Bankers' Hours (14 page)

“Oh. Her father left when she was a kid.”

I asked, “That’s it? Then why is she so mean toward us?”

“Ever since I met her, Teresa has had a chip on her shoulder about her father and has talked down about men for years. She’s never been out-and-out hateful toward homosexuals, but hearing I’m gay probably added gay men to her list.” Tristan looked up at the ceiling as if to heaven or God and said, “I apologize to all gay men everywhere. I didn’t intend to incur her wrath.”

“We forgive you,” I said.

Tristan smiled at me. “Thanks. I make no excuses for Teresa, but I know she’s never forgiven her father for leaving, and she’s never forgiven me for not marrying her.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you?”

“Because I don’t love her. I didn’t know she was pregnant until I was out of boot camp. I mentioned marriage out of guilt, but she turned me down, relating me to her father in some sort of twisted way. Her father had cheated on her mother multiple times; Teresa told me she wasn’t about to shackle herself to a potential cheater. I let it go because I knew I was gay by that point and would never be happy if I married her. Her mother started drinking years ago, which explains Teresa’s drinking problem. The whole situation is a clusterfuck. By the time I was out of the military, coming out as gay seemed to be self-serving. It wouldn’t have helped Teresa, and Claire was too young to understand. Teresa and I were never truly together, so I let it go. I figured I’d tell her on a need-to-know basis.”

I snuggled my face into his neck. “But why didn’t you explain all that in the argument? You aren’t like her father, and it sounds like you were trying to save her feelings.” He smelled so yummy it was increasingly difficult to focus on the conversation.

“I’m not, and I was, but I’m also not vengeful like her. She has always had to one-up people. I thought it best not to stir up more trouble. Claire knows I’m gay, and I have you. There isn’t much more I need.”

“Then I’m glad.” I couldn’t help but kiss his skin—he smelled so good.

Tristan snickered and released me, pulling back far enough to look in my eyes but not letting go of my waist. “You are amazing. I can’t believe, after all that, you’d still find the desire to kiss me. Aren’t you pissed? You said you’re freaking out, but still you kiss me?”

I shrugged, settling my hands on his chest and brushing my fingers lightly over his chest hairs. “What can I say? I’m still attracted to you. You’re shirtless and you smell like food, so I kissed you. Arguing with your baby momma doesn’t change how I feel about you. I’m not running away, especially now.”

“So you’re willing to marry me after one date?” He sounded bewildered.

“Yes. I know it’s stupid. We hardly know each other. We live vastly different lives and we’ve only been on one real date. But if this was where our relationship was heading eventually, then why wait? Reneging now proves Teresa right.”

“No, it doesn’t. She’s wrong, no matter what we do next. Getting married on a whim isn’t logical or smart.”

I ran my fingers across his collarbone. Debating half-clothed was now my favorite way of discussing things. His skin was so warm. “But neither is allowing her to feel self-righteous. I’m not going to stand for her insults. We can make this work. I know we can.”

Tristan’s eyes danced over my face. He smiled softly, as he often did while gazing at me, and agreed, “Okay. We’ll get married. But why did you pick the seventeenth?”

“I knew it would take a few days to get a license, so we couldn’t possibly get married tomorrow. We need to buy rings and find an officiator for the ceremony. Most people don’t get married during the week, so it had to be a Saturday. I’m off on the seventeenth. I’m not even sure if a week will be enough time, but we can try. We should probably invite people, don’t you think? At least close friends, and maybe your daughter.”

He tilted his head back. “Oh God, I’m getting married.” He looked me in the eyes and squeezed my shoulders. “You and I are getting married. Holy shit!” He laughed and pulled me into a hug. “Well, I guess you better go home, shower, and get your ass back here, because we’ve got some planning to do.”

I laughed until I cried. It was all so much, so fast, and yet I didn’t want to get off the ride. I knew I simply needed to hang on tight.

Chapter 7: Daughters, Diamonds, And Divas Who Materialize Out Of Nowhere

I SHOWERED
and returned to his place to find my car running.

“You fixed it!”

