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“Hey,” Tris murmurs, stepping closer to me. “You okay?” I swallow hard and look him in the eye. I have no time or need to hide what I’m feeling from him, but maybe it’s not something he wants to see. Maybe he won’t realize. This is all supposed to be fake after all. Well, he knows my attraction to him is real enough, but this isn’t attraction, this is appreciation and… more. Something more I can’t let myself name or wish for.
I shake my head and come back to the present. “Sorry, what?”
“I told Tristan how you’ll want to dance with all of us, and that you’re a great dancer, but he said you’d let him get out of it, and I said no way.” The way Theo recounts it word for word and speaking without taking a breath is so fucking adorable and reminds me of how he used to be when he was just a boy.
“Yeah…” I drag it out, looking at Tristan’s frown deepen. “We’re definitely dancing.”
“But I don’t know how to dance,” he waves a hand at the already full dance floor, “this.”
“And whatdoyou know how to dance?” I ask, pressing myself to his side. He shivers, and oh, the rush his reactions give me. He turns to look at me, and the questions I see in his eyes let me know he didn’t miss the explosion of feelings I had mere minutes ago.
He presses his lips together. “I’ll tell you if you don’t make me dance tonight.”
“Well then I guess I’ll never know,” I murmur.
“Okay, I don’t need to see this.” Theo declares, and I assume he leaves to go talk with his own man, but I don’t turn to look. I keep my eyes on the bright green ones.
“If I’m making you uncomfortable, Tristan, you need to tell me, because I’m about to take you to the dance floor and you’ll be pressed to me the whole time. I want you in my bed tonight, and if you don’t want me to even try to convince you, then tell me now, and I’ll back off.”
“This—We’re—”
“This has nothing to do with the contract, with our deal. This is just me telling you I want you, and asking if you want me to get you.”
Now he’s the one swallowing hard. “I don’t want you to stop trying,” he hedges. Though his rough voice tells me all I need to know.
“Then, Mr. Jones,” I take his hand and bring it to my lips, kissing the knuckles lightly, “let’s go sit so we can have a quick dinner and I can get you on the dance floor as soon as possible.” I wink at him. And once more, his mouth barely moves with a smile, but his eyes light up everything around us.
He’s loving this as much as I am.
* * *
Whatever this feeling is—Idon’t even know if the words to describe it exist—it’s got my gaze fixed on Tristan’s profile as I half-listen to the way Iris, Ma, Theo, and Mike bring him into the conversation during dinner. It makes my heart feel lighter.
It’s been years since I thought or even fantasized about having a partner again. Someone I could share my everyday life with, someone who likes spending time with my children as much as I do, someone who loves being reckless sometimes.
I’m more attracted to Tris than I’ve been to anyone in a very long time, but my feelings are already getting out of hand.
That’snever happened before.
I’ve let myself be impulsive when it comes to feeling attraction to people before, that’s true. I mean, my son was conceived on a one-night-stand-threesome between Chase, me, and a girl we’d barely known for hours, and I ended up marrying that girl. Also, I had an affair with a woman I met at a gala when I was traveling for work and it’s when my daughter Iris was conceived.
My impulse control has been abysmal since I was a child, but I learned after I had the affair. Well, that’s not true, I learnedwhento control myself, and when to let myself enjoy the moment.
Becoming a single father shaped me, it made me finally grow up even though I’d been married and a dad for a decade already. Right now, though, the need Tristan is stirring inside me is different.
I not only want his body, but I also want to challenge him, have him challenge me, I want to make him laugh, out loud and freely. I want to see him get lost in pleasure as much as in an interesting conversation. I want to see him have fun and I want to make his frowns disappear.
I startle when the lights of the ballroom go dim and everyone in the room falls silent. I look toward the stage where Regina, the woman who founded and runs this charity stands in front of a podium.
“Good evening, everyone, and thank you for coming tonight to support ARY. I’m very proud to announce that we’ve passed last year’s donation already, and though we’re hoping for more, all of us at ARY are so grateful for the contributions you’ve already made.
“ARY proudly shelters the at-risk youth of the tri-state area. We offer classes to help them get ready for adulthood, free therapy, and we’re opening our fifth shelter in January.” She pauses while all of us clap for two minutes straight. Me included.
Despite Prodi’s presence, I know most of us in this room care deeply about the people ARY helps and supports, and I know that if it wasn’t for the astounding privilege I grew up with, being semi-openly bisexual in college in the nineties wouldn’t have been seen as a gimmick but as something unacceptable and to be punished.
Back then, ARY didn’t exist, and I would’ve probably had a much harder life if I wasn’t the sole Crawford heir and had different parents.
Not all Irish mothers would’ve accepted my sexuality, but Ma, with her family history, always told me I could never disappoint her unless I hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.
