“You could wear something of mine,” Tristan offered from his closet.
“I need to get back before the guys go down for breakfast.” Dylan looked up at the clock. He sat on the end of the bed, completely naked, a pained looked on his face. “I bet they’re already down there. I should have gotten up earlier.”
Tristan grabbed the Advil he kept in his bathroom and a glass of water, taking them over to Dylan. He watched as the man quickly swallowed them down. Of course he had a hangover. He had made it clear he hadn’t drunk much since he sobered up and at least came out to himself. That had sounded like those were during the college years. “They know you run, right. Take some of my athletic shorts and a T-shirt.”
Dylan appeared to consider that plan. Well, at least he hadn’t gotten the immediate no he’d gotten with every one of his other ideas on how to get them to the meeting this morning.
“I can drive you to the hotel,” Tristan suggested as he headed back to his closet where he pulled out an old pair of Lakers athletic shorts, then put them back. That screamed California, not Texas. He chose a solid black pair and Nerd Herd T-shirt sent to him when the show Chuck was so popular.
“I’ll take a cab. I can’t risk anyone seeing me coming back this morning after we left together last night.”
“It’ll take forever for a cab to get here. Just tell them I ran with you this morning,” Tristan offered, handing over the clothes.
“Then why would we have your car?” Dylan questioned as he pulled the clothes on.
“We went and got coffee,” Tristan answered nonchalantly on his way to the bathroom. “I have a toothbrush and your hair needs to be brushed. Oh wait, I have a ball cap you can use.”
“I don’t run with a ball cap. David knows that,” Dylan replied, bypassing Tristan. For the first time that morning, he noticed Dylan wasn’t really looking at him. He’d blamed the attitude on the lingering effects of the alcohol, but now he wasn’t so certain. Did he have regrets?
Oh no… No regrets. Last night had been perfect for both of them. The last thing he wanted was Dylan to wish last night away. Tristan moved from the doorway of the bathroom to give Dylan some privacy. Digging through his dresser, he chose what he hoped looked like running clothes. He definitely never ran. Sure, he lifted and worked the elliptical more hours than he could count, but that running thing had never been a draw for him.
He dressed quietly, watching the door. He absolutely didn’t want Dylan pulling away from him. He’d loved last night. For him, he’d never expected to feel the emotion he had. He loved holding Dylan in his arms out on the deck, his body trembling, completely sensitive to his touch and breath. And then afterward… Damn, that was incredible.
All of this was so far outside of his personal comfort zone. He never fell for one-night stands. What was wrong with him? He didn’t fantasize about the men he slept with, and he sure didn’t use the word incredible to describe his trysts. So why should this guy be any different?
That seemed like the million dollar question. But he certainly couldn’t deny his night with Dylan had been unlike any other in his past. And he didn’t seem to be running from the connection, pretending they never happened.
As he slid on his tennis shoes, he sat on the end of the bed, smiling at the fact that he wasn’t sore. He rarely bottomed, yet his ass wasn’t protesting this morning. Dylan had been tender while methodically opening him both carefully and gently until he slowly picked up the pace and fucked him senseless. By the time they’d finished last night, he’d come twice and turned into a listless lump of sated human flesh. It took time for him to coordinate his brain with a normal body function like lifting a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. The teacher had absolutely become the student where Dylan Reeves was concerned. And he’d hoped for a repeat tonight.
“What about my clothes?”
“I can have them delivered to your room today,” he offered, handing Dylan a pair of running shoes. “You’re about my size.”
“You’re more bulky,” Dylan retorted, dropping each shoe and working his feet inside.
“You can’t tell that in the shirt,” Tristan grabbed his wallet, cell, and keys. “My garage’s downstairs.”
“You have a downstairs? I don’t remember that from last night,” Dylan said, walking out of the back of the room to the deck where he’d left his clothes.
“My clothes are gone,” Dylan announced rather loudly.
“They’re in here. Maria’s here. She’s efficient like that.” Tristan walked into the kitchen, and as suspected, Dylan’s clothes were nicely folded on the edge of the kitchen table.
“Someone’s here?” Dylan asked, completely panicked, staying out on the patio. That deflated Tristan a little more.
“She’s my housekeeper. She’s discreet. No one will know, I promise. What do you need out of these?” Dylan looked around and slowly walked to the kitchen. Tristan wondered what he would have done if Maria had walked out with him in the house. She was good at staying hidden. She rarely let herself be seen when he had company.
Dylan dug through his clothes until he found his wallet. Tristan shut the back walls to his house, closing everything up, and held a side door open in the kitchen. Dylan followed him down the steps toward his garage, still looking around for Maria as the lights came on.
“Oh my god,” Dylan exclaimed. That was the first time in several minutes Dylan had dropped his guard. He had to admit the brand new Ferrari parked inside was pretty magnificent, enough so that it apparently made Dylan forget all about Maria. The mood of earlier dissolved as he did a full circle around the vehicle. “This is my dream car.”
That had Tristan laughing. “It’s mine too. This is my second one. I just got this a few weeks ago. Wanna drive?”