Beta Test (#gaymers) (8 page)

“I would never.” Somehow Tristan had managed to triumph over the sheer terror he’d felt driving at sixteen, but he still never relaxed enough to even understand what others meant when they said they “zoned out” when driving. And really, Ravi shouldn’t be ribbing him about the sugar because ordering them was his fault. Ravi had made him a stupid bet about being able to guess his favorite order with Tristan having to order it if he was right.

And now Tristan was hyped on sugar and feeling far more relaxed than usual. He and Ravi settled into companionable silence for the next hour with Ravi’s music playing, and Ravi making happy little noises as he sketched.

“You ever going to let me see what you’re working on?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Come on. People pin your doodles to their cubicle walls. I want one too.” After spending five months carefully avoiding even a hint of begging for one of Ravi’s sketches, Tristan found he couldn’t contain the impulse any longer.

“You want a drawing for your hotel room tonight?” Ravi’s voice was pitched low with mock seduction. “Something to warm you up?”

“Um.” Tristan coughed and schooled himself to keep his eyes on the road. Even when Ravi was pretending, his sexy voice raised goose bumps on the skin of Tristan’s lower back. He had never even thought about Ravi doing X-rated drawings before, and now he wasn’t going to be able to get the idea out of his brain. And no way could he
actually
put the doodle up in his cubicle—might as well announce his membership in the Ravi fan club on the employee listserve. “I was thinking more one of your aliens. One of the retro-looking ones. I’ll send it along with whatever souvenir I get for Maria, my old nanny.”

“You’re close to her, aren’t you?” Ravi asked.

“Yeah.”

Ka-plunk-rumple.
A weird loud rattling sound jarred him out of further reply. “Heck. What was that?” he asked.

“Not sure. You might have hit a piece of tire or a cardboard box—I wasn’t watching the road.”

Rumple.
Rumple.
The truck shook again, the rattle louder this time. “That wasn’t a box. And the steering feels all off now.” The truck tried to pull sharply left, but Tristan kept it straight through herculean effort.

“Keep it steady. Put the flashers on if you need to slow down.” Ravi kept his voice low and soothing.

“Heck. I couldn’t accelerate even if I wanted to.” Tristan flipped the hazards on as the truck seemed to decide that thirty miles per hour was its top speed.

“Okay. We’re going to need to find out which small town around here might be likely to have a rental franchise—”

“Weed. The address is on the spreadsheet labeled Emergency Information. You can use my phone to call if you don’t want to disconnect yours from the stereo.”

“Damn. You really are something.” The awe in Ravi’s voice would be really cool if Tristan wasn’t freaking out about the truck, which was continuing to make strange rattling noises intermittently.

Ravi called the franchise, which, judging from his end of the conversation, really didn’t want to hear that they had a truck with problems, and really, really didn’t want them bringing it to them.

“They want us to head back to Redding, but I told them I didn’t think the truck would make it,” Ravi said as he disconnected the call. “This location is apparently housed inside a mini-mart according to your phone, but take the exit here and I’ll turn on the GPS to guide us there.”

“We’re going to have to switch trucks, aren’t we?” Tristan groaned as he looked out at the blazing midday sun. He’d been all happy with the unseasonably warm temperatures when they stopped in Redding, but he cursed them now. True, it was May, not August, but this still wasn’t going to be fun.

“I’d say that’s the best-case scenario. Worst case is that the idiot on the phone keeps giving us the runaround, and we’re stuck in Weed for hours.”

They passed a giant Weed Like To Welcome You sign as they got off the interstate and headed into town. The GPS led them downtown, under a metal Weed arch and past several tourist-trap places looking to capitalize on the name and the town’s proximity to the mountains. Finally, they arrived at a decrepit mini-mart and gas station.

The place had probably had a brick facade once upon a time, but now it seemed mainly held together with dust and loneliness.

“Uh, Ravi, is this the right place?” Tristan parked as carefully as the out-of-whack steering would allow him. But he didn’t move to unbuckle or get out, instead looking around the deserted parking lot.

“Says so.” Ravi checked Tristan’s phone while Tristan grabbed his folder of emergency information. Yeah, this was the right address.

