Bankers' Hours (8 page)

Tristan said, “Well, for one, I’ve turned the pens upside down every time you weren’t looking.”

My mouth dropped open. “That was you?”

He chuckled. “Yes.” He seemed so pleased with himself.

His posture didn’t suggest anger, so I eased away from the door and relaxed my hands. I still fussed at him. “I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how they ended up like that. It drove me nuts.”

He grinned. “I know. I thought it was adorable.”

“My pain was adorable?” I bristled. I had to admit, now that I knew it was Tristan who’d flipped the pens, it made more sense. “Did you shuffle the bills in your deposits on purpose too? Because that was ridiculous.”

Tristan nodded.

“Oh my gosh! I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to be rude, but you were the only customer who didn’t arrange his deposits and stack the bills all facing in the same direction, lumped by denomination.”

“It was the only thing I could think of to extend my visits. I knew it would take you longer to count it,” he explained. “I’ve never been in the bank so many times, Grant. I used to send one of the guys in on Fridays. I only went to the bank that first Friday, the day I met you, because Will was in the middle of a job and I’d finished rotating a set of tires on a Pilot sooner than expected. But I have to say, I’ve never been happier rearranging my schedule. As soon as I saw you, I knew I had to find reasons to go to the bank. I even took money out of the ATM over the weekend so I could go on Monday and redeposit it on the off chance you’d be there.”

How did I miss all this? Sure, I knew he came in at least twice a week, and some of his transactions had seemed redundant, but I wasn’t a business owner. I wasn’t going to tell him how to run things. Every time he came in had given me another chance to look into his blue eyes and enjoy his smile, even if I knew there wasn’t a chance to go beyond friendship. No, wait….

“I thought you were straight,” I said. How could I have been so wrong?

“I don’t see how, unless I wasn’t as obvious as I thought. I even winked at you. How many straight guys wink that often?”

He had me there. “I
was
confused about that, but then you showed me a picture of your daughter. I thought, ‘Damn! He’s straight.’ How was I supposed to know you’re gay
and
you have a daughter?”

He sighed, and his shoulders sagged as if I’d deflated him completely. “I am so sorry, Grant. Had I known you’d misunderstand my intentions, I’d have spelled them out. I swear, I thought you knew I liked you.”

However we’d gotten to this point, it didn’t really matter after he said he liked me. They were words I rarely heard but longed for. Someone liked me and wanted to date me, and that someone was gorgeous and nice. There had to be a catch. Guys this awesome didn’t happen my way or simply show up at my teller window. There were always horrific complications that destroyed the relationship before it even progressed to kissing. Just once, I hoped I’d met a guy who would actually take a chance and kiss me.

I apologized this time, quiet and sincere. “I’m sorry too, Tristan. I guess I couldn’t see your gestures because guys like you have never been interested in me before.”

“I can’t imagine why. You’re so… pretty, but in a manly sort of way.” He grinned, but I felt emasculated.

“Thanks, I think I’ll be putting my tutu on for the next date. And maybe some eyeliner and lipstick.” Perhaps my sarcasm wasn’t necessary, but it was a knee-jerk reaction. One other guy I’d gone out with had made a similar comment about me being “too pretty.” I wasn’t fucking pretty. Nice looking? Sure. Cute? Maybe. But I was damned if I was going to be called pretty. I’d seen pretty guys, the ones who could be models or actors. I’d met a “pretty” guy once in Columbia near the bank where I used to work. He was absolutely beautiful… and straight. I knew I was not one of those guys. Backhanded compliments made me angry. Don’t pay me lip service; just tell me the truth.

Tristan was quiet for a long time. He was studying me, or trying to figure out what to say. Maybe his tactics worked on other guys, but I wasn’t going to be so duped. He’d tricked me, and I wasn’t going to fall into his trap.
Dinner? Why would he want to take me to dinner?
Nothing good could come of it.

He finally turned back to the steering wheel and put it in drive, pulling out onto the road in silence. We turned down a few more streets and before long ended up in front of my house. He parked. “Good night, Grant,” he said, not even bothering to look at me.

