Crochet My Heart

by Carol Pedroso

  CHARLIE COLLAPSED on his couch. Three more had turned up half an hour before the end of the class. Apparently they had read the times wrong. Everyone promised to be on time for the next session in two days’ time.

  He was happy but exhausted. What a day. His class was an early success, and one of his students in particular was drool-worthy eye candy.

  The way Tristan blushed so easily was adorable, and Charlie really wanted to count each of those freckles. Preferably with his tongue.

  Heaving a sigh, he tried to push his inappropriate thoughts to the back of his mind. Tristan was his student. He was not there for him to take mental pictures of for later use.

  But he really was exactly Charlie’s type. He had a fine ass too. Damn, there went his thoughts again. He obviously had no control over them.

  Deciding a cold shower was needed, he heaved himself up and cursed when his phone rang with a familiar ringtone.

  “Hello, Mother.”

  “Don’t you sigh at me like that. So how did it go?”

  Resigning himself to having to wait for his shower, he sat back down and gave his mother a rundown of his day, leaving out any specific mention of the hot new student.

  “Do you need any more patterns? If one of your students is making things for a Christmas fair, they will need a bit of variety.”

  That was his mother all over. She would offer help wherever she could, for anyone who needed it.

  “I’m good, Mom. I’m going to look up some ideas on the internet. I can show the sites to Tristan and show him the videos and how to find them. Then when he’s finished the class, he will know where to look for ideas and how-to videos in the future. He’s got about nine sessions between now and the deadline of his fair.”

  “Okay, dear. Now tell me, how hot is this Tristan? He must be burning if you’re willing to go to all that trouble for him.”

  Charlie huffed. “You know full well I would do anything to help any person I am teaching. You taught me not to do things by halves. You’re just trying to play matchmaker, and it isn’t going to work. Even if I am interested—which I’m not—he is my student and on a fairly tight deadline if he is going to make enough items to sell at this Christmas fair of his.”

  His mother hummed. “I think the man doth protest too much.”

  Charlie rolled his eyes.

  “And I know you’re rolling your eyes. You’re just like your father.”

  “Yes, Mom. How is Dad? Has his cough cleared up yet?”

  “Changing the subject now, are we?”

  Charlie waited her out and stifled a chuckle at her very put-upon sigh.

  “His cough is clearing up fine. A few more days and it should be gone. Of course, he still maintains he’s dying and can’t possibly get off the couch to do anything, as it may make him worse. He’s also called the doctor a few colorful names after he refused to give him a prescription for antibiotics. He doesn’t like being told it has to run its course on its own.”

  Charlie did chuckle this time. His father was a terrible patient. He didn’t do illness well, and the slightest sniffle would send him to his bed for days. How his mom hadn’t given up and dumped a bucket of water over his head to shut up his whining escaped Charlie.

  He finally got his mom off the phone and headed for his shower.

  After he was clean and changed, his stomach made its own request for attention.

  An investigation of his fridge turned up one of his mom’s homemade ready meals, and he was soon munching his way through a steaming bowl of lasagna.

  Five weeks until the fair

  TRISTAN LOOKED at what he’d accomplished. A red-and-green square that resembled a coaster. Once Charlie had taught him how to change colors, he was fine just repeating the same row over and over.

  He’d even learned to make a tassel. It was currently dangling from his little finger, reflecting the light of the living room off its rainbow-effect yarn. Charlie had promised to bring some different beginner patterns to the next session for Tristan to try. Charlie insisted he would have Tristan making lots of different things by the time the date of the fair came around.

  Of course, the best thing about the session was watching Charlie. He was sex on legs, all lean lines and grace. Charlie had told Ivy that he swam at least three times a week and that he was a stockroom assistant at a local retail outlet. That was hard work, and it showed in the muscles Tristan got a glimpse of when Charlie bent to retrieve something and his top rode up to show a portion of skin. And had he mentioned the way those pants hugged that ass? Yes? Well. It bore repeating.

  All Tristan had to do was gather the courage to ask Charlie out. Maybe he wasn’t gay? Just because he worked for a gay-friendly charity didn’t mean he liked men in that way. But he shouldn’t be offended if Tristan asked, should he? All he had to say was no, and Tristan could escape and lick his wounds.

  Maybe he should leave it until the last session. That way if Charlie said no, he wouldn’t have to see him again, and he could still get everything made for the fair.

  Happy with the plan, Tristan headed for the kitchen and a late snack before bed. He had three clients on the books for the next day, and he was going to be too busy to think about a great ass and lean muscles.

  Okay, so he was never too busy to think about those things.

  Four weeks to go until the fair

  THE NEXT few sessions went well, and Tristan was pleased with how fast he was learning. He could now make stuffed balls and was working on turning them into snowmen and women; Ivy had pointed out his items should represent all genders. He did put his foot down when she tried to alter the pattern to add big boobs to the female snowpeople. He told her the fair was a family event and that was not appropriate. She just laughed and made a few suggestions for the male snowpeople, which shot down as well.

  The three people who joined the first class late participated in the general conversations but otherwise seemed to keep to themselves. They came from a youth group, and they were working together to make a winter toy scene for their younger members to play with. Tristan was sure he sometimes caught a wistful glance from the one named Xander, but then something would take his attention away, and he would forget about it.

