Beta Test (#gaymers) (17 page)

He flipped the book so that Tristan could see his design. He’d hidden Derek’s name in between the power pellets, linking Pac-Man with a rather sad-looking ghost. It was stupid and silly and perfect.

“Hey what’s this?” Tristan turned the sketchbook so he could see the facing page. “Is that...
me
?”

“Uh. Yeah.” Ravi, who never ever blushed, was totally blushing—the tips of his ears and nose darkening against his tan skin.

“You see me as...some sort of spaceship captain?”

“Lieutenant.” Ravi rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. I was just having fun.”

“No, it’s...” Tristan didn’t have the right words for how awesome yet disconcerting this was. That was
him
on the page, in Ravi’s signature style—large head, smaller body, crisp lines. And he was
commanding
things. Getting stuff done, making aliens line up in one scene, ordering other space military personnel around in another frame. This was a guy with...
aspirations
, making them happen.

Ravi saw him as a leader of sorts and that was totally humbling in a way he wouldn’t have expected. “It’s...cool,” he said, unable to find a better word.

“Chair’s free.” The skinny guy who was running the booth had a hipster beard and wore a tank top showing off impressive tats. He waved his hand indicating the empty leather chair next to his implements. “And I’m running a con-only special.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Tristan made a noncommittal noise as he continued to stare at Ravi’s drawings.
I
want to be that guy.
I
want to be decisive and in-charge.

The tattoo artist gave a toothy smile that said he knew he had Tristan on the hook. “Where are you thinking of getting it?”

Nowhere.
Tristan’s tongue refused to state the obvious. Instead, part of him wanted to be the type of guy who went to a con with his friends—
friends!
—and got an impulsive tattoo. “My back?” he squeaked.

“Nah.” The skinny hipster shook his head. “First ink, right?”

“Yeah.” Tristan figured he had a big glowing Tattoo Virgin sign over his head. His pulse sped up. He wanted to do this. Wanted it for himself. For Derek. For all the risks he’d never once taken.

“Well, you’re going to want to admire it a lot. You don’t want to have to twist yourself like a pretzel to see it in the mirror. If you’re thinking of doing the drawing your friend made, the biceps would be best. Least painful for you and a nice canvas for me, and then all your friends can see it after without you removing your shirt.”

“That’s good,” Tristan said quickly. No way was Tristan parting with his
Space Villager
shirt until he was back in his hotel room with Ravi, door firmly locked.

“So you’re going to do it?” Ravi asked, raising both eyebrows.

He expects me to chicken out.
And undoubtedly Ravi would be okay with that outcome, but for once, Tristan was going to be the other guy—the bold guy leading the troops into the vast unknown. “Yup.”

* * *

Ravi woke up before Tristan Sunday morning. Instead of the drizzle they’d had much of the week, sunlight streamed in between the gap in the curtains, glinting off his blond hair, making Tristan look even more angelic than usual. Sleeping, he looked far younger than twenty-four, and something protective unfurled in Ravi’s chest. Shit. He didn’t want to be sitting here memorizing his lover’s sleeping form, didn’t want to be getting all poetic about the way Tristan’s pink mouth pursed as he sighed in his sleep, didn’t want to be fighting the urge to slip back under the covers, cuddle Tristan close.

Cuddle.

Damn. He really was getting soft. Ravi was a great friend, great in bed—he didn’t exactly lack for ego in either department—but he wasn’t a cuddler, wasn’t a “laze around in bed on Sunday morning with a boyfriend” kind of guy. But Tristan made him want to linger under the covers, made him wish they didn’t have a flight in a couple of hours. And yes, Tristan totally made him want to cuddle.

Katya and Mark would be handling the booth teardown and the drive back to Santa Monica. They called the trek “fun.”

Fun
. It was such a damn inadequate word for the past week of Ravi’s life.

Ugh.
How in the hell do I let you go?
Ravi looked at Tristan, trying to avoid the lump forming in his throat as he realized that this was it, the last morning they would wake up together.

Tristan had one arm thrown over his head, new tattoo gleaming in the sunlight, skin still faintly pink under the design. He’d been damn brave getting the ink, barely making a face as Felix the artist did his thing. Ravi was the one fighting the unwelcome urge to hold Tristan’s hand the whole time, tell him how great he was doing. But, of course, he couldn’t do that.
Not his boyfriend.
Not even close.

