Beta Test (#gaymers) (7 page)

“So you are.” It was a gorgeous, clear evening, the air just chilly enough to make the warm water welcome. A light breeze ruffled the scrubby plants ringing the patio. “Does your little apartment building have a hot tub?”

Tristan shook his head. “No, and I’m not even sure I know the upstairs’ tenants names. But my parents had a hot tub and a pool in Newport Beach. The hot tub was kind of tucked away on the far side of the backyard and a great place to hide out and think.”

“My spot to do that was our attic. My
dadi
—that’s grandma—hated to do the stairs to the third floor, so I’d hang out and draw and eat junk food.” Ravi kept his voice light, but Dadi and her iron-fisted insistence on things being a certain way was a huge reason he kept his distance from his family.

“She lives with your parents?”

“Yeah. She’s my dad’s mother and my dad brought her over from Surat before I was born, after my grandfather died.”

“That’s really cool. My parents were older when they had me, and both sets of grandparents died when I was little. That’s why they had to get the nanny. There weren’t any relatives to help out.”

“It’s not cool.” Ravi let out a pained laugh. “Dadi has opinions and rules about
everything.
My mom’s totally scared of her and never crosses her, so Dadi kind of controls the whole house. Now most of the extended family is also in the US, and the aunts and uncles are always over asking Dadi her advice. I know I’m an extrovert, but sometimes our house gets a bit loud, even for me.”

“Hence the attic.” Tristan nodded, eyes full of understanding. And holy cow how had Ravi never noticed before what an ethereal blue-gray shade Tristan’s eyes were or how they were ringed with thick lashes? Or how full his pale pink lips were? Ravi had to scoot away before he did something stupid.

Somehow, the couples had drifted away, leaving only him and Tristan on the patio.

Dangerous.
Ravi added another few inches of personal space, like that could help this strange reaction to Tristan.

“What junk food did you sneak?” Tristan asked with a smile, seemingly oblivious to Ravi’s struggle. “Let me live vicariously. Between my parents and the nanny, we didn’t get away with much, but Derek used to sneak me Snickers bars. Still can’t eat one without thinking of him.” Tristan’s smile slipped to something more vulnerable, something that made Ravi want to put an arm around him, put him at ease, keep him talking.

So Ravi told him about his obsession with all the Entenmann’s baked goods lines, and just as they had with lunch, they fell into an easy conversation about food and nothing much in particular. It was funny how, when he wasn’t obsessed with handing out agendas, Tristan was so easy to talk to. Ravi liked how they both loved food, but neither of them really cooked. What he didn’t like was his strange impulse to drag Tristan to all his favorite Santa Monica and LA haunts and watch to see which foods gave him that blissed-out look.

Eventually the water stopped churning. “Heck. How long have we been in?” Tristan hefted himself to the hot tub edge. “My muscles are probably liquefied now.”

“Hey, I’m the one who did most of the driving
and
ran five miles. I don’t think you get to complain.” Ravi laughed as he grabbed a towel from the stack on the rack by the door.

“I’ll try to do more driving tomorrow.” Tristan’s neck turned pink, and Ravi was more than a little turned-on by how the blush spread to his shoulders and chest. He needed Tristan back in his usual starched shirts stat.

“I wasn’t complaining.” Ravi clapped him on the back, which was a total mistake. Tristan’s skin was warm and smooth and his hand lingered longer than it should. He stepped away to hold the door open for Tristan, then headed to the elevator. “I’m on the third floor. You are too, right?”

“Yeah. I should do the stairs, but I think you’ve got the right idea.” He followed Ravi into the elevator. The elevator seemed far tinier than it had on the ride down, and Ravi swore he felt each of Tristan’s breaths.

The doors slid open, and as they both stepped out, Ravi felt a familiar impulse—one he had with friends all the time. He didn’t want to stop hanging out. He wasn’t ready to be alone. However, with Tristan, the urge felt more charged, weighted with something Ravi refused to let himself stop and consider.

Instead, he gave in to the words pressing against his throat. “Hey, Tris? I’m probably going to watch a movie before I go to sleep. You want to come in and watch something with me?”