  Charlie’s mom had turned up during one of their sessions “to drop off some bits and pieces he’d need.” Tristan and the others had fun watching Charlie squirm.

  “Oh, you should have seen him as a toddler,” Geraldine had gushed. “Give him some paints and he was happy for hours. Of course we always made sure he was either outside or that we laid plenty of bin bags on the floor. It was either that or we were trying to get paint out of any surface he could reach.”

  Everyone laughed, especially when Charlie ended up chasing his mother out because she was threatening to tell them more of his youthful mishaps.

  Three weeks to go until the fair

  “HE SAID what?” Ashley gasped, a hand over her mouth and her eyes sparkling with a mixture of offense and mirth.

  Tristan nodded, grinning. It was their sixth session, and he was regaling the others with a tale about a client he’d met the day before. The man wanted him to do his accounts and make sure he could claim the decorating of his private home as a business expense. His comment about how since Tristan was gay he should know how expensive it is nowadays to decorate the inside of an entire house and so Tristan should be able to find a work-around in the accounts had been the last straw and the point of their group’s current conversation.

  He then put on his best camp voice. “But daaahling,” he drawled. “All gay men know just everything about interior decorating, it’s a world-known fact.”

  Everyone dissolved into laughter.

  “What happened next?” Charlie asked when he got ahold of himself.

  Tristan shook his head. “I told him what for, and he told me to stop being a drama queen.”

  The others gasped. “Yep, that pissed me right off—pardon my language, Ivy.” Ivy waved him off. “I just stared at
first, and then I remembered what a British friend of mine used to say sometimes when people accused him of the same thing. I put on my best ‘gay’ voice and said, ‘Sweetie, you say drama queen. There are just two queens in the world that matter. One lives in Buckingham Palace, and the other is standing right here, and don’t you forget it.’ I waggled my finger in his face, then turned on my heel and sashayed my way out of the room. I sent him an email on the way home telling him his business would not be needed by my company now or in the future. He didn’t reply.”

  Everyone was doubled over in laughter. “Show us. Show us,” Ivy started chanting, and soon the room echoed with the words as everyone joined in.

  “Okay. Okay.” Tristan stood, then put his crocheting and coffee carefully on his chair. He moved to a clear space and put one hand on his hip. “I was carrying a bag with all my papers in it on this arm.” He started walking, putting as much sway as possible into his hips and ass. He grinned at the whistles and cheers from the group.

  He turned, and as he dropped into a florid bow, he caught Charlie’s heated look. Maybe he should just bite the bullet and ask now.

  The rest of the class passed with laughter and everyone sharing funny stories of things that people had said or done to them and how they’d dealt with the situations.

  Tristan spent as much of his time as he could watching Charlie. He was sure Charlie was watching him, too, but he couldn’t catch him in the act.

  “Concentrate on your work and just listen,” Ivy whispered in his ear at one point. Tristan looked back at the ball he was making. Ivy continued, although she didn’t seem to be looking up from her own crafting. “He’s talking to Kerry, but he’s watching you out of the corner of his eye. If you don’t believe me, drop your hook and see what happens.”

  Tristan let the hook drop, and it clattered to the floor. He cursed under his breath and then had to hide a smile as a wonderfully deep voice sounded from over his shoulder.

  “You okay there, Tristan?” Charlie asked, and Tristan looked up to meet his gaze with a smile, ignoring Ivy’s quiet giggles beside him.

  “I’m getting there.”

  “Here, let me help get you started again.” Charlie took the yarn and kneeled down to retrieve the hook. Tristan had to swallow at the image of Charlie on his knees.

  Charlie had him in knots; he needed to do something and soon. Otherwise he swore he was going to have to start wearing tighter underwear to try to contain the raging hard-on he always seemed to have around Charlie.

  Once Charlie moved away to help someone else, Ivy gave him a look that said I told you so. He shook his head and turned back to his work. He would think about what he was going to say after the session.

  CHARLIE WATCHED as everyone packed up their work. Tristan seemed to be dragging his feet, and Charlie wondered what was going on.

  Over the last few sessions, his obsession with Tristan had grown into something he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—identify. He found himself watching him when no one was looking. He was always aware of what Tristan was doing, and if Tristan had any trouble, Charlie was there instantly. Then there was his body’s reaction. He was always half-hard when he was around Tristan. If Tristan blushed, it was worse, and when he had sashayed across the room? Charlie had been glad he was sitting down, because he feared he would have fainted as his blood rushed south so fast he was left light-headed.

  It was getting harder and harder—pun intended—to not touch Tristan the way he wanted to. He wanted to kiss all those freckles one at a time. He wanted to see if they extended past the sexy neck that was always calling to him to suck up a mark to show Tristan was spoken for. He really wanted to strip Tristan and have him writhing under him, begging for release.

  When it was just Tristan and Ivy left, Charlie wandered over to them.

  “Everything okay, guys?”

  “Yes, thanks,” Ivy answered first. “Ashley’s gone to get the car.”

