“I think I’m done. Unless you want to keep going,” Dylan offered, not a hint of fatigue in his voice. Tristan thanked God right there.
“Nah, let’s keep going,” Tristan huffed, slowly passing by as Dylan started walking. He turned and started jogging backward, showing off for his handsome running partner.
“I’m done,” Dylan replied, smiling at him. He had to look like a hot mess, but he kept on jogging backward in place, as though he knew what he was doing. What was the saying? ‘Fake it till you make it.’ His shirt was soaking wet, and he struggled to breathe and talk at the same time. Dylan probably knew he was grandstanding for his benefit.
After a minute of Dylan’s patient smile, he stopped his little act and doubled over, trying to catch his breath. “Thank God…I was hoping you were serious about stopping. I don’t feel so good.” He dropped to the ground, rolling to his back.
“You should walk it out. You’ll cramp up if you don’t,” Dylan warned.
“I can’t cramp any more than I already am,” Tristan panted, gulping air, trying to stop the world from spinning above him. Dylan laughed, shaking out his legs.
“Come on, seriously, you’ll cramp,” Dylan said, extending a hand for Tristan. “We can cut back somewhere here, I think. I read something about that.”
“I have people on standby.” Tristan looked up at Dylan’s hand but completely ignored the gesture, choosing to remain on the ground, still breathing painfully hard. Dylan watched him closely, probably doing a bit of a how-serious-is-this assessment before lifting his brow and grinning down at him. After a second of staring at that handsome face, Tristan dug in his shorts pocket and lifted his phone to his ear. “Come get us.”
“What did you just do?” Dylan shook his head and began walking around again, before bending over to stretch out his back.
“About mile three, I feared a heart attack. I put them on notice. They’ll be here soon.” He grinned up at Dylan’s confused look, but still just lay there.
“So that’s what you were doing with your phone?” Dylan asked.
“Give me a break. I was dying. Who does this on a regular basis?” Tristan gasped, draping an arm over his eyes. The whir of a golf cart raced toward them, and Tristan turned his head to the side to watch as his rescuer arrived.
“Mr. Wilder?” A guy jumped off and rushed to his side. He had an EMT badge on his sleeve.
“Yeah,” Tristan replied lazily, not moving at all.
“Do you need a gurney, sir?” the guy asked, walkie-talkie in hand.
“No, I don’t need a fucking gurney.” It took a second for Tristan to hoist himself up. The sounds he made must have been what had Dylan laughing. It took several more seconds for him to get himself to his feet. The driver kept trying to help, and Tristan pushed him off, proud when he stayed on his feet under his own power. The EMT handed him a bottle of water, toweling his flushed face with a wet cloth.
“Don’t you have water all ready?” Dylan asked.
“I drank that the first two miles.” Tristan downed the contents of the water bottle quickly, knowing his stomach would hurt soon, but thirst overrode that concern.
“I would’ve given you mine,” Dylan said, sliding inside the golf cart beside him. Tristan rolled his eyes as they were whisked away. He was in so much pain, he didn’t even get to enjoy Dylan’s happy mood.
“Now you offer me your water.”
“I should have brought my clothes and gone from Crystal Cove to the hotel,” Dylan said as he pulled Tristan’s sports car into the driveway of his house. He reached up and pushed the remote to open the garage door. “But then someone still would have had to drive you home, probably in an ambulance.”
“Har, har. You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?” Tristan had his head back on the headrest, but rolled his face to the left to look at Dylan.
“That was an accidental slip of a joke. That shouldn’t happen too many more times,” Dylan chuckled, putting the Ferrari in first gear before shutting it down. “You don’t need to be driving dehydrated.”
“I’m not dehydrated. I’m good now. I’m just not a runner. I work out every day, it’s just different out there,” Tristan countered.
“You should stay in today, let yourself even out. All that sweating and overexertion, you have to be dehydrated,” Dylan advised, getting out of the car.
“I’m fine,” Tristan argued and followed along behind Dylan. He had kept an eye on Tristan, and he did seem fine. Dylan entered the back door, thinking of another joke and suddenly came to an abrupt stop as unease gripped his entire body. A little, dark-haired woman stood in the pantry, looking his way.
“Mr. Tristan not home,” she said in a thick Hispanic accent.
“He’s with me,” Tristan called out, stepping in the house from behind him. Tristan gently touched his back. That touch catapulted the fear of being seen by someone else even higher. Being in Tristan’s home, having the small laughs and slight touches meant intimacy and that rooted Dylan in his spot unable to move a muscle. Tristan hadn’t seemed to catch on and slid an arm around him as he moved to the side, trying to get fully inside the house. Dylan turned quickly toward Tristan and pointed at the woman, then pointed to himself, panic had to be clear on his face. If that attempt at sign language didn’t get his point across, surely the fear in his eyes would make him respond. Instead he got nothing but a confused look from Tristan who was reaching for him yet again in front of the woman.
“They call. Gatorade on the counter,” the small-framed Spanish woman said. Dylan bolted, and he could hear Tristan follow him instead of going for the Gatorade. That was exactly the opposite of what he wanted. Dylan made a beeline to the living room. He needed to get his clothes and get out of this house.
Fuck! His clothes were gone again! He scanned the living room, then went for the kitchen. He didn’t see them on the counter or the table like before.
“What’s wrong?” Tristan asked from directly behind him.