“It was the battery,” Tristan explained, shutting my hood and wiping his hands on a rag. It was already dirty, so I wasn’t sure how much good it would do him to wipe his fingers on it. “When I got in to turn the key I noticed the visor mirror was open. A small light
could
have drained the battery if you hadn’t replaced it in a while, but then I noticed the headlights weren’t fully shut off. You left the running lights on. I gave you a jump—no problem.”

I remembered checking my hair in the mirror, but not leaving the lights on. How embarrassing. “My mom told me driving with the running lights on was safer. Newer cars have lights that come on automatically, but mine don’t. Thanks,” I said, feeling a little guilty for my mistake. I spotted a hammer sitting on my fender. “Then what’s the hammer for?”

“Sometimes a car won’t start when the starter sticks. I brought my hammer just in case I needed to tap it.”

I smirked and joked, “A hammer? Is that why you make the big bucks? You can fix things with hammers? How very male of you.”

Tristan grunted like Tim “The Tool Man” Taylor and I giggled. He waved me to follow him inside. I kept a safe distance from Tristan and his rag, since I wouldn’t appreciate getting grease on my dress khakis. “It’s two o’clock. Do you want some lunch?”

“I don’t know. I guess?” I felt guilty eating all his food. He had already made me breakfast.

He tossed the oily rag onto the dining room table next to the engine and furrowed his eyebrows. “Are you not hungry, or is there another reason? Because, to tell you the truth, I wasn’t really sure you’d come back today.” He walked to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. I couldn’t help thinking hands like that should be washed in a slop sink or at the very least the bathroom, not in the kitchen.

I squirmed when he picked up the dishtowel to dry them, but I responded calmly, “You have my car.”

“And you took my truck.”

I plopped down on one of the swivel chairs at his cluttered breakfast bar and pushed aside some trash so I could rest my elbows. His house, in the daylight, was more distressing than when we had been making out on his couch. It was in need of some serious organization. “I don’t know what I want, Tristan. My stomach’s queasy.”

Tristan walked around behind me and slid his arm around my waist. He whispered in my ear, “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to back out.”

I laid my head back on his shoulder and rested my arms on top of his. “No. It’s not that. There’s just so much to think about, and I guess the last few hours have given me a headache.”

He kissed my temple and nuzzled my hair with his nose. “I know. If it makes you feel any better, we could go shopping?”

“For what?” I asked, turning my head to look at him.

He grinned. “Rings.”

I smiled. “Oh yeah, we need those.”

“I also need something to wear. You always look dashing in your dress shirts, but I don’t own anything nice. My wardrobe consists of T-shirts and jeans.”

“And one pair of underwear,” I pointed out, holding up my index finger.

“Ha-ha, yes, one lonely pair of underwear. I think I need to go shopping. Will you help me?”

He let go of me as I rotated my chair around to face him. I took his hands and said, “Yes, Mr. Carr, I’ll help you find nicer clothes and a ring for your betrothed.”

Tristan smiled wider, squeezed my hands, and kissed me before saying, “I’ll go grab my wallet, and I’ll meet you at the truck.” He dashed to the bedroom with a skip in his step as if shopping for wedding rings was exciting. Maybe this whole situation
would
turn out well and my unease was unnecessary. Tristan did seem happy, which gave me a warm feeling inside.

I smiled to myself and walked toward the door. “I don’t mind driving,” I called after him.

“Okay,” he called back. “I’ll be out in one minute.”

I DROVE
us down to Columbia Mall. I hadn’t been there for a while, but it was familiar, and it was one of the largest malls around. Tristan needed lots of stores to choose from, so I made a decision and drove there. He did ask why we passed the Westminster Town Mall, and I gave him a look.

“I walked through there once two weeks ago. There are very few stores, and we’d be done in twenty minutes. We’re going to a place where we can check out lots of selections, have some ice cream, and not feel like we ran out of stores before we’re done.”

He seemed amused by my answer and leaned his head back. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, so I glanced down. Tristan held his hand open, his arm stretched across the console, waiting. I looked back to the road. I felt giddy and nervous. He wanted to hold my hand. He had held it before briefly, but the mall was an hour away. We’d be holding hands for potentially an hour. Although I could drive one-handed during straightaways, I wasn’t confident that turning could be done well without the use of two hands.

