Bankers' Hours (12 page)

“No. I’m fine. I have a white T-shirt under my dress shirt, and I normally sleep in boxers.” I stood on the opposite side of the bed, unsure when to disrobe. The situation grew more uncomfortable as time ticked. Did I jump right in? Should I ask for a toothbrush? I’d never slept with anyone, except one night when Mel and I were playing video games years ago and had fallen asleep on his floor in front of the television.

“Grant? Hello?” Tristan waved a hand as if they were in front of my eyes, even though he was across the room. “Do you need anything? You can have one of the new toothbrushes under the sink. There was a sale, and I tend to go through them.” I gave him a look, and he explained, “They’re really good for cleaning small parts and detailing.”

“Oh. Um, okay, thanks.” I awkwardly remained planted in my spot next to the bed. Initially, I had been charged with energy. The prospect of sleeping with him exhilarated me. But now I realized I barely knew him. I was about to sleep next to a strange man who might live alone because he strangled his lovers in their sleep.
What if I wake up and I’m tied to the bed? What if he has a closet full of sex toys and really does own a whip?

“Grant?” I turned toward his voice, right next to me, and swallowed hard. “Shhh,” Tristan soothed, gliding his fingers down my cheek. He leaned in and kissed me softly. “You don’t need to be terrified—unless you had a weird dating experience involving a slumber party.”

I giggled. “No.”

He kissed my forehead. “Okay. Just checking. I promise I’m not a serial killer, I’m not a drug dealer, and I’m not a sex-club Dom. I’m an auto mechanic.” He gazed into my eyes and continued to rub my cheek with his thumb very softly. “We’re only sleeping.”

Sleeping.
I could handle that. “Could I get a drink of water?” My throat was dry from nerves.

“Sure.” He grinned. “And if you want to take a shower like I promised, feel free. I’ll go get you a bottle of water.”

I’d showered twice today, so I wasn’t motivated to do it again now. His carpet had been awfully dirty, but I’d also been fully clothed. My hair might need washing, but I was fine until morning. I unbuttoned my shirt and hung it over the back of a chair that had a stack of folded towels on it. As I undid my belt and kicked off my shoes, Tristan came back in the room.

“Here ya go.” He held up the water bottle. He came around to my side of the bed and set it on the nightstand. “I’m going to brush my teeth.”

He went into the bathroom, and I undressed the rest of the way. I felt so very unsexy in my boxers and T-shirt. I crossed my arm over my chest and squeezed my opposite shoulder while I crossed my other arm over my midsection. It was a posture I’d adopted when I was a gangly teen at a swimming pool, trying to cover my body with my two scrawny arms. I might not be as scrawny now, but the pose was a comfort thing, like embracing myself would protect me from being laughed at.

I slunk over to the bathroom and asked for a toothbrush.

Tristan spit into the sink. “There’s a bag under there.” He pointed. “I’ll be done in a second.”

“Do you have any more pillows? I usually sleep with three.”

He wiped his mouth. “Three?”

“Yes. Two under my head, and I cuddle one.” Admitting it made me open to criticism, but I really did like my pillows.

“No, sorry. I only have two. But you can have mine if you want.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be fine.” I almost accepted the offer, but it seemed selfish because he wouldn’t have any. He left, and I brushed my teeth, washed my hands, and splashed cold water over my face to try and calm my nerves. I dried my face and hung the hand towel back on the towel holder. After smelling my fingers, I glanced at the soap bottle.
Orange ginger
. Sniffing my fingers again, I sighed. This scent was even more pleasant than the grapefruit one at work.

When I returned to his room, he was rummaging through a drawer and explained, “I’m looking for underwear. I normally don’t wear any, and I sleep naked, but since you’re here I thought I’d throw on a pair. Except I can’t find any underwear in my drawer. Oh, wait,” he said, pulling out some tighty-whities. “These’ll work.”

I walked over to the bed and slipped under the covers as he sat on the other side and removed his shoes and socks. When he stood and undid his belt and zipper, I looked away. Tristan chuckled. A second later he commented, “You can look now. Happy Harry is undercover.”

I turned back, but one thin layer of white underwear wasn’t enough to hide what was underneath. I could tell he was stimulated by our situation, as was I. His bulge seemed large, and my desire made itself known in my extremities, burying my fear of sleeping with him. When he removed his shirt and I got to see his tightly muscled chest, covered in a sheen of light brown hairs, in all its fine detail, I gasped and my jaw dropped open.

