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It takes a second, but eventually I feel a small nod.
“That’s right. And if you’re not ready to move in, then you’re not ready. It’s okay. But if you are, I’d really like to have you here when I get home from road trips, and I’d like to be here for you when you get home from work. Whenever you’re ready for that step, I want you to know I am too.”
Is it odd to put living together on the table before I’ve told him I love him? If it were anyone but Tripp, I’d say yes, but given his obvious hesitation, I actually think this order of operations makes more sense.
“Can I still spank you if you win?” The request is barely more than a whisper.
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” I kiss his forehead, then bring my hands to his shirt. “Do you want to go bad boy who cleans up nicely or stick with the roguish I don’t give a fuck look?”
“Which do you like?” His emerald eyes are full of trust when they find mine, and I have to swallow down the lump in my throat before I can answer.
“I like roguish, but I’m supposed to get through the evening without mauling you, so we better go with cleans up nice.”
A tiny smile pulls at the corner of his lips as I button his shirt and work his tie into a perfect bow. I give it a gentle tug on both ends until it sits straight underneath his angular jaw.
“You’re stunning.” I place a chaste kiss on his lips.
“And you’re learning.”
“Hmm?”
“I might’ve just found another adjective for my dick.”
I chuckle against his mouth as I recall his rule about making sure the descriptor you choose sounds good next to the word ‘dick.’
“So, since you’re going to be coming out this evening, we should probably talk about what that looks like,” Tripp says.
“What do you mean?”
“Private little bubble, remember?” He clutches my hips and leans into me. “We don’t have any idea what it’s like to exist outside the walls of this house. As boyfriends.”
My brows draw together as I try to piece together what he’s saying. “Do we really need to make an announcement?”
“That’s not what I’m saying. I need to know what you’re comfortable with in public. Do I hold your hand? Sit on your lap? Stick my tongue in your mouth?”
“Can’t we just do what feels right?”
“Well, sitting on your lap and sticking my tongue down your throat would feel right to me, but maybe not to you.”
“If I say affectionate touches not sexual ones does that work?” I rest my hand on his hips, the same way he’s holding mine.
“I mean, I still don’t see how those aren’t related, but yes, I get your point. No swapping bodily fluids in public.”
I can’t stop the small chuckle from rumbling up my throat. “I would’ve said that differently, but yeah. Now, let’s pick up Niko and Xander before they start pinging us to ask where we are.” I reach for Tripp’s hand as his chest starts to vibrate.
He pulls his phone from his pocket and checks the screen. “Too late. At least they said to get our pants on instead of telling us to fix our hair. If I’m going to be accused of being late I'd much rather it be assumed my tardiness is from having a dick in one of my orifices.”
Tripp pockets his phone and takes my hand, letting me lead him to the car, and even though this isn’t what I’d have chosen for our first date, I can’t remember the last time I felt this excited off the ice.
***
The line of cars inches forward until we’re parked in front of a sprawling entry where a valet takes my keys. The Cooper’s go all out for this event every year. While there isn’t a red carpet—it is a private residence—there is a photographer snapping candid pictures of the guests as they arrive. If I remember correctly, they aren’t allowed inside, but the pictures will be accompanied by a write up of who hosted the event and how much it made, which I’m sure is equally as important to Charles Cooper as the cause he’s supporting. Politicians.
Niko, Xander, Tripp and I enter together, none of us holding hands because the reality is, that would get more attention than the event itself. We want the charity to be the main focus. I don’t plan to be as discreet once we’re inside, so I reach for Tripp’s hand the moment we cross the threshold just as a tiny Asian woman with graying hair in a maid’s uniform brings her hands to her mouth with an astonished gasp.
“Mr. Preston?” Her voice trembles as she stares at the man next to me.
Tripp stands statue-still, eyes blinking in rapid succession. Then without warning he breaks into an ear-splitting grin, the biggest I’ve ever seen on him as he steps toward the woman, scooping her up in his arms and spinning her around in delighted hug.
