Forsaking Truth (4 page)

“Sure.”

They stopped at a
diner and Tristan had another coffee and a plate of sausage and biscuits. Luke
ordered eggs and a ton of fruit. “That shit’ll kill you.”

“I’m a southern boy,
my friend. Biscuits and gravy are in my blood.”

“It’s gonna be in your
arteries.”

Tristan eyed his
companion as they ate, scrutinizing everything from the size of his arms to the
methodical way he chewed a bite then stopped to swallow a sip of water. “I g
uess you’re one of those gym guys.”

Luke shrugged. “I like
a healthy body. The gym’s therapeutic for me. Can’t sit for too long or I get
squirrelly. Gotta let off some steam once in a while, you know?”

Tristan was more of a
lose yourself in the outdoors so
rt of guy. He enjoyed
vigorous activities, but would never pay money to a building to run on a
machine. He’d rather hike or swim, anything as long as he didn’t feel
contained.

They put away the meal
in no time and split the bill. It didn’t take long to rea
lize Luke operated everything he did like he was on a
mission. He seemed to have a set of rules for everything and a certain mindset
that if something couldn’t be done right it wasn’t worth doing.

When they reached the
McCullough property, Tristan whistled
at the sight of
the cabin. “That your place?”

“My parents. I’m in
the barn. Been remodeling it for the better part of a year.”

He turned and checked
out the old barn in the distance. There was a discreet door at the side and
without being told, no one wou
ld know it was a house.
This should be interesting.

They unloaded the
truck and stacked the materials out front as Luke unlocked the door. Nothing
could have prepared him for what was inside. It was beautiful.

High sandblasted beams
crossed the cathedral c
eilings. The walls were sheet
rocked and painted a rustic shade of red. Old farm equipment decorated the
rafters and the floor was a fresh bed of cement.

“You did this?”

Luke nodded, but
didn’t seem to show any signs of egotism at the admiration in Tristan
’s voice.

“This is incredible.”
He moseyed over to the open kitchen, dragging his palm over the granite
countertop. Logging must pay pretty well. Either that or Luke was loaded.

“You want a beer?”

“Yeah.”

Luke pulled open the
stainless steel fridge and
plucked out two bottles.
He handed one to Tristan and they twisted off the caps, drinking in silence.
Their gazes crossed and Tristan stilled. Luke’s rough throat rippled as he took
one last swallow. The mouth of the bottle pulled away from his full lips w
ith a pop. “I still got a ton of shit to do, but I’m
getting sick of cement floors.”

“It’s amazing what
you’ve done so far.”

“I’ll give you a
tour.”

They left their
bottles on the counter and he followed Luke through the spacious area. There
was little fur
niture, but Luke mentioned he was still
in the process of selecting what he liked. In what would be the den there was
only a large television mounted on the wall and a beat up recliner.

“I want to do hardwood
in here. I started it in the bedroom, but stopp
ed.
Hauling shit in and out puts a beating on the wood.”

“Yeah. Best to wait
and do the floors last. You’ll be glad you got the dark grout too. Shows less
wear and tear.”

Luke opened a door to
a small bathroom. “I’d like to tile in here eventually too. I l
ike those subway tiles, the long white ones.”

“They’re nice.”

As he pulled the door
closed Luke’s broad shoulders brushed his front. Tristan stepped back and gave
him space, but his body tightened at the slight contact. It was impossible to
ignore how inc
redibly toned the man was. He wondered
if that was from logging or football. Probably a little of both.

He followed Luke down
the hall. His hand, rough at the knuckles, nails clipped to the quick, dragged
over the spackled wall. A trace of white dust caugh
t
at the corner of his thumb. “I put these walls in to make the bedrooms. I only
have two, because I wanted a killer master bath. I’m gonna paint them that gray
color,” he said, toeing the can of paint on the floor. A swatch was taped to
the wall.

“That’s
a good color.”

“This is the spare
bedroom. It’s my workroom for the moment. Probably will be the last to get
done.”

The room was a good
size. The walls were still exposed and front and center was a sheet of plywood
housing a table saw, supported by two saw
horses.
Tools were neatly placed in various bins along the perimeter.

He wasn’t prepared for
the next unveiling. Luke opened the door to the master bedroom and Tristan had
a moment of
what the fuck
?

Exposed brick walls
were painted slate gray. The floor w
as dark wood,
pristine and polished. The beams and one accent wall were painted a deep shade
of sapphire blue. It was definitely masculine, but there was something not so
subtly stunning about it.

From the high ceiling
hung a wooden wheel, stained dark an
d lined with
hurricane vases. The rustic chandelier was centered perfectly over the focal
point of the room, which happened to be an enormous king size bed.

The covers were pulled
tighter than a virgin’s ass and sewn in the same dark sapphire as the accen
t wall. “Jesus,” Tristan muttered, because words failed
him.

“My younger brother,
Bray, is going to school for architecture. He helped me design it.”

“It’s awesome.” He
couldn’t ignore the sense of disappointment tunneling through him at the
realization th
at Luke hadn’t come up with this design
himself. For the briefest second he’d thought he could have misread his new
friend and mistaken him as straight. Only a gay man could manage such cohesive
interior decorating—a gay man or a fucking architect. Shit.