He smirked. “Like what you see?”

“As if any man in his right mind wouldn’t? You’re built like a god.” All that muscle, close enough to touch, gave me a full-on boner in seconds.
Oh, jeez, how am I supposed to get any sleep now?

Tristan climbed into his queen-size bed next to me. There was room for two, but I could feel his heat under the covers. Before turning out the light he asked, “You gonna be okay?”

I nervously nodded and surreptitiously squeezed my penis.
I will not jerk off next to him. I refuse to be this horny. I will go to sleep.
Silently talking to myself wasn’t helping.

“Good night,” Tristan said. He smiled and turned off the light. He rolled onto his side, facing away from me.

If I could sleep at all while lying next to such a gorgeous, virtually naked man, it would be a miracle.

Chapter 6: Arguments, Rash Decisions, And Jumping Into The Deep End Without My Swimmies

LIGHT WAS
streaming through the bedroom window when I opened my eyes. I felt very warm and safe. Tristan’s body was pressed up against me. Wait! Tristan’s body was pressed up against me!
Oh, shit.
Yes, my dick knew it. Apparently his did as well, because as I mentally took note of where our bodies touched, I felt a very stiff object jammed against my ass. I doubted very seriously that it was a fire extinguisher.

I shivered with desire. Feeling him pressed
there
made me want it so much more.

His left arm was under my neck, and his right firmly held me across my chest. I could feel his head close to mine, so I dared not move and clock him in the nose. Instead, I rubbed his arm and squeezed his hand where it held me. Waking up in someone’s arms was a wonderful experience. My body was humming with desire but also quiet contentment. I really, really liked being in his arms.

Tristan sighed and tightened his hold on me. He rocked his hips into my ass and groaned. He nuzzled my hair with his nose and then kissed me behind my ear. “Morning,” he whispered.

“Good morning,” I whispered back.

I felt him nuzzling again. “You smell really good. Mmm,” he sighed, moving down far enough to kiss the back of my neck. He released his hold on me and continued kissing until his lips had inventoried my neck, my throat, my chin, and over to my opposite ear as he rolled me onto my back. Tristan slid his arms under my back and inserted one knee between my thighs. His erection rubbed against mine, and I thought he meant to dry hump me.

“Um, Tristan?” I panted. “What about waiting? Didn’t you… oh… yes… oh….” Talking was impossible while he sucked on my collarbone. I had woken up wanting this, but somewhere in my guilt-riddled brain, I knew sex wasn’t what Tristan wanted. Not yet. “Tristan?” I pleaded again. “I’m gonna come if you don’t stop rubbing against me. Please, stop.” I whimpered, and he froze.

“Grant?” he asked, lifting his head and shifting his weight so he slid to the side and off my unbearably hard cock.

I didn’t like his tone, especially when I had been thinking of
him
when I asked him to stop. “Who’d you think I was?” I snapped.

“You!” he answered. “But I thought it was a dream you, not the real you.”

I pulled the covers up protectively, as if covering my T-shirted chest was safer than exposing my undergarments. “How could you not know?” Because that pissed me off.

“I didn’t… exactly. I’ve dreamed about you for weeks, Grant. Sometimes I wake up to find I’m humping a pillow and I only dreamed it was your ass. I’m sorry.”

He did appear sorry, and dream-humping my pillowy ass seemed sort of… sweet. “You dream about me?” I asked, giving him an approving smile.

Tristan reached over and cupped my cheek. “Yes, I dream about you. I was groggy when I woke up, and I guess my brain hadn’t kicked in yet. But you’re right, I do intend on taking things slower. I nearly shot my load.”

I pulled him in and kissed him. “Then I forgive you.”

He smiled. “Thanks. Can I offer you pancakes as a peace offering?”

I pursed my lips. “Hmm, frozen or box mix?” I asked.

“Neither. For you, I’ll make them from scratch. I use my mother’s recipe.” He lifted his eyebrows twice. I was about to gush over it, but he jumped up. “I’ll get breakfast going, and if you want to take a shower, the pile of towels is on that chair. Somehow they never make it into the linen closet.” Tristan grabbed a pair of shorts off the floor and slipped them on before leaving the room.

