“Hey,” Dylan yelled and took off after him. Tristan dodged the grab Dylan made toward his wallet.
“Better be careful. Someone might see you out here with me,” Tristan called out, running from the house. He opened Dylan’s wallet, dug through the cash, and handed the driver money. The driver pulled away from the curb, and Tristan ran past him, dropping the wallet back on top of Dylan's slacks still held in his arms, ignoring him as he re-entered the house.
“I’m driving you to the hotel,” Tristan stated, his voice coming from somewhere in the living room. Dylan stopped in his tracks and stood there, completely torn. He could tell from the strain in Tristan’s voice he’d unintentionally hurt him and that was the last thing he wanted.
He was such a dumbass for even allowing this to get started. He went back around the corner to Tristan’s bedroom to try to explain before he brought the driver back. Okay, his actions might have been a little over the top earlier. He would admit he had freaked when he’d unexpectedly seen Maria standing in the kitchen and the fact that Tristan had been right about the night before. He’d been out for the world to see them together. He shouldn’t have let any of this happen from the very beginning. None of this was Tristan’s fault; it was all him.
Tristan stalked toward him with a new shirt on, sunglasses, and a ball cap pulled down low. His car keys and cell phone in one hand. He walked right past Dylan to the kitchen.
“Maria, can you go into my bedroom for five minutes?”
“Okay?” she said, sounding a bit confused.
“No, go the back way. Just five minutes and I’ll be gone. When you hear me leave, come back out,” Tristan said. Dylan dropped his head in his hand; a deep sigh resonated in his chest.
“You won’t be seen,” Tristan called out as he stepped out of the house, the door to the garage slamming shut in his wake. Dylan let the frustration go at Tristan’s little show of drama and dominance. Instead of commenting, he opened the door to find Tristan already inside the Ferrari, the engine roaring to life.
“The windows are too dark to see inside.”
The driver’s side door closed before he stepped fully into the garage. Dread coiled deep inside the pit of Dylan’s stomach. He’d been clear with Tristan from the beginning. He wasn’t trying to insult the guy; he just had a different life path.
Dylan slammed the passenger side door a little too hard after sliding into the soft leather seat. Tristan ignored him. The car was already in gear, and they were backing out of the garage before he could even fasten the seat belt.
Tristan hadn’t been this pissed off in a while. He thought he’d broken through Dylan’s barriers last night. They both agreed they fit well together—even declared it. They had fun together, and he envisioned they’d keep this going whenever Dylan came back to California for work. He really liked Dylan and wanted to get to know him better. That had been a huge side benefit in hiring the guy to work for him. Now, with just his housekeeper’s presence in his home, all the walls were back in place. He could feel them solidly shut, like the guy he’d talked to the first night in the strip club.
“When you get home and you have time to think this through, don’t blame this weekend on the alcohol,” Tristan started. Yes, he was hurt and maybe he was being petty, but he needed to say it.
“This weekend was a fluke. I don’t drink at all anymore,” Dylan protested. Tristan looked over at him. Dylan’s tone was hard, and he refused to look his way, turning toward the passenger side window instead.
“You were into last night and when we were on the beach. You didn’t have more than a beer the whole time we were there,” Tristan defended.
“My problem with alcohol isn’t a drunken deal. It helps me forget who I am. I lose my inhibitions and myself. I shouldn’t have drunk anything,” Dylan answered, a little softer now.
“So, what you’re saying is… I’m a drunk fuck? That’s a little insulting,” Tristan shot back. Not that it was that insulting. He’d know Dylan’s guard had been down, but he’d thought or maybe hoped things had changed with all the time they’d spent together. He hated admitting to feeling a little bit hurt, but the dull ache in his heart wouldn’t stop begging him to make this right. He took a corner a little too sharply, hoping to throw Dylan off, but he remained tight-lipped, his body tense, with his fist bunched up in the clothing he held. Dylan refused to look at him and kept his head cocked to the right, staring out the window.
They didn’t say another word.
Tristan considered pulling right up front to the hotel and making Dylan either talk to him or get out of the car right there, but he resisted that urge as he pulled past the circle drive and turned the corner. He went for the garage, taking a ticket, and going all the way to the bottom floor. He pulled into a parking space in a far back corner, away from any other cars.
“No one should see you down here.” Tristan shifted the gear into neutral. Dylan was already opening the door, a foot outside of the car as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.
Damn, he couldn’t let him leave, not like this. Not after the weekend they had shared.
“Hang on.” Dylan didn’t stop, didn’t acknowledge him, but he hadn’t figured he would. He reached out, grabbing Dylan’s wrist and held on even as he tried to shake him off. “Hang on, please!”
“What?” Dylan slid back in the seat and glared at him as he closed the car door, so much turmoil reflected in the depths of his beautiful blue eyes. Tristan wasn’t sure what he wanted, but that look was exactly the way he felt at this very moment. Dylan sucked in a breath, and Tristan reached for him with his other hand, sliding it around to the back of Dylan’s head. The air in the small confines of his car charged with electricity. He descended and Dylan met him halfway, mouth opening for him.