten days earlier.
I’d fallen asleep within minutes of the soul-scorching orgasm that had torn through me moments before I’d felt Memphis come deep inside me, the latex barrier the only thing preventing him from branding me in the way I had so badly wanted. I hadn’t woken when Memphis had pulled free of my sated body, nor had I felt him cleaning my own cum off my stomach. I hadn’t felt him draw the covers over me or noticed him turning off the lights. But I had woken up just in time to watch him walking out the motel room door. I’d called out to him as I’d tried to pull myself from the fog of sleep, but all he’d done was cast me a glance over his shoulder and then he’d pulled the door closed behind him. No note, no nothing.
I’d stayed in bed for a while, but all the amazing things we’ddone – that he’d done – started to become a painful memory instead of a pleasant one and I’d forced myself to get dressed and go home. I’d had the long journey back to the mainland to think about everything that had happened, but all I’d kept coming back to was that I’d been wrong.
It hadn’t been anything more than just a simple fuck.
At least not for him.
For me…hell, he’d changed so many things without even knowing it. Somehow within a matter of hours I’d gone from wanting one man I could never have to wanting two. Losing Memphis was almost worse though. Because with Tristan, I at least had the excuse that he wasn’t gay to latch on to, and therefore there was absolutely no chance of being with him. With Memphis, there was no such excuse. He hadn’t wanted me…plain and simple. My body, yes. But for a one-off encounter. Nothing more. And from the looks of things, he hadn’t even wanted my body for more than a couple of hours.
I forced myself not to check the phone as I put it back on the nightstand and made myself look back at the television which was running a James Bond marathon. I’d seen all of the movies a million times so I should have been able to tell just by looking at the TV which one I was watching, but I couldn’t focus on anything long enough to even figure out which actor was playing the hero.
“Fuck,” I muttered and again snatched the phone up and glanced at it. There were no messages, no emails…nothing. But my desperate mind didn’t care and I ended up opening each of the apps just to make sure I hadn’t missed one. I even started scrolling through the spam emails in my junk folder just in case. That’s how far gone I was.
I didn’t even hear the door to my room being opened so I nearly jumped out of my skin when there was a rapping of knuckles on wood.
“Knock knock.”
“Come on in,” I murmured as I put the phone face down in my lap and looked up to watch the second object of my obsession walk into my room, pint of ice cream in hand, along with two spoons.
Tristan Barretti – fuck, there was just no way to describe his beauty. While Memphis was beautiful in a rugged, masculine way, Tristan was the complete opposite. Even at 19 years old, he held an innocence about him that I’d never seen in another living soul, man or woman. His dark, walnut-colored hair was threaded with rich strands of gold and was long enough that it perpetually hung over his forehead and caressed the tops of his ears. His gray eyes were anything but plain. No, they were flecked with tiny bits of gold and brown and the hue changed in intensity from blue to green based on his emotions. I’d never seen them go dark with passion, but I’d once been standing close to him when he’d been playing the piano, and I suspected that the same storm-colored shade I’d seen then would be what I’d see as he came. His pink lips were full and perfectly shaped and could have easily been mistaken for a woman’s, if not for the shadow of stubble he sometimes had on his face because he’d gotten too preoccupied with his music to shave.
He was also very different from Memphis just based on his size. My guess was that Tristan was 5’9 at the most because I always had to look down at him which meant Memphis would as well.
An image of Memphis leaning down to brush his mouth over Tristan’s suddenly ripped through me and I actually had to quell a moan as my cock twitched in excitement.
Fuck, what the hell?
“You all unpacked?” I asked as Tristan walked around the bed and plopped down on it. He toed off his shoes before climbing up on the bed so he could sit next to me, his back against the headboard. Tristan wasn’t a skinny guy, but he was definitely on the leaner side. He’d never been one for sports or working out, but he was still fit. It just came to him naturally.
“Not even close,” Tristan said with a smile as he handed me one of the spoons.
One of the things I loved most about Tristan was how much light seemed to shine from him. It was the only way I could really describe it – he just shone. All the time. Even with the shitty hand he’d been dealt from the moment he’d been born, he still smiled all the time. He still made every effort to draw those around him outuntil they were smiling or laughing along with him. And it wasn’t in a reckless kind of way – it was more like he understood the value of life and lived each day like it was his first and his last.
“Thank God my dads stocked the freezer,” he said as he lifted the pint of ice cream. It was no secret that Tristan had an obsession with Neapolitan ice cream. He hated all other flavors and even as a kid, he refused to eat the three flavors of strawberry, chocolate and vanilla on their own – it was Neapolitan or nothing for him when it came to his ice cream.
I ignored the rush of sensation that gripped my body as Tristan shifted to put the top of the ice cream container on the opposite nightstand and brushed my arm with his. It was another thing I liked about Tristan – his need to touch or just even be physically close to others. And it wasn’t in a sexual or needy way. It was more about his innate need to be open and affectionate. I suspected a lot of that had to do with his family, but some of it was just inherent to who he was as a person. But as much as I liked the little affectionate touches and the lack of concern when it came to his physical proximity to me, they were also a unique form of torture.
Logan and Dom had brought Tristan home the day before, but they hadn’t started moving him in until this afternoon. I’d been at work so by the time I’d gotten back to the apartment, Tristan had been mostly moved in and Dom and Logan were saying their goodbyes. I’d been both excited and worried about being around Tristan again, since I hadn’t seen him in a while and the fact that I’d be going from having limited contact with him to basically being around him nearly 24/7 hadn’t been lost on me. In fact, I’d been tormenting myself with that very fact for weeks. But the second Tristan had wrapped his arms around me in a giant hug, I’d felt something in my world shift and fall into place. If friendship was all I could have with him, I’d take it. Yeah, suppressing my feelings and my physical desires would be tough, but it would be bearable. Not being a part of Tristan’s life wasn’t.
“You know they ordered you a piano, right?” I said as I turned the volume on the television down a little bit.
Tristan sighed. “Yeah, I figured.”
Tristan had been playing the piano for most of the time I’d known him, and Dom and Logan had nurtured his natural talent from day one. Although they weren’t the type of parents to spoil their children, despite their excessive wealth, they’d spared no expense when it came to furnishing both their homes with Steinway Grand Pianos that cost more than my entire undergraduate education at UCLA. The pianos were way too big for our small apartment, but I’d heard Dom and Logan talking about where an upright piano might fit when they’d first come to the apartment to check it out before we’d signed the lease.
“You don’t sound excited,” I said as I watched him take a bite of the ice cream. I nearly smiled when he diligently made sure he had every flavor on his spoon.
“I am,” he said as he glanced at me, a small smile gracing his pretty lips. I ignored the urge to lean over to lick the tiny spot of ice cream away that was clinging to his upper lip. Of course, when he reached out to swipe his own tongue over it, I felt my already hard cock jump in response. I was insanely glad I’d had the sense to keep my jeans on instead of changing into a pair of sweats like I usually did before getting into bed.
“But,” I prodded. I reached into the ice cream and got some on my spoon but stilled when I saw Tristan’s face fall. “What?” I asked jokingly. “Is my strawberry to chocolate to vanilla ratio not right?” I laughed.
But Tristan wasn’t laughing and when his eyes lifted to mine he said, “Sorry, I didn’t think to use separate bowls.”
“What?” I asked, not understanding what he was talking about it.
“There…there’s a fresh container in the freezer. I’ll get that one for you.”