And afterward, a sort of new confidence seemed to exude from Tristan as he reveled in how everyone crowded around him back at the
Space Villager
booth to see the design. He’d been far more social as well, agreeing to go out for dinner with Adrian and Noah at a spot Adrian knew in Capitol Hill, even if that had been a special kind of torture for Ravi being around the Happiest Couple on Earth in one of the most gay-friendly neighborhoods in the country where even Noah seemed comfortable snuggling up to Adrian as they walked around. More than one passerby gave Tristan an appreciative glance, including their waiter at dinner.

But, of course, Ravi couldn’t say “Mine. Back off.” And to make matters worse, he had a strong feeling that Adrian had guessed what was going on between him and Tristan. Ravi
had
to let this...
whatever
stay in Seattle like they’d planned. Because what came next were rumors, then “oh hey maybe Tristan and Ravi shouldn’t do this big project together,” and then next thing Ravi was off in cubicle Siberia designing corporate postcards while someone else did the big concept drawings.

Resolved, he crept from the bed, started packing his things as quietly as he could. If he was gone before Tristan woke up, he could avoid an awkward scene.

However, Ravi was in the process of penning a “grabbing coffee and food, see you at the airport” note when Tristan sat up and stretched.

“You’re dressed?” Tristan frowned and rubbed his face.

“Yeah. You were really sleepy, and I didn’t want to wake you,” Ravi said lamely, looking away from the disappointment in Tristan’s eyes. Yeah, they’d had kind of a thing the past few mornings of getting off together before coffee. A thing Ravi liked even more than the best Americano, even more than an extra hour of sleep. A thing that
had
to end.

“Oh. Okay. Last night was...nice.” Tristan’s cheeks turned a faint shade of pink. They’d come back from dinner with Adrian and Noah and started kissing even before the door clicked shut. Eventually, they’d made it to one of the beds for an epic make-out session, ending tangled up with Ravi rubbing off against Tristan’s back and ass while he stroked Tristan off.

Ravi would cut off his pinky toe for a nightly repeat of that, but he merely nodded, trying to stay distant. “It was. But right now, I’m dying for coffee and something to eat. Is it cool if I catch you at the airport for the flight home?”

Tristan nodded sharply before his tongue darted out to lick his lower lip. Oh the things that tongue could do...

“So...this is it?” Tristan asked as Ravi gathered his bags.

“Yeah.” Ravi’s voice was more ragged than his favorite eraser. “It’s for the best, right? You need to stay on the down-low and neither of us needs gossip at work.”

“Yeah.” Another nod from Tristan, this one with him looking down at the covers in his lap. “But...we’re....friends now, right?”

His voice sounded so hollow, so lost that before Ravi even knew what he was doing he crossed the room, kissing Tristan’s mouth, claiming every bit of hurt and loneliness, chasing out the cold until there was only the heat that simmered between the two of them. He had dozens of friends, and not one twisted him up like Tristan, but friendship, as fucking inadequate as it was, was all he had to offer.

Finally, he had to break away. “Friends. Absolutely. And I’m not forgetting this.” He backed away from the bed before he did something stupid like fuck Tristan through the mattress.

“Me either.” Tristan’s voice was more dazed than empty now.

And Ravi meant every syllable of that sentiment. He wasn’t forgetting what Tristan tasted like, what he sounded like when he came, what he felt like in the middle of the night when he sank into Ravi’s embrace. And he wasn’t forgetting how Tristan made him want to be a better person—more serious, less flighty, the kind of guy who stuck around.

Except he couldn’t. Not this time.

Chapter Seventeen

For the first time in five months, Tristan hated his job. Hated waking up on Monday, knowing that today Ravi was just a friend, that every day from here on out he’d be a friend, someone he could grab a coffee with but not touch. Someone who wouldn’t laugh at Tristan’s love of blended drinks but who wouldn’t share one in bed ever again.

And that sucked and there was no spreadsheet powerful enough to keep him focused on work that morning.