Tristan swiveled, which put him far too close, their bare chests mere inches apart. Their eyes met, and in Tristan’s icy morning-blue eyes, Ravi saw the next few hours unfold—stumbling into his room, kissing those surprisingly plump lips, never even locating the remote control for the TV, undressing...

Tristan blinked and looked away, and all that heat and potential went up in a puff of logic that they absolutely could not do that and that even being alone in a hotel room together would be A Very Bad Thing. Ravi didn’t do closet cases, which Tristan was perilously close to being, and he didn’t do coworkers, and there were a thousand other reasons why he needed to resist the weird attraction that had continued to grow all damn day.

Shaking his head, Tristan’s words tumbled out much too fast. “Thanks, but I better get to sleep so we can get an early start. I saw a coffee place a couple of buildings over. Want me to grab the coffee in the morning? Americano with one sugar for you, right?”

“Yeah. The largest size they’ve got, thanks.” Ravi’s voice sounded distant to his own ears, and he barely registered saying goodnight and unlocking his hotel room. He headed right for the shower, turning it as warm as it would go, like that would help him wash away what had almost happened.

* * *

Tristan flopped on the bed in his hotel room. Holy flying monkeys, what had just almost happened with Ravi? First, there had been a moment in the hot tub when Ravi had stared at his lips and Tristan had been almost sure he was thinking about kissing. Tristan’s social life the past few years might be nonexistent, but he did know what a man looked like when he had more than a movie on his mind. And Ravi had definitely not been thinking of which crappy comedy or action movie they could watch.

Neither were you.
And you were tempted.
Admit it.
It was true. He’d been perilously close to seizing the pretext of the movie, going back with Ravi to his room. God, that knowing twinkle in Ravi’s eyes had almost done him in. That I-know-what-you-want look was Tristan’s catnip.

Everyone had a type—in fact, it was sometimes nice to people-watch and figure out who was into what. Derek’s type had been smart girls desperate to go bad. Adrian’s type was clearly bearded professors with a love of sweaters. Katya’s type was short, quick-witted men unafraid to defer to her will. And Tristan’s type? Apparently it was high-maintenance hipsters with a fleet of hair products and an out-and-proud swagger.

Patrick’s face flashed in his brain. Tristan’s life would be
so
much less complicated if he could be attracted to less flashy men, the sort of circumspect professionals who might have a whisper of a chance of fitting in to his life. But, no, he was attracted to the masculine equivalent of dynamite—men with the potential to tear his carefully tended life apart.

And it had been so long since he’d been tempted that he felt as dry as the Northern California landscape, one spark away from complete devastation.

Chapter Seven

Ravi could have guessed that Tristan was a morning person. He had yet to beat Tristan to work, and Tristan always seemed to have more accomplished by nine than most people did by four. Thus, it was no surprise that Tristan had their coffee in hand by six thirty, and thanks to his urging, had them on the road a little after seven. The cool morning air had enough bite to have Ravi grateful for the coffee. He took the lone cup holder since he was driving.

“Did you order your diabetic coma breakfast?” Ravi gestured at the cup Tristan was holding.

“Yeah.” Tristan’s cheeks turned a pink that matched the rosy glow of the morning sky.

“Good for you.” Ravi clapped him on the thigh before remembering his resolve to not touch Tristan for any reason. It was just too tempting. He fiddled with his phone, getting it plugged into the stereo. The GPS informed him that they had twelve hours left, and he promptly switched it off and pulled up his music instead.

“Are you going to try to do it all today or should we plan on splitting it up and finishing tomorrow morning?” Tristan had his tablet out and his folder of trip-related papers balanced on his lap. Ravi guided the truck out of the hotel parking lot and back on I-5 north for the long trek through Northern California.

“Let’s play it by ear and see what we can do. If we push, maybe.”

Tristan made a face. “I’d rather pick a stopping point—”

“How about you work on being spontaneous?” It was too early for Ravi to censor himself, but he tried to soften his words. “If we make it to the middle of Oregon, we dine with hippies. If we make it to Portland, I’m dragging you to this gay bar I know from when I was in Portland for a con. We’ll find fun.”

“I’m not sure we’re supposed to find fun.” Tristan’s lips pursed. “And a gay bar—”

“Is a fabulous idea.” The more Ravi thought about it, the more he liked the idea of being Tristan’s social ambassador. And if he got Tristan a life, maybe it would reduce this strange protectiveness he felt, and shoving Tristan firmly in the friend pocket could only help this inconvenient attraction. “Have you ever been to one?”