  Charlie nodded and turned to Tristan, who was all packed up and twisting the handle of his bag in his fingers.

  “Tristan?”

  “Um, I was wondering if, maybe, you’d like to go out sometime? For a drink. Or a movie. Or anything, really.”

  This Tristan was so different from the smart, funny man Charlie had gotten to know over the last few weeks that he stopped his instant reply and thought about what he should say.

  “It’s not a good idea. I’m sorry. I’m your teacher, and I don’t want to—”

  “Okay, sorry I asked. I gotta go, or I’ll be late for dinner with my mom and sister. See you next time, maybe.”

  Tristan practically ran out the door, and Charlie was debating going after him to make sure he was okay when he flinched from a smack to the back of his head.

  “Ow.” He spun to face Ivy, who was standing with her arms folded over her ample bosom and tapping her foot while glaring daggers at him.

  “I can’t decide whether you’re just stupid or heartless too,” she declared. “We’ve all watched as that boy has fallen for you over the last few sessions. He watches your every move. He often messes up his work to get you to ‘help’ him when he knows full well what he’s doing. We’ve also watched as you’ve taken special care of him and made time to help him as much as possible.” She waved off his protest before he could speak. “Oh, I know you help all of us. But he has your undivided attention whenever he needs it, and we all understand. You’ve been flirting with him since the first session. We’ve all been rooting for you both and even encouraging him to bite the bullet and make the first move.

  “Now the boy has got up the courage to ask you out, you turn him down. And don’t you tell me it’s because you’re his teacher. That’s a load of bullshit.” Charlie’s eyes popped at the curse coming from such a nice old lady. “Yes, I can swear like a sailor if the need calls for it, and this is one of those times. You’re being a chickenshit, and you know it. You want him; he wants you. It’s not complicated. Now you are going to call him and tell him you are willing to go out with him. Don’t even try to argue with me. Do you remember when your mother dropped in while we were on a break last week?” Charlie nodded. “Well, we had a great chat and even exchanged numbers. I could give her a call and tell her all about your behavior.”

  Charlie felt himself blanch. No way did he want his mother interfering in his love life. At least no more than she already did. He did like Tristan. But what if it didn’t work out? He would lose the start of a good friendship. But haven’t you lost that anyway? The voice in his head sounded just as scolding as Ivy’s. Do you really think he’s going to come back for any more sessions? And do you think he’ll finish all he needs for his fair without the group? Pull your big boy pants up and do what Ivy’s telling you to do and what you know deep down you want to do anyway.

  “I’ll call him,” he promised.

  Ivy continued to glare. Charlie sighed and pulled out his phone. Tapping through to his class contacts list, he selected Tristan’s number and hit call.

  “Hello?”

  Charlie might not have been able to see Tristan, but he could hear the misery in his voice. If he hadn’t already felt bad, this would have done it.

  “Tristan, it’s Charlie. I—”

  “I got the message the first time. There’s no need to check up on me. But while I’ve got you, I may not be able to make the next session. Something has come up. I’ll let you know.”

  Charlie stared at his phone after it went silent in his ear.

  “He hung up!” He didn’t mention what Tristan said about not coming to the next session. Told you so! Sometimes he really hated the voice in his head.

  Ivy snorted. “What did you expect? You humiliated him. For nothing, I might add. I suggest you ring him back and keep ringing until he listens to you. You do like him, don’t you?”

  Charlie hung his head. “Yes, I like him. I’m just scared. What if it doesn’t work out?”

  Ivy took pity on him and pulled him into a floral-perfume-scented hu
g. “Oh, young man, there are no certainties in this life. There are only opportunities. It is much better to regret an action than a missed opportunity. I loved my husband dearly, but before I met him, I was asked by my childhood sweetheart to marry him and move abroad when he got a job in the UK. I didn’t feel I could leave my family and the home I knew, so he went without me. As I said, I loved my husband—God rest his soul—but I often wonder what would have happened if I had said yes all those years ago.”

  Charlie listened and took in what Ivy was saying. He was kicking himself. Why did he have to try to hide behind being Tristan’s teacher? Why couldn’t he have the balls to say yes? Tristan was a lot braver than he was, and he admired Tristan for that. Now he just needed to get Tristan to talk to him. Maybe he should call his mom. As painful as the conversation would be, she always had good ideas.

  He nodded a distracted goodbye to Ivy when Ashley called through the door that she was still waiting and didn’t want to get a ticket.

  TRISTAN LOOKED up from the ice cream tub he was demolishing when his phone lit up… again. Charlie. That would be the fifth?—sixth?—call so far this evening. It had started with texts almost as soon as he’d got home. When he hadn’t replied the calls had started.

  The phone went dark and then almost immediately lit up again.

  Cursing, Tristan snatched up the phone and answered.

  “Haven’t you said everything you needed to say?” He tried to keep his tone level but knew some of his hurt probably still slipped through.

  “I would love to go out with you.” Charlie spoke so quickly it took a few moments for Tristan to work out what he’d said.

  He swallowed his first reaction and spoke carefully. “Please repeat that.”

  Charlie sighed. “I would love to go out with you. If the offer is still open, that is.”

  “What changed?”