Bankers' Hours (28 page)

Her admission was sobering, and I stopped shivering from spider-induced heebie-jeebies. I rubbed the excess water from my hair, wrapped one towel around my waist and another around my shoulders, and made a mental note to bring over a robe. I walked into the room and joined Tristan on the bed next to Claire just as she finished.

Tristan glanced at me but then hugged Claire from the side. “Oh, sweetness. I’m sorry. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

She lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know. I didn’t realize until seventh grade that kids didn’t know about that stuff. I mean, we have Health, but it was never as graphic as what I’d seen. I was embarrassed to say anything, because I didn’t want anyone at school calling me a slut if I corrected them. No one I knew was doing it anyway, so I let them think they knew stuff.”

“You could have said something to me,” he said. He reached over and squeezed my knee, letting me know my presence was welcomed.

“Dad, I didn’t think you cared. I know we’ve always had fun on our weekends, but you never asked about my life with Mom. You never asked if I wanted to live with you. You never asked if I enjoyed living with Mom. I didn’t know I had a choice.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I haven’t been a very good father.”

“I survived.”

“I do want you to live with us—that is, if you want to.”

“I know. Mom told me. Actually, she yelled it. I’m sorry I told her you were gay. She’s been really weird lately. She’s angrier than usual. She got pissed and mentioned you were filing for full custody.”

“Would you want that?” he asked.

Claire shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess. Mom might drink too much, but she’s always been strict about my grades, homework, and chores. I’ve come to appreciate it. I have a 3.9 GPA because of her. I want to get into college, Dad. I don’t know if I can, living with you.”

“Why?” he asked with an edge to his voice.

“Because you’re the party guy. That’s what Mom calls you. You’re never serious. In fact, I think today is the first time you’ve ever yelled at me.” She leaned forward and locked eyes with me. “I’m sorry, Grant. I didn’t mean to imply that you were a maid.”

“Thanks,” I replied. Having just this little bit of history about them helped me see her and Tristan differently. This wasn’t a change just for me, but for both of them too.

Tristan let out a heavy sigh and said, “I’m sorry too. I guess the years rolled by faster than I realized. I’ve been in a holding pattern since the day you were born. I didn’t know how to be a father. I joined the military, served my country for four years, and then went to college. By then, your mom had a nice little routine living with her mom, and I felt as if I was intruding. We were never married, and I didn’t want to get in the way, especially after I figured out I was gay. I let her raise you and played the weekend dad. Maybe I should have spoken up sooner.”

“Dad, it’s fine. Mom pushed me—hard. I’m actually glad for it. After she started drinking, I kept thinking I didn’t want to be like her, so I worked even harder. If you want me to live with you, then you have to push me. Yell at me like you did about Grant. I’m not a little kid. I want more than what Mom has. I know how much you give her every month, because I’ve seen the checks, but I also see how much she spends on booze. If you’re serious about being a family, then I’m willing to try.”

“How did you get so wise?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

It had been nice to be a part of the conversation, at least marginally, but I was done sitting around in towels. I was getting cold, and the creepy feeling that a spider was lurking under the bed, getting ready to scurry up my leg, prompted me to get dressed. “As nice as this talk has been, I’d really like to get dressed,” I told them.

Tristan patted my knee and rose. “Yes, definitely. Claire, will you give us a minute?”

She stood up. “Sure.” She looked at me and said, “Again, I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more respectful next time… Dad.” She winked, much like her father, and I instantly forgave her.

I nodded and gave her a grin.

Claire left the room and Tristan sat next to me again. “Are you sure you’re all right? You freaked out pretty badly.”

“I know.” I bowed my head, embarrassed. “I’ve always been afraid of spiders. I used to have nightmares about them hiding under my pillow. I imagined spiders as big as buildings watching me as I walked down the street. I felt them crawling on my arm in the middle of class, only to scream and find out nothing was there. I went to a therapist when I was eleven because my fears were so bad.”

“Did someone lock you in a basement with a bunch of spiders or something?”

