Bankers' Hours (23 page)

“It’s not stupid.”

“Oh, no? Then I guess your conversation with your best friend was more important than your boyfriend, or soon-to-be husband.” Tristan got off the bed and walked over to “his” side. He got in and pulled the sheets up, rolling onto his side away from me.

He was really upset about it. I quickly brushed my teeth and returned to bed. I scooted up behind him and stared at his back—it was like a gigantic, tan, muscular wall, intricately carved with black lines. I had briefly seen the tattoo of a dragon that covered most of his back, but I hadn’t had a chance to study it until now. I traced my fingers over his scapula where the great beast’s eyes were. Tristan wiggled. I wasn’t sure if it was a wiggle to get away or an I-like-this wiggle, but I did it again. I kissed where my fingers touched, his skin warm against my lips as I trailed kisses down part of the dragon’s wing.

I scooted closer and lifted up on one elbow, kissing his neck, behind his ear, and his bald head. It felt weird kissing his scalp, but as I hadn’t kissed anyone’s hair except Mel’s, I couldn’t compare the feeling. I rested my hand on his shoulder and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say anything, but he touched my hand and then tried pulling my arm across his chest. My arms weren’t long enough to comfortably drape over his shoulder, so I suggested, “Here, let me try spooning you this time.”

I slid down behind him and pressed my body against his with my face tucked by his neck. Tristan quickly grabbed on to my arm as I slipped it around his waist. The position wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, since we were only separated by a few inches in height, but he was bigger, and I felt like I was wrapping a stick figure around a sumo wrestler. That was a bad analogy, though, and I was glad he couldn’t read my mind, because he wasn’t fat—he was simply larger than me.

He whispered, “Press your dick against my ass.”

Not exactly something anyone else had ever suggested. I immediately got self-conscious. I wasn’t hard, but of course I was getting there thinking about what he wanted me to do. Would he feel me? I was not endowed. I realigned my body and pushed my hips forward, pressing myself against his ass.

Tristan grunted.

When he said nothing further, I was forced to ask, “Was that a good grunt, or a bad grunt? I couldn’t tell. Can you even feel me?” I nudged forward again to emphasis my question.

He grunted again, closer to a moan. “I feel you, baby, and it’s real good.” He reached behind him with his long arms and grabbed my ass, pulling me tight against his rear. “You feel real good,” he reiterated.

I was trying to relax and go with it, but he was squeezing my ass and I couldn’t calm myself down.

Tristan let go and instructed, “Roll over.”

I wasn’t sure why. I thought he’d liked me nudging my groin against him. I did as asked, and Tristan rolled over with me. He spooned me like he had done before, pressing his seal club into my butt and wrapping his long arm over my chest. I felt his breath on my ear.

“Calm down, Grant. Just go to sleep.”

“You’re not mad?”

“It’s the first time I’ve ever sent someone flowers. Your reaction was not what I’d hoped for, but I’m sure the next time, you’ll at least say thank you.”

One tear slipped from my eye. I’d been a dick. Not the first time, and probably not the last, but I hated the sound of his voice. I rubbed his arm and held it securely.

“Grant?” he whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for going shirtless.”

I smiled. I knew everything would be okay.

Chapter 10: Need, Want, And Fearing The Things I’ve Never Done

I WOKE
up and Tristan was gone. I panicked slightly but spied a note on my dresser.

Grant,

I left because it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding… or some shit like that. I’ll meet you at the courthouse at 8:15. I’m not mad. I want to marry you.

~T

P.S. Sorry about the sheet. I had a wicked wet dream about you last night.

I walked back to my bed and inspected the sheet. It was dry, but I could see the spot he referred to. I rather enjoyed knowing he dreamed about me so vividly, since I dreamed about him all the time. I pulled the sheets off after tossing the pillows aside and remade the bed. I couldn’t leave it until after work.

I walked into the kitchen, and it hit me. “Holy shit, I’m getting married this morning.” I tried my best to remain calm as I ate some cereal and made my lunch for work, but my nerves were jumping. I took a shower, only to stare at the cowlick in my hair afterward as I combed it. “Seriously?” I asked my hair. “Of all the days for you to decide to look like Alfalfa.”

