Bankers' Hours (22 page)

Tristan ignored my cynicism. “I caught that part. The rest was scrambled.”

“Is he gay?” I felt a mix of emotions when I asked. If he was, then had he and Tristan ever done things together? If he wasn’t, then why would he say I was cute?

“No, but he’s young and hip with the times. He knows I’m gay and he’s been trying to set me up with some of his gay friends.”

I stiffened and sputtered, “His friends? He better stop. He knows you’re mine, right? We’re getting married, and I will not take kindly to a guy who—”

He cut me off with his lips pressed to mine. The kiss was sweet and took all the rage out of my jealousy. He told me softly, “He knows.” He kissed me again. “Go home. I’ll see you later. Stop worrying, and forget being jealous. I’m yours. All yours.”

I nodded. I knew he was right. His intent was clear, and I knew, logically, he meant every word he said. I left and drove home.

I OPENED
the door and was overtaken by the scent of gardenias. It was such a powerfully sweet scent that I closed my eyes and took a deep breath through my nose to appreciate it fully before scanning the house for the source. The wonderful aroma came from bouquets of flowers—gardenias, lilies, and carnations—set all around the house. I found a vase in the kitchen, two in the living room, and three in the bedroom. I picked up a note left on my pillow.

It read:

I hope you’re not allergic—I probably should have asked. I wanted to say I’m sorry for pushing. If I truly was a dom, then I would have gotten off on being in charge, maybe, but I’m not so I didn’t. I want this to be an equal partnership. You and me, together. I don’t want to force you to do anything, even something so seemingly innocent as removing your shirt. I’ll try to understand if you want to keep it on, but I have to say, one more time, you are beautiful.

I’ll admit I got a tad choked up. Tristan did have a good heart, and neither one of us knew how to
be
in a relationship so we were bound to do things wrong. He’d forced me to do something I didn’t want to do and scared me, but he hadn’t hurt me, not really.

I bent over and sniffed the flowers next to my bed. They were lovely.

“That’s why they kept asking me if I’d gone home,” I said to myself as I realized what they’d meant. Tristan must have used the key I’d given him to come in earlier. He was such an awesome boyfriend. I sighed as the lyrics to “Dear Future Husband” sung their way through my head. He
was
treating me right, I had to admit.

My phone signaled a text so I grabbed my phone, thinking it was Tristan. It was Mel.
Are you busy? I miss you.

I texted:
No. I just got home and guess what? Tristan put a zillion bouquets of flowers in my house. Okay, not a zillion. Six. It smells so wonderful in here I want to cry.

That’s nice.

I didn’t like his tone. Flat. No inflection. True, it was a text, but I could hear him in my head. Instead of texting, I called. I didn’t wait for a hello; I spoke right away when he picked up. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled.

“That’s not a nothing voice. I know, because I know everything. Spill,” I said sternly. If he was going to ruin my happy, then he had better fill in all the details. No ambiguity accepted. I placed my shoes next to my chair and undid my pants.

Mel hemmed and hawed but finally told me, “I talked to Cindy.”

“You did? Was it about going on a date, or did you order macaroni and cheese this time?”

“Shut up! Yes, I asked her on a date. She paused a bit too long before answering, but she did agree to go. I’m not sure if she finds me attractive.”

“I think you’re attractive, especially since you have more facial hair than last fall. I think you look real manly.”

“It’s not the manly qualities I’m worried about. It’s my
un
manly qualities—my high, feminine cheekbones and soft skin—that I’m worried about. What if she doesn’t like my figure or my height? The mastectomy was a huge step. I can’t change everything.”

I felt bad. “I know the situation is messed up and not at all where you planned.”

“I’m not sure how well I planned this, Grant. Originally I didn’t want to date a girl until my outside reflected who I was on the inside. But then you moved, and I’m alone all the time. It was easier to think of dating as a
future
possibility while I had you to hang with. But then you met Tristan and things seem to be going well for you, and I feel like my life is going nowhere.”

“I’m sorry.” I didn’t need to apologize for my new life, but I felt bad.

“Yeah, well, I want what you have. So I metaphorically grew a pair and asked her on a date. Now I’m freaking out about what might happen. When do I tell her? On the first date? The second? It’s not like you with your fear of being naked!”