“No. No one has ever been able to explain it. I’m just terrified of them. I think it’s the legs—they scurry so fast. I don’t know. My mother pointed out one time that centipedes have more legs and run fast, but for some reason they never bothered me like spiders.”

He put his arm around me. “I’ll make sure our house is spider free, okay?”

I nodded.

He eyes dropped to my chest, and another emotion washed over his face. Lust. Tristan licked his lips. “I see your nipple isn’t swollen anymore. I never got the chance to use ice cubes on you.”

I blushed. “No, but you could try that another time.”

“Yeah?” He reached under the edge of my towel and rubbed my pec, squeezing it and thumbing my nipple. “Will you lie back and let me kiss you?”

I glanced at the door. “But Claire?”

“Just for a second. Please?”

I couldn’t resist the desperate edge in his voice, especially when he said please. I reclined, and Tristan brought his mouth down on my nipple, licking and suckling me. I was slightly startled because he’d said “kiss,” but from the way he’d enjoyed my nipples so far, I wasn’t bothered that he actually meant “suck.” In fact, it amused me. “You have a nipple fetish, don’t you?”

Tristan laughed wickedly. He murmured, “Yes,” as he continued licking me and flicking my erect nub with the tip of his tongue. He moved his hand over my stomach and rubbed circles over my lower belly. He untucked the towel, and I would have protested if he hadn’t latched his mouth onto my neck at the same time. I rolled my head away from his attention to give him easier access. I whimpered when he moved the towel aside and fondled my dick. A couple of days ago I would not have been so relaxed, but the more time I spent with Tristan the more I yearned for his touch.

After a few seconds, he released my neck and looked me in the eyes. He panted as he whispered, “I want to fuck you so bad right now.”

“But….”

“I know. Your ass isn’t ready for me yet either, but I’m saying it’s going to be soon. I want you more than anything.”

I spread my legs absently as he dipped his hand down over my balls. I closed my eyes.

“That’s it, baby. I like how you respond.” He roved his fingers all over me but covered me up with my towel way before I was stimulated enough to shoot.

I questioned him with my eyes.

“Claire’s in the house. We’re not going to be Teresa.”

I chuckled, but not from humor. It was more like a sad laugh, because we both knew kids shouldn’t have to see what she’d seen when she was ten.

He kissed me and then hopped off the bed. “Get dressed, and I’ll take you home if you want.”

I shook my head. “No, I think I’m okay. But if you see any spiders, please kill them.”

“I will.”

Just as he opened the door, I jumped up and stopped him from leaving. “Tristan?”

“Yeah?”

I may not have been overly confident about my body, or ready to strut my stuff openly around the house, but I could not deny the pull he had on me. Maybe it was his confidence, or the feel of him pressed up against me every morning we’d woken up together, but I felt it deep in my belly. I stepped up close and whispered, “I want you too.” I rose up on my tiptoes and kissed him.

Tristan pushed us into the room far enough to shut the door and wrapped his warm arms around my bare back. I swear, if Claire hadn’t been there, I would have begged.

Chapter 12: Parents, Friends, And Getting Fucked Out Of My Mind

MONDAY MORNING
I called my mother as promised. She asked us to come to dinner that night because of other commitments. Tristan was reluctant but agreed, knowing we’d have to do the same with his mom and siblings eventually. We got in my car and headed to my mom’s after Tristan grabbed a shower after work.

“Couldn’t we just tell your family by inviting them to the wedding in May?” I asked. We hadn’t set a date yet for our spring wedding, but I used May as an example.

He sighed, “I thought that too. We could, but I feel guilty knowing your mother knows and mine doesn’t. It all came together so fast I haven’t had time to think about anything else.”

“Claire told Teresa, do you think she told your mom?” I asked, wondering how close his family was compared to mine. I basically only had my mom and my Aunt Crystal, who lived in Wyoming.

Tristan watched me as I drove. I rather liked the feeling of his eyes on me. It made me lightheaded. “No, I don’t think so. We visit my mom the first Sunday of every month. Claire didn’t know about you then, and I don’t think she’s called her since or I would have heard about it.”

“What about Teresa?”