“Where are my clothes?” Dylan faced off with Tristan, becoming angry now. Tristan was steps behind him, the concern clear on his face, and that was something Dylan didn’t want to see. He took off for Tristan’s bedroom. His clothes were folded at the end of a freshly made bed. Everything had been cleaned and put away in Tristan’s room as well as the bathroom.
Dylan went straight to his clothes, his wallet and his phone had been placed on top. Not inside the pockets, but on top. That meant she knew who he was.
“What’s happened?” Tristan asked, coming up behind him, touching him again. Dylan ignored him completely, grabbed his things, and palmed his phone to search for his Uber app.
“She saw me. She knows who I am. She cleaned up our mess,” Dylan finally said, thumbing through all the different applications until he found the one he wanted.
“Maria has never said a word about anything she sees in here. I’m not sure she even reads English,” Tristan said, turning Dylan toward him.
“I’ve got to go. There’s a driver a few minutes from here.” Dylan ducked around Tristan who stuck out an arm, stopping him in his tracks. That was where the years of weightlifting came in handy.
“She doesn’t care. She won’t say anything.” He jerked out of Tristan’s hold, stepping several feet away, and finally got the space he needed.
“I’ll drive you to the hotel.” Tristan’s voice turned hard.
“I don’t want people to see me like this,” Dylan stated on his way out of the room. He did manage a “yet” as he headed toward the front door.
Seconds later, Tristan was behind him, clamping a hand over the hard oak door Dylan was beginning to open.
“You held my hand on the beach. You let me jack you off on that same beach. Julian saw you,” Tristan hissed in his ear. Fuck! Dylan hadn’t even considered those things as real threats. The beach had been dark and they’d been completely alone. Julian was paid to be discreet. But he had been out for people to see them together. His insecure gaz
e darted up, meeting Tristan’s intense stare. This whole thing panicked him more than ever. Julian especially.
“I shouldn’t have done this,” he whispered. A range of emotions played across Tristan’s handsome face, until resignation was the only thing Dylan saw.
“I promised you were and are safe. I wouldn’t have put you in that kind of situation. I won’t ever put you in that type of situation,” Tristan vowed.
“I can’t do this again. Not yet. I’ve risked too much already,” Dylan said softly, but with conviction. The anger was gone. Desolation and the voice of reason took its place. He had solid reasons to stay hidden—three of them.
“You haven’t risked anything,” Tristan declared. His eyes went to the small glass panels of the door and he got a funny look on his face. Tristan grabbed Dylan’s wallet from on top of the clothes he carried and was out the door before Dylan could react.
“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.
Tristan prayed his kiss conveyed all the heat, passion, and desire he’d felt over the last few days. Dylan reached up to him, running his fingers through Tristan’s hair, and in that moment, for Tristan, this turned into a new beginnings kiss. He never intended to let Dylan go. That possession fueled the kiss as several minutes passed, leaving Dylan sprawled across the seat. The angle of Tristan’s body had the steering wheel digging into his hip and the console limiting his breath, but he didn’t let go of the hold he had on Dylan who held him just as tightly.
He kissed Dylan until he couldn’t breathe and moved to his neck, inhaling his scent. “I need to go,” Dylan whispered, his sweet breath lingering on Tristan’s face.
“I don’t want you to,” Tristan confessed, trying now to look Dylan in the eyes. “I’m sorry I got mad.”
“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have let this…” Tristan stopped the words. He’d heard those enough; he didn’t need to hear them anymore.
“I don’t want this to be the last time I see you.” He kissed him again. The lustful haze that glazed Dylan’s eyes had Tristan smiling. He loved the fact that his kiss did that to this overly reasonable man. “Just go. I’ll be in touch,” Tristan promised as he pulled back. Dylan closed his eyes, and Tristan couldn’t resist the desire to kiss each of his eyelids. Dylan swallowed har
d then opened them. Sadness shone from their cerulean blue depths.
“I can’t do this again,” Dylan said firmly, but he didn’t try to leave the embrace. His actions were in direct contrast to his words, and that allowed hope to fill Tristan’s heart again. Finally, something other than his own determination that they would meet again.
“You’ve made that clear,” Tristan whispered softly, lightly kissing his lips. Dylan kissed him again on his own.
“I’m glad you were my first,” Dylan said, that sadness in his eyes reached his voice this time. Tristan didn’t know what to do to banish the look. If he said there was no way he planned to let them end here, panic would return, so he kept those words to himself.
“Me, too. You’re sexy as hell, Mr. Reeves.” Tristan forced a smile, reluctantly letting Dylan rise.
“Thank you for all this,” Dylan replied, gathering his things.
“I’ll have the contracts to you quickly. I have legal working on them now,” Tristan added, unable to keep himself from looking at Dylan’s full lips one last time. These were lips he longed to take again and again. It was unfathomable how in such a short amount of time this man had worked his way in and completely captured his heart.
“All right,” Dylan said. Tristan watched the way he squared his shoulders and set his resolve. That was probably the difference between an inebriated Dylan and a sober one. He made himself do what he considered the right thing, at all cost. And that just might be the sexiest thing about the man.
Dylan reached for the door again and Tristan let him go this time. Dylan stepped out and turned around. He ducked his head to give him one last look. Neither said anything, they just stared at one another. Words weren’t needed now. Tristan saw everything he felt reflected in Dylan’s eyes. Dylan gave a nod and shut the door. He didn’t look back as he jogged to the bank of elevators leading up into the hotel.
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