“Mind your hips, and your feet will take care of themselves,” Zach said, his tone cool and very professional. Zach had been making a lot of effort to be professional around him. Whatever Lydia had told him clearly hit a nerve. Tristan wasn’t stupid: it was obvious Zach wanted this thing between them to end. Obviously Tristan wanted the same thing. Obviously.
Now they just had to figure out how to stop.
“Foot strike is just the end result of other things happening farther up the kinetic chain,” Zach said.
“Yeah, whatever,” Tristan said, glancing around. The park was empty at such a ridiculously early hour. He stole a glance at Zach and chose the path that led into the woods.
“Tristan.” The warning in Zach’s voice was unmistakable.
Tristan ignored it and continued jogging, knowing that Zach would follow. He would be pissed off, but he would follow.
He always did.
Tristan veered off the path and came to a halt in a small clearing in the woods. Leaning his cheek against the trunk of a tree, Tristan closed his eyes, breathing in the fresh scent of dirt and spring.
“Tristan,” Zach said, his voice tight and angry.
A firm body pressed against Tristan and the familiar lips dragged across his cheek, stubble scratching his sensitive skin.
Tristan shivered. “Don’t you own a good razor?” he grumbled, leaning back into Zach’s warmth. It was a chilly morning; that was all.
“Do you think you’re subtle?” Zach said, his hand slipping under Tristan’s hoodie and stroking his bare stomach.
No. I just need your lips and hands on me.
Tristan grimaced at his train of thought and said sulkily, “No one forced you to follow me here.”
Zach laughed, as if he’d said something funny. “You knew I’d follow you.” Zach nuzzled into Tristan’s ear, the hand on his stomach slipping into Tristan’s sweatpants and cupping his half-hard cock. Tristan moaned.
“Of course I’d follow you,” Zach ground out, jerking him off with rough strokes. “You’re a bloody siren.”
“Sirens were female,” Tristan said incoherently, his eyes sliding shut.
“Sirens were beautiful creatures who lured foolish men to their deaths.”
Tristan grinned. “I’m flattered—” He groaned when Zach pulled his hand out.
Zach bit his earlobe and muttered hoarsely, “Wanna be in you, dollface. But not now. Not here.”
A whine escaped Tristan’s lips. Why not? It had been almost a day since they’d had sex.
“Don’t call me that,” he said belatedly, trying to pull himself together.
Zach took a deep breath and stepped back. “Let’s go,” he said briskly. “You have one more mile to run.”
Tristan looked down at the erection tenting his sweatpants and glared at him. “Sadist.”
Zach smirked.
He wanted to kiss that smirk off his face.
Tristan froze.
“What?” Zach said, frowning a little.
“Nothing.” Tristan jogged away.
* * *
“Why do you live here?”
Tristan opened an eye and looked up at Zach. “Huh?” he murmured, still a little dazed after his orgasm. Zach’s heart beat steadily under his cheek, no longer hammering.
“This is a good house,” Zach said, his voice still a bit hoarse. “But it’s not exactly the sort of house celebrities live in.”
“You know I don’t do pillow talk,” Tristan said, closing his eyes again.
“Your head is on my chest, so technically, it’s not pillow talk.”
Tristan pinched Zach’s side. “You’re not funny.”
Zach’s fingers carded through his hair, his blunt nails scratching Tristan’s scalp. God. So good.
Tristan sighed softly and mumbled, “But if you must know, I used to own a very fancy mansion. Bought it only because I could.”
“Used to?”
“Sold it.”
“Why?”
Tristan made a face. He’d bought the mansion for one reason: to have a fancier house than his father’s and to rub it in his face. But it hadn’t taken him long to realize how lame it was. Arthur Grayson wouldn’t know and wouldn’t care even if he did.
“It was just a good investment,” Tristan said, opening his eyes. He smirked at Zach. “Sold it for twice the price to a Russian billionaire who was eager to buy a football star’s house. Such a dumbass. I lived a week in that house.”
Zach shook his head with a smile. “You’re—”
“Very smart, I know,” Tristan said, rubbing his cheek against Zach’s chest and yawning.
Zach stared at him.
“What?” Tristan muttered with a sleepy smile.
Zach scrambled out of the bed and started getting dressed. “I have to go,” he said roughly, zipping up his jeans.
Tristan blinked up at him. It wasn’t as though Zach stayed every night—he stayed only when the sex lasted well into the night, when he was too spent to leave. Like tonight.
“It’s two in the morning,” Tristan said.
“Precisely,” Zach said, slipping into his jacket.
And then he was gone.
Frowning, Tristan rolled over and burrowed his face in the pillow. It smelled of Zach. It was annoying. Tristan considered getting another pillow, but it seemed too much of an effort. This one would have to do.
He closed his eyes, breathed in, and let himself drift away.