“My mom doesn’t like Teresa. They get along for Claire’s sake, but she never liked her to begin with. I think my mom was glad to find out I was gay rather than hearing I’d proposed to Teresa.”

“So she was okay with it—your sexuality, I mean?” I asked because it had been a tough thing for me to admit, even though my mother was as liberal as they come. I’d been thirteen, and disclosing personal information that significant had taken every ounce of courage I’d possessed. After I’d told her, and she’d cried loving tears all over my shoulder as she hugged me, I had locked my bedroom door and cried silently in my bed for twenty minutes. It had been the scariest moment of my young life at the time.

Tristan said, “Yeah. I think so. She was quiet, but she hugged me. She told me the next day that she still loved me and was glad she’d have at least one grandchild from me. She loves Claire. My brother acted the weirdest. We didn’t talk for two years, but after running into each other at Buffalo Wild Wings he apologized for being a dick.”

“And your sister?” I remembered Tristan mentioning a sister.

“She’s fine. We’ve always been close, and she told me she suspected when I was in high school, before I’d gotten Teresa pregnant. I told her I wished she’d said something, but then we both knew I’d never trade Claire for figuring out my sexual orientation earlier.”

“Do you ever think about having more children?” I wasn’t sure where that had come from, but my curiosity had never learned tact in the past, so it didn’t surprise me when the question escaped my lips now.

Tristan was quiet. Too quiet. Maybe he didn’t like my question. Perhaps it was too presumptuous or invasive. As soon as we stopped at a red light, I dared to glance over at him. He had turned his body toward mine and was watching me with the biggest smirk I’d seen yet. After the entire rotation of the light, probably two minutes, I stepped lightly on the gas. He had yet to say anything. It was starting to freak me out. My hands started shaking. Maybe he noticed, because he reached over and took my right hand off the steering wheel.

All he said was, “You’re adorable.”

My mom’s house was five minutes away, and he still hadn’t told me what was so funny. “Forget I asked. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I say things like that. It just slipped out.” I took my hand back as I turned the corner, using both hands to steer.

“You don’t need to be defensive, Grant. I’m not bothered. I remember your response at the bank when you saw Claire’s picture. You said you liked kids and that you’d like to have some of your own one day.”

“Oh,” I uttered nervously.

“And my answer’s yes, I would like other children. I simply hadn’t thought about it logistically until now. I’ve been alone for years. So… does that mean… you want….” He left the question open-ended, but I understood. Then he added, “With me?”

Somehow I parked, mind whirling, thoughts exploding. I
had
always wanted children, and I couldn’t restrain myself even if I should have. “Um, I, yes?”

“Is that a question?” He snickered and took my hand again. “Are you asking
me,
if you want children… with
me
?”

I’d done it again. Every time I got nervous and thought I’d say the wrong thing, I ended up wording it as a question. It wasn’t really a question—I knew my answer. I didn’t know
his
answer. “No,” I moaned at my own ridiculousness. “I do want children.” I heaved a sigh and finished my thought. “With you.” I turned my attention back to him as he squeezed my hand.

Tristan had lost his smirk. His look was more…
emotional
than I’d anticipated. “You have no idea how good that makes me feel.”

I could have cried, but I held it in since I was sitting in my mother’s driveway and did not want to explain to her why I’d been crying. I think Tristan could see it in my eyes, because he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it several times.

“I love you, baby,” he whispered.

I felt the words forming for the first time.
Did I?
I wasn’t completely sure, but this moment in the car was certainly emotionally fueled. His expression, his tenderness, the topic of conversation, all prompted me toward love. But as I considered it, I noticed my mother standing in an open doorway. I cleared my throat and took back my hand.

“My mom’s waiting,” I said, opening my car door.

We would have to continue the conversation another time. I couldn’t think about it now. I had to explain to my mother why I’d gotten married to a man I hardly knew and face her ridicule and possible disapproval. I needed all the strength I could muster.

DINNER WITH
my mom had gone very well, but it left me drained. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

“Grant,” Tristan whispered in my ear. He rubbed his nose up the shell of my ear and whispered again, “Grant. You need to get up for work soon.”