I hesitated to open the door. What was happening? We had argued over this being a date or not, him calling me pretty, and now… what? It was over? I was to get out and go into my house without another word? I glanced at him and then at the door. “Um, bye,” I said feebly. I shut the door and walked to my front landing in a daze. This was not how I pictured a date would end, even if I hadn’t realized we were on one. Ten minutes ago I’d said I hadn’t wanted it to end, and now I was going inside with this creeping notion I’d killed my best chance for an actual date. A torrent of emotion swelled. I’d been so stupid.

I fumbled for my keys and dropped them. “Damn it.” I bent to pick them up.

“Grant.”

Tristan’s voice behind me caused me to bobble my keys and drop them again. I turned around. “What are you doing?”

“Grant, I… shit, are you crying?”

I stiffened and shrunk back. “No, that’s absurd.”

“Look, this isn’t how I planned it. I wanted to—”

“Humiliate me?” I countered. I was up against my front door, so I didn’t have anywhere to hide.

His eyes twitched again. I was coming to recognize that those ticks were signs of irritation or confusion. He didn’t understand me. Tristan shook his head and squinted. “No, Grant. I wanted to—”

He kissed me. He just dove in and kissed me soundly on the lips. I’d never felt another person’s mouth on mine, and it took a second to react. Even though I’d seen chick flicks galore, I was still surprised when Tristan moved his mouth on mine. I’d thought once two lips were pressed together they remained that way, but I was wrong. He kissed with a grabbing motion, his lips grasping mine before releasing them for another position. His lips nibbled at my mouth as our noses rubbed and our breath mingled.

I felt his hands holding my face on either side, capturing me. I reached up and held his ribs, but as the kissing continued, I encircled his waist in order to hold myself up. I was suddenly lightheaded and woozier than from the beer. I couldn’t breathe. His mouth kept suckling at my lips as if determined to torture me with the new sensations that traveled down my body and filled me with tingling flushes of heat.

I groaned, pulling his body tightly against mine. Something hard pressed against my crotch, and I felt a primal need to thrust. I fisted the back of his shirt and tilted my hips, but he drew back, releasing my mouth.

“Please don’t stop,” I pleaded.

He ran his eyes over my face and touched my hair. “No, I think that’s good for one night.”

“But… please? I’m sorry I got sarcastic. You can call me pretty if you want to. You can call me anything as long as you kiss me again. I’ll do anything,” I pleaded. I could hardly keep my eyes open. I still held him around the waist because I feared slipping to the ground if I let go. He made my head spin.

Tristan’s eye twitched again. “Grant, I don’t think that’s a good idea. You were angry before. Don’t tell me you’re so easy one kiss can get me into your pants. I thought you were better than that.” He stepped back, pulling out of my embrace.

I reached for him. “Tristan, wait. I’m sorry. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to act.” I slid my hands up his chest, and he took hold of them and squeezed. He sighed and wet his lips. I continued, “You’re the first guy who’s stuck around long enough to kiss me. You’re right, I hate being called pretty, but that’s because there was a guy who called me pretty as a joke. It hurt being toyed with, so when you said it I guess I was shocked you of all people would toy with me. I didn’t understand you liked me, and I’m sorry I assumed you were straight, but I don’t want you to walk away without giving me a chance.”

“Will you tell me one thing?”

I nodded. “Anything.”

“Do you even like me? Or are you throwing yourself at me because I kissed you?”

“I like you. I swear I do. I’ve been dreaming about you for weeks and struggling to think about you
purely
as a friend, because I get hard every time you’re around. I think you’re the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, and I can’t believe you’d look at me twice.”

“Grant, that can’t be true. You’re adorable, and yes, pretty even. You’ve got a hotness all your own going on, and I can’t believe you’re shocked I’d think so. I also can’t believe I’m the first guy to kiss you.” His eye wasn’t twitching, but he was definitely confused.

I was on the verge of tears again, but I hoped I wouldn’t cry. “It’s true. I’ve been on twelve first dates, and not one guy’s walked me to the door and kissed me. A few even left in the middle of the date. I repulse people that much.” I dropped my head. I couldn’t admit how pathetic I was and look him in the eyes at the same time.