“Hey!” I squawked. “No fair! I told you, I went through two years of therapy for what Mikey Thompson did to me in sixth grade. His teasing still haunts my dreams!” I wasn’t holding back while I fussed at Mel, but in doing so I heard a little voice reminding me I might need to fill Tristan in at some point. He’d pressed me into removing my shirt without understanding my suppressed trauma over it. If I was going to trust Tristan with my naked body, then I needed to trust him with my past hurts as well. I’d tell him soon.

He regretted his words right away. “I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t fair. Your pain is just as legitimate as mine.”

I held the phone between my shoulder and ear as I hung my pants up. I knew enough to know this was his lament. There was no answer for comments like that. They were simple facts. “Tell her when it feels right, but you shouldn’t let it go past the second date, because it might seem deceitful. You have nothing to hide. You are an amazing person. You’re so brave and strong, you have no idea. If Cindy is the right girl for you, then I’m sure she’ll accept you just as you are. There isn’t much else you can do.”

“You’re right.” He sighed. “I’ll do it. First I’ll take her out and get a feel for the kind of person she is.”

“Sounds good. Hold on, I need to change my shirt.” I set the phone down on the bed, removed my white T-shirt, and tossed it in the hamper, closing the lid. As I reached for a fresh one, I hesitated.
What if I went the rest of the night without one until Tristan got here? I could show him I’m not afraid. Moreover, I could show myself I’m not afraid.

“Hello,” I heard Mel beckon from the other end.

I picked it up. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking about my shirt. But yeah, I agree. Feel her out and tell her the truth about everything before it goes very far. Honesty is best.” My mother had told me many stories about her sister, who was a habitual liar, all of which ended badly. So as a kid I had never wanted to be like my aunt Crystal.

He said, “My honesty worked on you.”

I smiled. “Exactly.”

I changed my underwear and slipped on my pajama bottoms. I strolled into my kitchen shirtless and glanced at my front windows.
No one can see,
I rationalized, but I still went over and pulled the curtains closed. It was strange poking around my fridge only half-clothed, but if Tristan liked my body, I knew I needed to be comfortable in my own skin, half-naked. He would probably want me fully naked, and soon, but I was working up to that.

Mel and I chitchatted for a while. I put the phone on speaker while I ate leftover ham and macaroni and cheese. I liked to cook enough for several days, because then I didn’t have to cook every night. Some people didn’t like leftovers—my father had been one—but I found them convenient. By the end of the conversation, after I’d cleaned up dinner, Mel had agreed to text me how his first date went.

I was on the couch reading by the time I heard a knock at my door. It was 9:10 p.m., and the knock was probably Tristan, even though he had a key. I peeked through the tiny window in the door to make sure, since I was not going to answer the door shirtless unless it was Tristan. It was. “Hey,” I said, opening the door and sweeping my hand toward the inside of the house. “I hope you know you can walk right in. I gave you a key for a reason.”

He said, “I know. I gave it to Wes so he could bring the flowers over, and I forgot to get it back.” His eyes widened. “You’re shirtless! Wow, baby,” he beamed, gripping each shoulder and studying my body. “You make my mouth water just looking at you.”

I was glad he’d said it like that, because I was two seconds from crossing my arms over my nipples protectively. It was hard exposing my flesh, but his obvious pleasure made my discomfort worth it. Then my brain caught up to what he’d said. “Wait, you gave my key to your coworker?”

“My office manager, Wes. Yes. I had a few jobs I was working on at the same time and couldn’t get away. He offered because he’s a sappy romantic, and I appreciated it. The delivery guy brought the flowers to my shop and Wes zipped them over here.”

“You work five minutes away,” I protested. “You couldn’t take ten minutes to do this yourself? You send a stranger into my house, into my bedroom, and you think I’ll be okay with that because the flowers were awesome?”

He backed up. “Grant, I didn’t mean to upset you. I told you I’ve been getting behind.”