“Where are the other rental trucks? Shouldn’t they have a fleet of them?” Several vacant lots surrounded the mini-mart, but the only signs of it being a rental franchise were a few sad trailers and a sign for the national chain on the door.

“Oh, crap.”

“I’d say we better lower our expectations of that ‘worst-case scenario,’” Tristan said grimly as they headed into the store.

And fifteen minutes later, he had a new definition for
runaround
and a new picture to accompany it. Elmer, the clerk for the rental franchise, who was also working the register for the mini-mart, seemed determined to talk them into trying to turn around and head back to Redding. Tristan was sure that plenty of good, competent people lived in this town, but Elmer had passed competent probably two decades ago, and now had crotchety as his defining trait, complete with white hair sticking up at odd angles all over his head and stooped shoulders that lowered further with each protestation that he couldn’t help them.

“See, if it’s all that busted, then they’re going to have to drive a truck up from Shasta or Redding for you. Faster thing is for you to go there yourself, talk to—”

“But we’re talking to
you.
Look, this thing is barely steering right now. Do you want to assume the risk of death or injury for us if we try and take this thing back on the highway?” Tristan demanded, channeling his father’s commanding tone.

Elmer opened his mouth, then shut it before finally releasing a garlic-laced sigh. “Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have a look-see at the truck.”

Elmer stuck a Back in Five Minutes sign up in front of the register, then, jingling a huge wad of keys, followed them out to the truck. “How about you turn it on?” he said to Tristan. Elmer had already shown a marked preference for speaking directly to Tristan and ignoring Ravi. Which was noteworthy, because so far on the journey, Ravi had charmed everyone the same way he did their coworkers back in LA—baristas and waitresses and hotel clerks all loved the guy.

Tristan handed the keys to Ravi. “Here. You try. You’re way better with the truck than me.”

Ravi swung up into the cab of the truck while Tristan and Elmer stood to the side.

Vrroom.
Ka-rumple.
Crunk.
Crunk.
Even just revving the engine caused the sound.

“Thank God, it wasn’t only me,” Tristan said under his breath.

“Yup. It’s busted.” Elmer nodded like he’d predicted this all along instead of fighting them for the past twenty minutes. “Now listen, boy. You with him willingly? You been abducted by one of them terror cells, just raise two fingers. I’ll have the law here right quick.”

“What the hell?” Tristan almost never cursed, especially not to another person, but this was beyond bizarre.

“You and that Muslim? You using the rental truck for no good? Maybe I need to have a look in the back—”

“You listen here. He’s Hindu, not Muslim, not that it makes a bit of difference. And he’s my coworker. We work for a software company, a huge one, which is
not
going to be happy at this delay. So you can get on the phone and arrange for a new truck, or you can expect a call from our company’s attorney in the next twenty minutes. And I’m sure there are plenty of news outlets which would love to run with the story of your franchise being discriminatory—”

“Now, don’t be hasty. I was just coverin’ all my bases, see. The news says the terrorist groups could be targeting small towns next. But I’ll go call Redding. Get a new truck here within the next hour or so.”

“You do that.” Tristan kept his voice firm even as his hands started to shake. He hated being demanding, hated making a fuss, even when it was clearly warranted, like here.

“Don’t gotta be getting all rude,” Elmer muttered as he lumbered his way back to the store.

“Go, Tristan.” Ravi gave a round of mock-applause as he got out of the truck.

“You heard all that?”

“Oh, yeah. And I’ve heard way worse, trust me. But thanks for sticking up for me.” He clapped Tristan on the shoulder, and their eyes met. Something more than gratitude passed between them, something deeper than the spark of attraction Tristan kept feeling at the wrong moments. No, this was deep and potent and
not
what he should be feeling in the middle of the day with the sun beating down on them in this tiny town with the world’s rudest clerk undoubtedly watching.

Chapter Eight

Tristan I-need-a-bigger-spreadsheet Jones was about the last person Ravi would have expected to stick up for him. And just as he’d suspected, a more confident Tristan was also weirdly sexy. It wasn’t the commanding tone or the legalese he’d spouted effortlessly—it was more that in that moment Tristan seemed like a guy who knew what he wanted—and deserved—and wasn’t afraid to stand up for it, and that was way more appealing than the guy who had a hard time ordering his favorite pancakes. And okay, maybe that trait was a bit endearing too.