Tristan let go of my left hand and pulled my chin up. “Let me clarify a few things. I like you, a lot. You don’t need to doubt that. I do intend to give you a chance, and I
will
kiss you again.” I gasped and hedged forward, but he stopped me with a finger to my lips. “Not tonight.” He smiled softly. “I don’t know how you managed to make it twenty-five years—”

“Twenty-six,” I corrected.

“Twenty-
six
years without a real boyfriend, but it
does
explain a lot about you. I’m going to take you out again next Friday—”

“But I work Friday until eight. And then I have to count out my drawer, and—”

“Stop interrupting.” He shook his head. “You’re certainly argumentative, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Grant, you’re not the only one that’s new at this. I haven’t dated anyone in fifteen years. I’m willing to take a chance on you because your compulsive need to flip those pens made my heart yearn for the first time in my life.”

“The pens?”

“Yes. I’ve never taken the time to see people before, really see them. My life has been consumed with work and my daughter. No guy has ever snagged my attention so strongly that I was willing to alter my nondating, workaholic lifestyle for a chance at something good. This isn’t a one-night stand deal for me. I want to plan a future with someone special. You got my attention, Grant, and despite your belligerence and your eccentricities, I can’t walk away without trying.”

I’d never heard anything so beautiful before. I mattered to him—me! This seriously sexy man felt that I was worth not only his time, but worth altering his lifestyle. My internal clock took notice of the phrase “plan a future,” and I couldn’t breathe.

As my emotions surged again, I lunged into his arms. When he put his arms around me and squeezed me tight, I pressed my face into his neck and whispered, “Thank you.”

“I want us to start over, okay?” he whispered back.

“Okay.”

“I’m not coming in to the bank this week.”

I pulled back so I could look him in the eyes. “But…?” I thought he’d said he’d give me another chance. “Why?” My pathetic whiney voice came out. If he really liked me like he said he did, maybe he’d overlook it.

He explained, “To give you some space. Think about whether or not you really want to date me with intent.”

“I
do
want to date you!”

“Grant, calm down. I don’t believe you’re thinking clearly. In the morning, when the alcohol is out of your system and you can process everything I said, then text me. We can talk during the week, but I think you need to consider what you want in our potential relationship. We’ll talk about it on Friday.”

All I could do was nod. I felt awful, but hopeful at the same time. He could have easily driven away without explaining himself, or without kissing me.
Tristan kissed me.
I could have sighed, cried, and died.

“Good night, Grant.” He kissed my forehead and got back in his truck.

AS SOON
as he drove away, I dashed inside and called Mel.

“How’d that beer go? What kind did you order?” he asked.

“He’s gay!” I blurted. I plopped on the couch and kicked off my shoes.

“Who’s gay?”

“Tristan!”

“No way.”

“Yes, way. Totally gay. And get this, he told me he’s been flirting with me all week. I don’t know how I missed it!” I unbuttoned my shirt and pulled it out of my jeans.

Mel mumbled, “Because you never admit when guys come on to you.”

“What?” I sat up straight.

“Nothing.”

“No, I heard what you said, and it isn’t true.”

“Yes, it is, Grant. I’ve watched you.”

“When?”

“All the time. You’re oblivious to any kind of flirtation or advance if the guy’s hot. But suddenly it’s like your extrasensory perception is turned on high when the losers bat their eyes.”

“I’ve never done that,” I protested.

“Yes, you have. It’s because you have an unrealistic self-image.”

“My self-image is perfectly reasonable. It’s yours that needs help!” Mel had no idea what he was talking about.

He ignored my comment and kept at me. “On a scale of one to ten, where one is Mr. Bean and ten is Charlie Hunnam or Darren Criss—depending on your taste—where would you place
you
?”

Easy. “Four.”

Mel laughed so hard it hurt my ears. “Match point and proven.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You proved my point. You think you’re a four? Grant, you’re at least an eight when pitted against Darren Criss. He’s got the talent and the voice, but you’re just as good-looking.”

It was my turn to laugh—at his absurdity. “Right! I’m hanging up now.” I pressed End and tossed my phone on the couch cushion as I headed into the bedroom. I removed my shirt and placed it into the hamper. I had laid my wallet on the dresser and folded my jeans by the time Mel called back. I answered the phone in my boxers and undershirt.