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“The list is as long as a Walgreens receipt.”
“You mean CVS? Walgreens aren’t all that bad.”
Tristan laughed again, the sound sweet enough to drink, like the most expensive bottle of wine pulled from the cellar and poured into a glass underneath a warm summer sun.
God damn, now Tristan’s turning me into a writer.
“Yeah, CVS,” Tristan clarified. “I don’t always say the right thing on the first go—that’s something you’ll learn about me if you haven’t already. Thank God for editors, huh?”
It was my turn to laugh. The bounce of my belly shook the head of my hard cock, pulling all my attention to the rising flames that were about to turn my bedsheets into ash. “What’s at the top of the list, then?” I asked.
“Hmm, I guess my shower. I haven’t had good water pressure in months. It feels like I’m showering underneath someone’s piss stream.”
That got a snort out of me. “I’ll see if I can fix it,” I said when the laughter died down, leaving my dark bedroom back in a silky soft silence. Moonlight crept in through the drawn curtains, adding a milky white sheen to the curves of my bedposts and the dark woods of my dresser.
The silence stretched, enveloping us like the comforter that we both shared. The conversation may have died down, but the needy ache between my thighs only grew stronger, louder. I rolled over so that I was on my stomach, but that only made things worse as I stretched a leg out and pushed my hips down onto the mattress, the pressure inside me building instead of easing.
I turned back over and lay in bed, looking up at the dark ceiling, barely able to make out any of the lines in the air vent. My brain buzzed like I had drank three mugs of extra-strong coffee before getting under the covers.
And it wasn’t just my brain that buzzed but my entire body. Having Tristan so close made the room feel twenty-five degrees hotter. We were separated by mere inches and a couple of flimsy articles of clothing. I could have him again, have him underneath me. I wanted to feel his cock sliding against mine. The pulsing against the comforter only proved my point. There hadn’t been a man in this bed since… well, not since Christopher.
And that didn’t exactly turn out well.
Christopher. My longest relationship and my most visceral fucking heartbreak. I thought he was the one. Had a ring picked out and everything. But it all came crashing down one night after a fight over some suspicious text messages.
Crashingwasn’t exactly putting it lightly, either. There was a literal crash that night. One that almost ended my life, and it was because I’d been so shaken and thrown by the words Chris said to me before I got in my car.
Tristan took a heavy breath next to me. So he was still awake. Maybe we didn’t have to lie here in silence, then.
“You doing alright?” I ask into the darkness.
A shuffle in the bedsheets. “Yeah, just thinking. I can’t turn off.”
“Same,” I said.
“What are you thinking about?”
I could have lied. Said something benign. Kept things surface level between us even though all I wanted to do was dive deep into his waters.
So I didn’t lie. “My last relationship, actually. I was thinking about how my ex was the last guy in here. Not that I’m comparing you two or anything. It was just one of those random thoughts that end up spiraling.”
“I get it. When did you guys break up?”
Now it was my turn to take in a deep breath. I’d talked about this before with my good friends Jackson and Dean. Both of them were in the same Stonewall Elite division I was, and a couple of cases had us working together in the past. We got along extremely well, and a close friendship had formed almost instantly. They reminded me of the guys I’d fought alongside in the Marines. Hearts the size of a moon and two people I knew I could count on, no matter the time or the day.
But speaking about my ex with Tristan felt very different. We weren’t in some dim bar, drinking beers and scouting the crowd for guys to help me get over Chris.
Tristanwouldbe the guy to help me get over Chris. He had everything I was looking for in a perfect package—not to mention hehada perfect package—but with the mistakes I had already made, I needed to make sure that package remained wrapped.
At least for now.
“We broke up about two years ago,” I said. “Dated for eight.”
“Shit, that’s a long time.”
“It was. We were a great match, until things started to change. Chris was having a hard time at work, but instead of using me as a support, he used me as a punching bag. Not literally,” I added as Tristan jerked up. “But we were always fighting. Shouting matches that our neighbors could definitely hear. The final straw was him telling me he had sex with one of my good friends at the time. I was livid. Stormed out of my own house, and I got in my car and drove off.
“Ten minutes later, I was upside down in a ditch, blood pouring from a cut on my forehead.”