I took in a shaky breath and placed my hand in his. When he closed his fingers around mine, I thought for sure I spurted just a little. My body hadn’t felt this collectively happy since I’d woken up in his bed. I didn’t know what was going to happen between us if and when we went through with this marriage, but I certainly knew I liked him. We could make it work, right?

WE MADE
it to the mall, and I parked near Nordstrom. I always parked near there
because then I’d never lose my car. And I knew where all the stores were, relative to where I entered. Tristan said he’d never been in a mall that large. He rarely shopped, and Walmart normally did the trick. I cringed.

I picked out some dress shirts in Macy’s, and he was measured for a suit in Lord & Taylor, which did their own alterations and would have the suit ready for pickup by Tuesday. I found him multicolored boxer briefs, and he agreed to get them, but he pointed out that he would most likely slip them off when he got into bed. He said sleeping with clothes on had felt too weird for him. After we bought a number of items for Tristan, he took me to Hot Topic and told me it was my turn.

“Why?” I asked, skeptically glancing around at the displays of fan gear for
Doctor Who
, Harry Potter, and
The Walking Dead
. You could get a T-shirt, necklace, and action figure all at once! I did like
Doctor Who
, but why would I want an action figure?

Tristan replied, “Because you need some clothes to chill in. Do you even own a T-shirt?”

“I….” I opened my mouth, but there weren’t any script answers forthcoming. He had me. I had white undershirts, but that wasn’t the same. Then I remembered something and snapped my fingers. “I have an Aerosmith T-shirt!”

He gave me an incredulous snorty giggle, which was actually sort of cute. “You? You listen to Aerosmith?”

Guilty posture: toothy grin, wide eyes, hunched shoulders. “No,” I confessed. “It was my cousin’s. I was at a birthday party four years ago, and my shirt got trashed by Silly String–wielding maniacs.”

Tristan gave me a disbelieving frown. “Silly String doesn’t stain.” He turned and walked on, weaving around the display racks, so I followed him through the store.

I explained, “It does when they corner me and I bump into the tie-dye table and suddenly I’m the one being unwillingly tie-dyed.”

Tristan chuckled again, shaking his head at me. He had been laughing at me ever since I’d met him, but not in a mean way. He snickered often, as if he truly enjoyed being around me. He hadn’t rolled his eyes or anything mean, only smiled and snickered.

“Here,” he said, stopping by the wall of T-shirts. “How about this one?” Tristan held a medium T-shirt against my chest.

“Who’s Lynyrd Skynyrd?”

He widened his eyes. “What? You don’t know?”

I shook my head. “Should I?”

“What kind of music do you listen to?” He folded the tee and put it back on the pile.

“Meghan Trainor and Taylor Swift, and whatever Pandora plays when I turn it on.”

“No way.”

“It’s true. Why do you look so shocked?”

“I don’t know. You seem like a nerdy type to me, no offense. You wear your dress shirts all buttoned up, and your hair is never out of place. When you wear your glasses, you carry a certain air about you.”

“Stuck up?” I’d been told that before. I’d had people think I was snooty.

Tristan disagreed. “No. That sounds harsh. How about ‘refined’? I figured you go for classical or maybe jazz, not chick pop.”

The way he said it sounded better than others who had teased me for my fastidiousness. “I like what I like. I also have a few soundtrack CDs.” I was afraid to admit my addictions, but if we were getting married, then he’d find out soon enough.

Tristan held another T-shirt up to my chest. “Yeah, I like this one.” He threw it over his shoulder and looked for more. He held the next one up.

I shook my head. “I’m not wearing a giant tongue on my chest.”

“Okay. No Rolling Stones.” He rummaged through another stack and held up a shirt for All Time Low. I nodded approval because I liked the graphic design on the front. I only hoped I liked the band, since I was consenting to wear their shirt. “Which soundtracks do you have?” he asked.

I paused before answering. Would he be amused by my behavior as before? I stopped following him, and he turned around. Tristan gave me a look. I hung my head in preparation for this next tidbit. “I have all the music from
Glee
.”

“
Glee
?”

“The TV show.”

“Never heard of it,” he commented while bending down to look through a stack of T-shirts on a lower shelf.

I clutched my chest for my impending heart attack. “What?”