“
Wanna see the master bath? I just finished it.”

He didn’t know if he
could stomach any more. It was all so perfect. Seeing the inside of this man’s
lair was doing things to him. The Richter scale was probably picking up tremors
from how hard his attraction
gauge was rocking.
“Sure.”

Luke led him behind
the partitioning wall and Tristan shut his eyes. Like everything else Luke, it
was fucking stunning.

Dark slate tile
covered the walls. The shower was an open cavern, lacking curtains or any
feminine frills. The vessel sink was hammered copper and he’d even managed to
find a matching antique tub. The toilet was housed behind a frosted glass wall.
It shoul
d have been in a magazine it was so fucking
breathtaking.

There were few
accents. Twin towels hung from a copper bar, each creamy white. The floor
showcased a shag carpet cut in a shape to look like animal fur. “Did your
brother design this too?”

“Nah, th
is was all me. I hired a crew to do it, but I fucking love
it. They argued with me about the shower being so large, but I work out a lot.
Showering is part of my regimen. I spend a lot of time decompressing in there.”

Fuck. Images of Luke
all sweaty from w
orking out filled his mind. He could
picture his incredible body, all that tight muscle and sinew swollen from
exertion as he pressed his palms into the tile and let the dual shower heads
beat over his skin.

His mind battled with
the question of whether o
r not a straight man could
come up with this design.

He’s not fucking gay!

Tristan backed out of
the bathroom and returned to the kitchen where he proceeded to chug his beer.
Luke appeared a moment later with a tool belt strung over his shoulder.

“You
ready to do this?”

“Yup.” He just hoped
once they got to work the fantasies rolling through his brain like an oversized
locomotive wouldn’t derail and leave him in dangerous territory, split open and
spewing worrisome contents.

They set the cutter up
out f
ront because it was messy work. Tristan ran the
water needed to get started and Luke began placing the tiles on the kitchen
floor to get an idea of measurements.

Watching him crawl
around on the concrete had Tristan reaching for another beer. Luke stood a
nd brushed the dust off his pants. “I think we’re gonna
have to cut all along this wall if we do them diagonal like this. I’m wondering
if I should keep it straight.”

No, don’t keep it straight.
“I like the angled look better.”

“Me too. All right.
Let’s pl
ay with tools,” Luke said, grinning in his
direction.

Holy shit. That dimple
should be illegal. He bent and grabbed a set of tiles and headed out front.

Once they had all
their materials in place, he stepped up to the cutter. Luke rubbed his palms
together
and grinned. “All right, show me how this
mother works.”

Tristan shut his eyes
and took a breath. “So, basically, what you have is a diamond blade. The
ceramic gets hot and the water cools the blade so it doesn’t burn and break the
tile. It’s abrasive, bu
t packs a lot of heat.”

He lost his train of
thought the moment Luke crowded around him. He could feel his body heat through
the cotton of their shirts and swallowed hard. “What’s this?” Luke’s hand
snaked around his hip and picked up the pump.

Fuck. His d
ick twitched at the sight of those big fingers curling
around the contraption. “That’s the pump. The key is to keep it primed.”

“That plugs in here?”
he asked, reaching for the power source.

“Yeah, just fit it in
there and make sure you got a good flow.”

L
uke fit the pump to the power source and water spewed out
of the reservoir, arcing onto the ground. Tristan chuckled and repositioned the
hose. “Yeah, you got a good flow there.”

“Shit,” Luke laughed.
“Should I have waited to do that?”

“No, that’s all righ
t. Things tend to get messy with big tools. You want to fit
the nub into that hole.”

Luke’s large hands
closed over the filter as he maneuvered the tip in the hole of the hose leading
to the blade. “It’s tight.”

Kill me now.
“That’s all right. You want a s
nug fit.”

Once he had the filter
hooked to the hose, water trickled through the mechanism and over the blade.
Luke grunted at the slight accomplishment. “Now what?”

“You want to give it a
few minutes. It’s not a bad idea to let the water run for a second,
really prime the blade, and get rid of any debris maybe
left from previous use.” Fuck, why the hell was his neck on fire? Was he
fucking blushing? “That’s good enough,” he quickly said.

Unplugging the pump,
he fit the saw’s extension cord directly into the
power source. “Now you’re ready to cut,” he announced, stepping back.

“And that’ll keep the
blade wet?”

He swallowed again.
Where the hell did he put his beer? “Well, yeah. But if you’re going at it hard
and the blade looks dry, you gotta stop and prime t
he
pump some more.”

Luke’s mouth kicked up
and the dimple was back. “Things always run a little smoother with a nicely
primed pump.”

Tristan gave a nervous
laugh. “You know it.”

Luke loaded up the
first tile and secured it in place. “Maybe you should cut t
he first one.”

Tristan stepped
forward, but Luke remained close, hovering over his shoulder as he adjusted the
blade.

“There’s the mark,” he
said, sending a long tapered finger into his space.

“I see it. Watch your
fingers unless you want nine.”