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Harry pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Is this going to mess things up with our rent?”
“Sweetheart, the way I give head, we’ll probably get a reduction.”
“Sure,” Jack said. “Right up until he realises you don’t ever hit the same target twice. We’re already in danger of getting evicted, Tris. Please don’t make it worse.”
“You two worry too much.” Tristan headed for the hallway. “It’s boring.”
He climbed the stairs to his room, flung his door open and flopped onto his bed on his back. He dug around in his bag for any chips that might have escaped the carton, sighed when he didn’t find any, then crumpled the bag up and tossed it onto the floor. He stared at the pattern of sunlight on the ceiling.
Harry and Jack were adorable, but they were also boyfriends—the sort of boyfriends who spent all their spare time together, and somehow didn’t drive each other crazy. And when they weren’t together, they were texting and smiling at their phones. Which was nice, because they were very much into that kind of thing, but Tristan wasn’t. He was young, hot, single and determined to enjoy the fuck out of all those things as long as he possibly could. What were his university years for except to have fun and get laid? Well, his parents would argue it was also to get a degree, but they couldn’t complain about his results. He was constantly on the Dean’s List, which wasn’t something he bragged about—because he wasn’t a nerd—but he was quietly proud of it, all the same. It was just that he had his studies and his future career all worked out and on track, so why not cut loose a little in other areas of his life?
He licked the chicken salt off his lips.
Jack was right about his one and done rule, though. Tristan didn’t do encores, no matter how spectacular the performance had been. It led to messiness and expectations. If he invited a guy over for a second time, then they’d expect a third, and a fourth, and suddenly they were having all these crazy ideas that they were dating. No, Tristan had learned that lesson very early on.
He had a faint sinking feeling in his stomach, and he didn’t know how to put a label on it. It grew into an ache that felt uncomfortably like regret when he thought of Leo with his gorgeous dark eyes, his shy, awkward smile and his really, really nice dick.
One and done, right?
Tristan glared at the ceiling.
But then, it wasn’t as though he’d had sex with Leo, right? Blow jobs and hand jobs didn’t technically count, not unless he wanted them to. And Tristan thought that maybe he didn’t want them to, not this time. Because if the opportunity arose to actually get his dick inside Leo Fisher, or vice versa, then Tristan was going to enjoy the hell out of it.
Tristan thought of Leo a few times over the following week, but mostly because there was a steady stream of tradesmen poking around the house, knocking on walls and making unhappy sounds. Jack and Harry usually dealt with them, but the mould guy turned up at Wednesday lunchtime when they were both at work.
“Oh, yeah,” the mould guy said, craning his head to look at the greyish-greenish-blackish patina on the bathroom ceiling, “that’s mould all right.”
Tristan leaned in the doorway in his kimono and nodded.
The mould guy got his phone out. “Leo? G’day. It’s Jason, the mould guy. Yeah. Yeah, I’m taking a look now. Yeah.” He chuckled, a warm, happy sound, and Tristan narrowed his eyes at him. Was Leo being funny? Leo didn’t know how to be funny. “Yeah, right-o. It’s a bit of a fucking mess, to be honest. Yeah, I reckon you’re looking at about three grand for the whole house.”
Well, Tristan bet Leo wasn’t smiling now.
The mould guy hummed. “No point even starting until the water damage is fixed, though. And the builders might reckon it’s just best to rip the whole bathroom ceiling out.” Another hum. “Yeah. Yeah, depends on the damage, yeah.”
Tristan was already bored with this one-sided conversation, and he yawned. Of all the things someone could talk to Leo about, who’d pick mould?
“Okay,” the mould guy said. “Yeah, I’ll give you a call later.” He ended the call and set his phone down on the bathroom sink while he stared up at the ceiling again. “Just gonna grab a ladder.”
Tristan moved out of his way in a swish of silk, listening to him tramp down the stairs. Then he stepped into the bathroom, grabbed the mould guy’s phone and scrolled through his recent call list to get Leo’s number, in a completely non-stalkerish way. He typed it into his own phone and put the mould guy’s phone back where he’d found it.
Nope. Completely above board and non-stalkerish. It was just that it made sense for him to be able to get in touch with Leo. This was Tristan being an adult, in case he needed to step up in a sort of tenants’ rights advocate capacity in the event the tradies did something sus—like turning up at fuck o’clock in the morning and using power tools or whistling and being cheerful.
He typed L into the contact details and paused. Tristan had plenty of numbers in his phone, and none of them belonged to hook-ups. He bit his lip and typed quickly—andlord.
There. It was perfectly reasonable to have his landlord’s details in his phone, not stalkery in the least—even if his landlord did have a plush, fuckable mouth, wide doe eyes and shaggy curls that begged to have a hand tangled in them.
The need for Leo’s number had nothing to do with the way Tristan had been thrown off-balance by the radio silence from Leo after their afternoon at the flat. At least, that was what he told himself. After all, it wasn’t like he’d expected to hear from Leo. Well, okay, maybe he’d hoped, if only for Leo to thank him for a spectacular afternoon delight. But apart from that, there was nothing for them to talk about.
Except…
It looked like the house was going to be undergoing some renovations after all, and they never did get round to inspecting the flat properly to see if it was suitable for Jack and Harry. What sort of friend would Tristan be if he didn’t make sure his little lovebirds had a nest?
The responsible thing to do would be to contact Leo and find out about the possibility of homelessness, surely? That’s what a good tenant would do.
Tristan was distracted from thoughts of Leo by the sight of the mould guy going up and down the ladder and displaying a very nice set of legs, all tanned and lean. It was a pleasant enough way to spend half an hour, and Tristan even thought briefly of flirting, right up until he saw the wedding ring. Once the guy had gone, though, he found himself wondering what Leo was doing. He grabbed his phone and hit the call button before he could think too hard about it.
Leo answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