I was admittedly too young to have watched
Our Gang
when it was originally on television, but when I had lived with my mom she had often watched reruns of very old black-and-white shows like
Our Gang
,
The Andy Griffith Show
, and
The Munsters
. I thought they were funny, so I had never minded watching with Mom. Now, though, I didn’t want to look like the kid with the single clump of hair standing straight up on the top of his head. I was getting married!

I did what I had to do to fix my hair and went to the closet.

I donned the shirt Tristan had picked out. It was white with thick blue pinstripes. A very different look for me, but it matched so well with the sports jacket I had also bought that I was very pleased. Moreover, my new shirt matched the navy blue shirt Tristan had picked out, which meant the pictures we took together after the ceremony would look nice.

Deep breath. I left my house, got in my car, and met Tristan at the courthouse.

THE CEREMONY
took ten minutes, and the pictures took two. In no time, we were back in the parking lot standing next to my car. I stared at Tristan, and he stared back. It was obvious neither one of us knew what to say. I swallowed and took a stab first. “Um, I guess that’s it.” The whole thing seemed anticlimactic.

“Yeah,” he responded slowly. I never thought one word could be drawn out so far, but it was as if he couldn’t form any other words.

“Yeah,” I agreed, tapping the tips of my fingers together and mentally registering the added weight of the rings on my left hand. It wasn’t much, but enough to remind me of their presence without looking.

He must have caught my fidgeting, because he took my hands in his and said, “I’m glad we did this. I’m sure once we settle into the idea, this marriage won’t sound so preposterous.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Was he? We had sort of done it to prove a point to his baby momma. That probably wasn’t the worst reason in history to get married, but I’d bet it was up there.

“I’ve gotta get to work and change. How about we go out to dinner tonight. Your choice.”

I thought it over. We hadn’t gone to dinner except for the one time when I had spilled my drink on him. Dinner could be nice. “Okay,” I agreed.

“I’ll pick you up.”

“Okay.”

Tristan brushed my lips with his and caressed my cheek before sighing and running his hand over my hair. He paused and pulled my head down gently. “Um, what’s this?” he asked, pulling the pin from my hair. “Is this a bobby pin?” He eyed it curiously.

“Yeah. My hair wouldn’t cooperate this morning.”

Tristan chuckled. “You’re adorable.” He kissed me again and then handed over the pin. “I’m going. I’ll see you later.” Tristan turned and walked to his truck, parked two spaces down. He grinned and waved at me from the driver’s seat before driving away.

I got to work early, so I had a few nervous minutes to relive the simple vows in my head. We had promised to love and care for one another. We had promised to support one another and respect one another. I had pledged my life to Tristan Carr; I was his husband, and he was mine. I should probably inform my mother.

I needed Alka-Seltzer.

AT THE
bank, I went right to my work window in my “cubicle away from home.” I straightened everything, aligned my deposit slips, and made sure my pens were all facing down. My eyes caught sight of the rings on my hand, and for a moment I stared at the diamond. It sparkled. I turned my hand and tilted it so the light caught in the stone at several angles. Something inside caught, like my breath hitching, but not. It was that feeling when you want to sob, but your eyes haven’t quite watered. My whole chest seized. I was married.

“Good morning, dear one,” Mrs. Snyder said in a sultry voice.

I jumped and pulled my hand down to my side. As she explained her deposit and subsequent transfer, I used my thumb to slide my ring around backward, hiding the diamond inside my fist. “No problem,” I said with a smile. I took her stack of money and checks and turned to enter them in.

“Is that a wedding ring on your hand?” she asked boldly.

I hadn’t told Jessica. What if she overheard? She’d probably get angry and yell or make a scene. I said quietly, “Yes.”

I felt her eyes raking over me, but I refused to glance at her. “Hmm. I suppose congratulations are in order.”

Not what I’d expected. I smiled thinly, still worried what those around me might say if they heard our conversation. “Thank you.”

“I don’t remember seeing it on your hand last week.”

I finished up the transaction and turned my attention fully her way. “No. It was recent.”

