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He shoved his key into the lock, but it was already unlocked. He backed in and kicked the door shut. His loft was wide open with a direct eye-line to the kitchen, making it easy to find Rand.
His friend was staring into the fridge like it was going to give him all the answers to the mysteries of life. Since Tristan had been working the last few days, twenty hours each, he was fairly certain there was day-old Chinese, half a wheel of Brie, and a bag of grapes he’d
gotten from the farmer’s market.
Certainly, there was nothing worthy of that kind of soul searching.
“Nice of you to show up.”
When Rand only tapped his fingers against the door, Tristan tried again. This time without the needling.
“Lose your way home?”
Nothing.
Rand closed the door and gave a quick start. Sure enough, bright blue earbuds were in his ears. The guy was always listening to something. Podcast, music, NPR—seriously, he never let his busy brain have some downtime. He flicked out one of the headphones. They were specifically made to be molded to his ear, audiophile that he was, so he couldn’t hear a word Tristan said with them in.
“Hey,” Rand said.
“That’s all you have to say?” Tristan set his basket on the large island.
“You’re not my mother.”
“No, but you fucking disappeared after…” What? What the hell was he supposed to call it? Magical Ménage Party USA?
“I figured it would be easier if I split. Let you guys…you know. Whatever.”
“Us…whatever?” Tristan folded his arms.
Rand shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. You know, you guys were hooking up or whatever. I was just there for the fun. Figured I’d give you some space to do…whatever.”
“More whatever. Jesus. What are you, a fourteen-year-old girl?”
Tristan stripped off his jacket and backtracked to the small alcove where he’d hid the stackable washer and dryer. He dumped his jacket into the wash with the other three jackets and turned it on, then gripped the side of the battered white machine.
Getting mad at Randy would only drive him into his room, or back out the door. And for fuck’s sake, now he was sounding like a fourteen-year-old girl.
Tris scrubbed his hand over his overgrown hair and went back to the kitchen. “Look, man, we were doing just fine. Then you left and shit got weird.”
“Not my problem. You guys wanted it to be just a one-time deal. So, that’s what it was.” Rand stalked back to the fridge and pulled out a hard cider. He popped up the cap with his keys and took a long swallow, not looking at Tristan.
Fucker was totally getting all wrapped up in his head again. Tris knew it. It was amazing how well he knew the guy after less than a year. He could read Rand even better than he could read Hunter. Quiet and broody meant he was hashing something out.
Killing things on video games meant working out a problem at work.
Stony and silent meant…well, it meant something else.
“She wanted you there.”
Rand took another deep swallow and said nothing. But the muscle flexing in his jaw and his temple said plenty.
Tris tried again. “I was cool with it.”
Rand’s gaze shot to his, but he still didn’t say a fucking word.
Tristan sighed and went to the sink to wash his hands. He took one of his everyday knives off the magnetic strip, grabbed his board, then turned back to the island. He prepped the tomatoes to be blanched and gently put them in a pot so they wouldn’t get bruised.
“Didn’t you work today?”