“Because you met me and I ruined your routine. I heard you.” I was suddenly angry. The flowers had been so sweet and wonderful, until he admitted they hadn’t been brought over and arranged in my house
by him!
A stranger brought them in and still had my key. I blurted, “What if he comes into my house when I’m not home and steals things? I can’t file a claim if my house wasn’t broken into, you know?” I didn’t know if that was true, but it sounded true to me.

Tristan held his hands out in front of him. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Wes would never do that. You don’t need to get angry, Grant. I’ll get the key back. I’ll call him right now and tell him to bring it by if that’s such a huge issue for you, but I think you’re being ridiculous. Wes is very honest. Accusing him of something like that is out of line. Actually, I’m not calling him, because it would hurt his feelings. Besides, if you had answered my texts hours ago, I probably would have remembered to ask Wes for the key. Where have you been? Why weren’t you answering your phone?”

I took out my phone. I hadn’t noticed his texts asking if I was all right, if I liked the flowers, and one asking where I was because I hadn’t responded about the flowers. Tristan looked upset, and I guess I couldn’t blame him. I had exploded for no real reason.

I slouched. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to people having keys to my house, unless it’s my mother. I guess I didn’t like how you gave my key to someone I didn’t know, the first week you had it.”

“Next time, I’ll ask. Okay?”

I nodded. Tristan held open his arms and I sank into his embrace. That is, until I caught a whiff of his manly stench. I pushed back out of his arms. “Um, no offense, but you reek.”

“I know. I was hustling to get things done and sweating like a pig. Then I spilled engine degreaser on my shirt, and that stuff is nasty. I need to look into buying a different brand.”

I felt guilty asking, but I had to. “Are you going home first to shower?”

“No, I have clothes.” Tristan pointed to a bag next to the door. He must have dropped it upon entering, and I hadn’t noticed.

“Oh. Then can you put your dirty clothes in a trash bag so the dirt and stuff doesn’t get on my carpet?”

He rolled his head to the side. “Really? You think I’m going to get your carpet dirty? Grant, I wasn’t rolling on the floor. We have lifts. I stand most of the time. You know what? Never mind. I’ll strip down outside.” He turned for the door before I had the chance to stop him. Tristan hopped out onto the porch and pushed his pants down in seconds.

“What are you doing?” I shrieked.

“I’m taking my clothes off out here so I don’t get dirt in there.” Then off came his shirt. I was glad no cars drove by while he was stripping, or he might have caused an accident. “I’ll even toss them in the bed of my truck until tomorrow.”

“But…,” I started to say, but he rushed over to the truck parked next to my car.

He came back to me in underwear, and my heart palpitated. He was so sexy. He stepped past me into the house. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be taking a shower now.” He stalked off.

Tristan was upset. He didn’t get that I kept my house clean and that he was filthy. I never got that dirty. When I came home, my clothes looked almost like they did when I’d gotten dressed in the morning. I went over to the bathroom door and knocked. I heard the water running, but he didn’t answer. “Tristan?” I turned the knob, but it was locked. “Shit,” I cursed under my breath.

The water shut off while I waited by the door. He opened it abruptly and jumped at the sight of me standing there. “I didn’t mean to make you mad,” I said, head hung low, hoping he would take it as regret.

He strutted into the bedroom, towel around his waist, water droplets on his chest. “Yeah, well, I guess we’re even. We seem to be good at pissing each other off.” He left the bedroom, and I followed him through the house to the front door, where he grabbed his bag, and then back into my room. He placed the bag on my bed and dropped the towel. I looked away.

Tristan snorted, but I couldn’t tell if it was from amusement or irritation.

“I didn’t think you rolled on the floor, by the way. I didn’t mean to make it sound that way.” I kept my eyes averted as I spoke.

“I’m not mad about the clothes.”

“You’re not?” I asked, looking back. He was in his underwear, sitting on my bed.

“No. I’m hurt because you didn’t say anything about the flowers. I went to all the trouble of sneaking them in here, and you didn’t even text me to say thank you. Why? Because you were talking to your friend Mel, that’s why!” His voice grew louder by the end of the sentence, and I shrank back a little.

“He had an issue. I was trying to be supportive.”

“What about me? Didn’t you think that I’d be waiting by my phone? I sent six bouquets, Grant, not one, but six. I thought maybe you hated them and I was stupid for even considering it.”