Her grin was more seductive than I expected. “You realize, dear boy, that being married only makes you more appealing.”

I drew in a long breath. “And on that note, here’s the receipt for your deposit and transfer.” I didn’t need to fuel her interest any more than I was apparently already doing with my mere presence.

She chuckled deep in her cougar throat and walked away.

I breathed a sigh of relief and then turned around to find Jessica standing right there, glaring. “You’re married? When were you going to tell me?”

“Um, now.” She was upset, and I had a feeling it was because she saw us as friends and I had somehow betrayed her by not disclosing the information first thing. “I’m sorry, Jessica. It all happened really fast,” I apologized. Whether or not it was my fault, I didn’t want her to feel hurt. “I called the courthouse like you suggested, and there were only two times available. We got married this morning.”

Jessica surveyed the lobby to make sure no one was waiting in line before commenting. “But is this what you want? Is this the dream wedding you planned your whole life? Is standing in front of a judge—”

“Clerk,” I corrected.

“Whatever… the way you pictured it?”

“I haven’t really pictured anything.” Not exactly true, but I knew what I had dreamed about through the years was not the same as Jessica.

“Bullshit. I’ve been planning my wedding since I was five. I know what flowers I want and the kind of gown. Let me see your ring,” she demanded. Reluctantly, I brought up my hand. She eyed it curiously and then figured out I had rotated the ring around to the inside of my hand. I rolled my eyes, huffed, and righted it. “Oh my God!” Jessica howled and grabbed my hand. “That’s huge! How much money does Tristan have?”

I winced at her volume. “Shhh, I don’t want to advertise my life in here.”

She quieted. “I’m sorry.” She held my hand and tilted the diamond in different directions like I had. “This is the prettiest ring I’ve ever seen. And you’re going to stand there and tell me you’ve never dreamed about your wedding? A guy doesn’t pick out a ring this ostentatious without thinking about it. If you didn’t care about any of it, then you’d have been fine with just the one simple band. This ring screams ‘romantic.’”

She had me there. As soon as I had seen it, I had known I wanted so much more than a court clerk officiating our wedding with as much emotion as the chief justice swearing in the president. I did want romance. I did want flowers. I knew I had looked nice—so had Tristan—but wouldn’t a white tux have been more grand? “We’re planning the spring wedding thing. I told you. This is just so it’s official and he can file for full custody and show how stable his home life is compared to his ex.” I kept repeating the same reason, but it sounded less and less convincing each time.

“I hope it’s worth it.”

I assured her, “It is. This is sudden, but fine. Really.” Jessica walked back to her cubicle when a customer walked up. As she helped him I couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d said. Was I really fine? I told myself I was. Everything else had happened so suddenly, but if I thought about it, then yes, I wanted more. I was a romantic. I wanted music and laughter. The clerk had been kind and had told us afterward he was glad for the ruling in June for marriage equality nationwide. I appreciated the sentiment, but I felt the emptiness of our marriage without our loved ones as witnesses. The two employees who witnessed our wedding were strangers. I wanted my mother there. I’d texted, but she had been on another bus trip—two in one week! She’d texted back her apology and left me feeling cold. I felt gypped. So much of the morning seemed imaginary. It was like getting married in secret, which it kind of was.

AT LUNCH,
I called Mel. He was upset, but ultimately understood. “Did you tell your mother?” he asked.

I muttered, “Yes. She was on a bus trip—again. She couldn’t be bothered to cancel it last minute. It’s as if she’s glad I’m not coming to her with every concern, instead of getting upset I’d forgotten to call. I admit I’ve been caught up in the whirlwind of it all, but I also feel disappointed at how it’s gone down.” I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought about my mother more. I used to think about her all the time, but lately she hadn’t been in my thoughts at all. I felt guilty.

“I can’t say I’m surprised. You’re not a kid, and I think she’d agree with me your clinginess was becoming an issue.”

“I’m not clingy!” I paused and thought about it. Arguing was pointless. “Fine, maybe I am,” I amended. I sighed over the phone. “You’re right. I’ve avoided being an adult for far too long. How’d you get so smart?”