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“You sound like you want me to be attracted to you.”
“I don’t,” he rushes to clarify. “Having you watch was never about that, it’s a superstition I haven’t been able to shake in…forever. Still, it kinda bruises my ego, anyway. I know that doesn’t make any sense. Maybe I’m just freaking out over what to do...”
I don’t know the origin of his superstition, but I get why he clings to it so fiercely. It makes sense that changing things up would rattle him, especially when that change comes with a healthy dose of ‘I didn’t see that coming’ like the one I just sprung on him about being gay for only Tripp, if that’s what I am.
“What if you video chatted someone else? Whoever you have that arrangement with here?” I don’t have all the salacious details about how Luca’s superstition works, but if he has an arrangement here then there are other options.
“I guess I could try that.” He exhales heavily. “So, what are you gonna do about Tripp? Think you’ll tell him you’re into him?”
“I thought I might ask him on a date.”
Luca coughs and sputters on the other end of the line. “Doesn’t that step usually come after you decide you want to date?”
“Hell if I know. I couldn’t even tell you the last time I went on one. But my neighbors are having this charity fundraiser thing and since they invite everyone in the area, I’m sure Niko and Xander will be going, so it’d be more of a group thing.”
“A charity fundraiser? That’s your idea of a date?”
“I guess I doesn't have to be called that. We have to dress up for it, so maybe? I just don’t want to go alone or be the third wheel to Niko and Xander, so I thought it might be okay to ask him and see where it goes.”
“I’d probably have the ‘are we fucking or fucking’ conversation first, but yeah. Ask him out.”
***
After a grueling PT session where I managed to hit about eighty percent of my mobility, I hit the shower to clean up, paying particular attention to that spot. Just in case.
It’s probably silly, but there’s a part of me that feels like I won’t ever find out where this thing with Tripp can go if I don’t let him in. Physically. I’ve been getting more and more curious about it, and now that we’ve been sleeping together for nearly a month, it feels like the right time. That and I might have an ulterior motive.
Though Tripp is well-spoken when he wants to be, at his core he’s a physical, sexual guy. I think he’s more comfortable with actions than words, and taking the role of bottom is one way for me to acknowledge I’ve developed feelings for him without putting him on the spot by saying the words. Sort of like that kiss.
I didn’t plan that, I just acted, and he didn’t stop me. He’s even initiated it a few times since then. Only during sex, but considering that was a line between us that’s no longer there… It seems to me the best way to approach new dynamics with Tripp is to just act. So, tonight, I’ll tell him I’m game for more than just a sexual relationship by offering to bottom. If he accepts, I’ll know we’re getting closer to the point where I can say the words without driving him into a panic.
Tripp’s a little jumpy when he gets home, darting back and forth between the kitchen and living room to grab me a drink, himself a drink, clean up, and who knows what else.
“Bad day?” I ask.
“No, why?” Tripp starts to sit, pats his pockets and looks toward the kitchen with a frown before bolting in that direction for his phone.
“You’re making me dizzy with all this up and down. Just sit and relax,” I tell him.
He sits at the opposite end of the couch, but rather than slouch into it like he usually does his spine is ramrod straight, eyes darting around the room. “Where are you crutches?”
For the last several days, I’ve used them to take a little of the burden off my ankle while walking, but I’ve finally made enough progress to ditch them completely. “The therapist said as long as it wasn’t uncomfortable, I could walk without them.”
“Hmm.” Tripp nods. “So, you’re better?”
“Getting there. They aren’t ready to let me try skating yet, but I have the green light for standing and walking.”
“You probably don’t need me to help you out anymore then.”
Fuck. I didn’t see that coming, even though it’s a logical assessment. Truthfully, I think we both know I never needed him to take care of me, we just went along with that ruse since it was a convenient excuse to have him stay. I could be honest and tell him I like having him around, though I think that would be worse than admitting I can take care of myself.
“Who would rub my ankle when it’s sore?” I ask with mock seriousness, hoping my flirty tone implies there’s a legitimate reason for him to be here.
“Doesn’t your physical therapist do that?”
“It doesn’t have the same results.” I take a page out of his playbook and look pointedly at my crotch. Even though it feels deceitful to use sex to get him to stay, my gut tells me he’ll respond to that, buying me time until he’s ready to hear the truth about my feelings.
A wicked gleam flashes over his eyes. “Are you saying sex is crucial to your recovery?”