Is there anything about him you don’t like?

Hell. Ravi was developing some serious blinders where Tristan was concerned. And that was not good at all.

“What should we do for the next hour?” Tristan asked Ravi, swallowing hard. “I don’t want to hang around Elmer any longer than absolutely necessary.”

“Agreed.” Ravi looked around. Killing time in the truck cab for that long sounded like torture. The smart thing would be to suggest they go their own ways and meet back up in an hour, but Ravi’s brain cells were overridden by impulsiveness yet again. “Want to play tourist? Walk back toward downtown and poke around in some of the shops? You could find a souvenir for your nanny like you were talking about.”

“Yeah.” A slow smile spread across Tristan’s face. “I’d like that. Let’s check the lock on the back of the truck and give Elmer my cell number.”

A few minutes later, they had Elmer’s grudging assurance that the replacement truck was on the way and his promise to call if the truck got there before they came back. Ravi wasn’t sure he trusted promises from a conspiracy theorist, but he wasn’t left with a whole lot of choices.

The curving main street led them back to the heart of the small town—a collection of brick and concrete block buildings with storefronts far older than him or Tristan. While he’d passed through a lot of small towns in his travels, this sort of quaint Americana was a far cry from his suburban New Jersey upbringing, and it always put him a bit on edge. He was aware that Elmer was far from the only person who wanted to read his ethnicity as Middle Eastern, and there were still plenty of people uncomfortable with any racial diversity, regardless of precise origin.

“Man, this is all so...
low
and open.” Tristan marveled, looking around. “And so
quiet
. I am totally all antsy without traffic and close-in buildings.”

Ravi laughed because it was kind of comforting knowing he wasn’t the only one feeling a bit out of place. “Hey, look—it’s The Weed Store. On Weed Boulevard. I think we’re like honor-bound to go in.”

“Wait.” Tristan stopped him with a hand on his sleeve and lowered his voice. “What do you think they sell in there?”

This time Ravi’s laugh came from deep in his gut. “What? You nervous they might try to sell you some weed chips or weed gummy bears?”

Tristan scratched behind his ear. “Maybe. I don’t exactly imbibe. Or see the humor—”

“
Tris.
We’re trapped in a tiny town called
Weed.
It’s all about the humor. Come on, let’s go in.”

The store proudly proclaimed its World Famous T-shirts on a sign in the front window, and the contents of the crowded store did not disappoint. There were word plays everywhere he looked.

Weed High is the Best High, a mock football jersey advertised while ashtrays, flasks and lighters overflowed from a nearby display. Dozens of shirts lined the walls advertising everything from Weed Police to Weed University to Weed Makes Me Happy.

“Do you see that one?” Tristan asked, his eyes darting in the direction of a Weed Brownie Company shirt.

Ravi didn’t bother to stifle his laugh—this whole place was designed to make people chuckle, and the smiling woman behind the counter looked a whole lot more welcoming than Elmer.

“I’m totally getting that one for the guys I volunteer with.”

“I’m not sure there’s
anything
I could get Maria,” Tristan hissed, but not quite low enough.

The clerk glided over in worn sandals, long gray hair flowing behind her. “You need something for a girlfriend? We’ve got shirts in pink or maybe a water bottle, or if you don’t want something with the town name, I’ve got earrings and necklaces over there.”

“I...uh...” Tristan’s blush started at his neck and worked its way upward as he stammered.

Ravi took pity on him and steered him away from the clerk. “I think his
auntie
will love the necklaces. Thanks.”

“Auntie?” Tristan whispered when they were out of earshot of the clerk.

“Figured you might not want the whole nanny thing advertised. Or anything else.” Ravi gave him a pointed look. He might have unintentionally outed Tristan once, but he sure as heck wasn’t doing it again.

“Um. Yeah.” Tristan looked away and fingered a necklace. “This might work. I always suck at presents for Maria or my mom.”

“With two sisters, I had no choice but to love shopping.”