I sat up and glanced around his bedroom. Drab paint, which had probably been white at some point in its history, covered the parts of the wall I could see, but it had seen too many years to be white now, or even cream. It was awful. The pictures were worse, as they could have belonged to my grandmother—strike that—my great-grandmother. Prints of ships, six different ones, hung cockeyed around the room. I normally liked ships, but these were so old and faded they’d lost their appeal.

The only recent picture was a photograph. I got out of bed to inspect it. As I moved past one print on the wall, I straightened it before I looked at the picture of Tristan and his daughter. It was obviously at a concert, and Claire looked just about the same as when I’d met her. Tristan hadn’t changed either.

“When was this picture on the wall taken of you and Claire?” I called to him in the adjacent room.

“May 24. I took her to an All Time Low concert at Pier Six in Baltimore. It was awesome!”

I straightened two more of the ship prints, but they tilted askew as soon as I took my fingers off the frames. I sighed and left them be. I wandered out to where Tristan was in the kitchen. “I’ve never heard of All Time Low,” I confessed, taking in the horrific scene in the kitchen. Flour dusted every surface. Counter, floor, cabinets, and even the handle on the refrigerator had flour sprinkles or flour fingerprints. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
This is his house. I will be fine.

Tristan didn’t notice my agitation. As he stirred his batter, he said, “They’re an alt-rock/pop-rock type of band, I guess. They’re a local Baltimore band, which I think is cool. Claire really likes them. She used to play their music so much, one day I started singing along and didn’t even realize I knew all the words.” He laughed. “Their sound is unlike anything I normally listen to, yet I think they’re a great band. The lyrics are solid, their sound is clean, and the drummer’s hot. What’s not to like?” He moved over to the stove and turned on the skillet.

I liked pop music, but I couldn’t think of talking about bands when the kitchen was atrocious. I wet the dishrag, which hung over the spigot, with hot water and rung it out. I couldn’t help myself. The counter and such needed to be wiped clean of flour. I started with the fingerprints on the fridge.

Tristan said, “Thanks. Sometimes I forget to clean it off for days.”

I flinched at the notion, but again, this was his house.

“I thought you’d take a shower. I swear it’s clean.”

“I know. I was going to, but I don’t have any clean clothes. I couldn’t bear the thought of showering and then putting my dirty clothes back on.” I rinsed the towel and wiped another section of flour-covered counter. Tristan left the pancakes and came up behind me.

He wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed the back of my neck. “How about you stay until after we’re done with breakfast, and then you take my truck and drive home for a shower and a change of clothes. In the meantime I’ll see what’s wrong with your car, and maybe later we can have dinner or go bowling or something?”

I turned in his arms. “You bowl?” I hardly knew anyone who did that anymore.

“It’s been a long time since I was on a league, but Claire and I go every now and then. She likes ten pins, but I prefer ducks.”

I ran my hands up his chest, thankful he hadn’t donned a shirt when he pulled on the shorts. “I do too! I’m not very good, but I love the challenge of duck pins.” His pecs were tight and hard under my fingertips and touching his chest hair piqued my desire to rub my face over it.

“Then we’ll go tonight. Loser buys dinner next weekend.”

I snorted. “Thanks. I’ll take you out for hot dogs.”

“Don’t underestimate your chances. Besides, I like hot dogs,” he said with a wink, right before he kissed me. We both smelled the pancakes burning, and he rushed over to scoop them off.

I got the full view of his tattooed back and nearly drooled on the floor, but then I glanced at the pancakes and made a face. “Eww, they’re black.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. If you smear peanut butter on them, they make a great sandwich. I’ll eat them on Monday.”

“Really? I wouldn’t.”

“I eat pancakes all the time. They’re a great snack. I usually make a big batch on Sunday and eat them all week. If you put blueberries or strawberries in them, then you get fruit in each bite.”

“I love blueberries.”

“Then tomorrow morning, I’ll make blueberry. That is… if you want to stay again tonight.” That damnable grin was difficult to resist.

“No sex?”

He frowned. “No sex.”

I considered it for all of two seconds, but waking up in his arms had felt really nice, despite not having sex the night before. “Okay.”

WE ATE
breakfast in silence and flirted with our eyes. He made me giddy without any conversation. After the dishes were in the dishwasher, I went into the bedroom to get dressed. As soon as I entered his room, I heard a door slam.