“Yeah.” Tristan looked out the window. “In college. My...friend was into the bar scene.”

“Friend-friend or boyfriend?” Ravi had totally picked up on Tristan’s hesitation with the label.

“Boyfriend.” Tristan sighed heavily.

“Oh, there’s a story there, isn’t there?”

“It’s rather boring.” Tristan shuffled his papers.

“I’ve got nothing but time.”

“It’s just a typical story. I met Patrick on campus my junior year of undergrad. We were together for almost two years. He left for a backpacking trip in Europe after graduation and decided to stay in Amsterdam.” Tristan delivered his story like he was reading from a
Wikipedia
article.

“Let me guess...Young Republican meeting?”

“Ha.” Tristan snorted. “Patrick wouldn’t be caught dead there. No, we met in the campus dining hall when the grill mixed up our orders. He was a bit more...
outgoing
than me. Big social circle, kind of like...other people I know.”

Interesting. Ravi could have sworn Tristan was about to say “like you.” He’d never entertained the remotest thought of being Tristan’s type. At least among the guys Ravi knew, the shy, quasi-closeted guys tended to stick together.

“So this Patrick liked to party and dragged you to your first gay bar?”

“And first straight one too. And so on. He loved going out.”

“And being
out
?” Ravi guessed.

“Yeah, that too.” Tristan sighed. “And before you ask, yes, that was a big source of conflict between us. I finally got up the courage to come out to my family, but it was too little, too late I guess.”

They were back dancing around the hot-button issue of family, but they were also on an endless stretch of flat highway, trapped behind a line of semitrucks, and Ravi had nothing better to do. “How did they react?”

“Terribly.” Tristan’s voice was strained. “Way, way worse than I thought they would. They threatened to not pay for grad school. They only relented after Patrick and I broke up, and I promised to be...discreet.”

“Man, that’s harsh.” Ravi could picture Tristan with spreadsheets and pro/con lists for coming out. No blurting to conservative parents in the middle of an argument for
him.
He could also picture Tristan younger and earnestly in love—almost too easily—and that image made his chest ache. And made him want to kick this Patrick guy for not appreciating how rare and precious trust like Tristan’s was.
And you are a sappy fool.
Better put on the emo 80s songs because that’s totally what you are today—a teen anthem waiting to happen.

* * *

Two and a half hours later, they stopped for gas and to switch drivers in Redding, a picturesque small city nestled in the shadow of Mount Shasta. The landscape had shifted from scrubby brown to greens and blues—crisp sky mingling with pine trees and gleaming rivers and lakes. Ravi’s fingers itched to hold his pen again, maybe send his Tristan Junior Space Officer character to a verdant planet.

“This is probably our last chance for decent food before Oregon,” Tristan warned. “It’s just tiny towns until we hit Ashland.”

“Does your mountain of data tell us where to eat that’s not all eggs and bacon this time of morning?”

“Of course.” Tristan sounded mildly put out that Ravi would question his powers of Google-fu. “Can you do vegetarian biscuits and gravy? Or maybe scrambled tofu? This one place has both. And it’s all local and organic stuff. But will you be offended if I have bacon or eggs—I mean I don’t
have
to.”

“Tris. Eat all the bacon. Just don’t force it on me.” Ravi laughed. “Now guide us to the food and help me find a place to park this monster.”

Ravi tried to focus on Tristan’s directions and not the weird fluttery sensation in his stomach. He should
not
be looking forward this much to sharing another meal with Tristan, and definitely should not be plotting how he was going to goad Tristan until he ordered
exactly
what he wanted without caring what anyone thought.

Yup. Such was Ravi’s life—plotting how he might get that blissed-out expression on Tristan’s face without anyone losing clothing.
Still a perv
,
man.

* * *

Tristan was a bit more confident behind the wheel the second time. That and a seriously awesome stack of chocolate-chip pancakes from the place in Redding had him in a great mood.

“Be sure and tell me when you get the sugar crash. We don’t need you falling asleep behind the wheel,” Ravi lectured as they headed back to the interstate.