“Hey, Tristan, you want lunch with Noah and me?” Adrian stopped by Tristan’s cube a little before noon. He seemed to have appointed himself Tristan’s gay ambassador while assuring him that he’d talked to Josiah about keeping quiet. It was a bit weird though because Adrian, like everyone else, had pretty much ignored Tristan up until now.

Would you still like me if I were straight?
Tristan couldn’t exactly voice that thought, but it made him shake his head. “I’ve got a lot to get caught up on.”

“Okay, but it’s a standing invitation. Anytime.” Adrian patted his arm before drifting away.

Two minutes later, Josiah bounded in. “Hey, I’m buying you lunch today.”

“You are?” Tristan blinked.

“I am.” Josiah looked down at the carpet, shaggy hair falling forward. “I kind of owe you, I figure. That bet business...it wasn’t well done of me. And I want to hear
all
about the con. You can fill me in on all the gossip.”

Oh no
,
I
can’t.
There was so much that Tristan wasn’t sharing that he needed a whole spreadsheet for tidbits of information from the last week and who he might trust with all these feelings rattling around him.

“I...uh...”

“Come on. We’re getting sandwiches at the place down the street. You like sandwiches, right?”

Tristan thought about his freezer meal and slowly nodded. “I do, but...I kind of just told Adrian I was eating at my desk...”

“That’s okay.” Josiah gave Tristan his eager Great Dane-esque grin. “I’ll bring it back for you. Write down your order. We’ll talk right here.”

“Thanks.” Tristan said, heart beating fast. Josiah was a total force of nature, impossible to say no to, yet needing constant guarding so he didn’t upend Tristan’s life. But a nice guy, and maybe...another friend?

Tristan quickly scribbled his order for a turkey sandwich on wheat. Josiah looked so darn happy that Tristan couldn’t resist giving him a scrap of gossip about Seattle. “Hey, Jos? Want to see the tattoo I got at the con?”

“Absolutely!” Josiah bounced on the balls of his feet while Tristan rolled his sleeve up. His eyes went wide, and for the first time, Tristan saw the same warmth in his eyes that Josiah usually aimed at Ravi or Adrian. And because it was Josiah, he didn’t bother to try to hide his appreciation. “Oh man, that is
sick.
You have to tell me
everything
else when I get back, okay?”

Tristan nodded.
Not everything.
Not even close.

As he returned to his computer, he smiled to himself. Maybe he could do this. He could have more friends at work. He could pretend Ravi didn’t exist. He could—

“Hey. You have lunch plans?” The man himself draped his body over the edge of Tristan’s cube, voice casual, but a tightness around his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Even his outfit was more subdued than usual—gray shirt with gray-and-white-striped pants.

“Yeah, actually. Josiah wanted to buy me a sandwich and he wouldn’t take no and so I told him...” Tristan drifted off as he realized he was babbling simply to fill the weird space between them.

“He’s tough to say no to.” Ravi gave a wry smile. “It’s cool though. I just didn’t want you eating alone.”

“Oh no risk of that.” Tristan waved his hand airily like alone wasn’t his entire MO until a week ago and like his whole body wasn’t begging for Ravi to want a for-real lunch date. “Adrian invited me out as well.”

“Well, that’s good.” Ravi nodded several times, like he was puzzling something out in his brain. “I’ll...uh...catch you later? Okay?”

“Sure.” Tristan tried to keep his voice light, not reveal the needy pit gaping open inside him, wanting far more than a sandwich from Ravi. But this was what they’d agreed to, what they both wanted. Tristan was nothing if not a rules follower, and Ravi had set the terms for their hookup in Seattle—and Tristan would do well to remember that that was exactly what it had been: a series of hookups. Not anything more serious, no matter how muddied his emotions at the moment.

* * *

Five days back in the real world.
Ravi flopped onto his sofa, ignoring the piles of clean clothes. Five days of laundry and getting caught up with his volunteer shifts and telling highly censored stories about the con to his friends and dodging calls from Avani and getting his runs in and being absolutely, totally miserable through it all.

And the worst part was knowing that he was alone in his misery. Tristan had a newly unearthed social side to go along with his tattoo—lunches with Josiah, Adrian, Noah, and even a working lunch with management for his next project. Tristan was getting exactly what Ravi wanted for him, becoming more connected to his coworkers and getting the recognition he deserved from management.