Gabe jerked awake, disoriented from having fallen asleep in the middle of the day. The ringing sound repeated itself. He fumbled for his phone only to find a black screen.

“What the hell?”

Laptop. Skype.

Tristan was calling him.

He pulled the laptop closer and answered the call. Tristan’s smiling face filled the screen, as boyishly handsome as Gabe remembered.

“Hey, bad time?” Tristan asked.

“No, I dozed off.” Gabe shifted into a more comfortable position. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too. Your photo doesn’t do you justice.”

A pleasant warmth spread through Gabe’s chest. “Thanks. Neither does yours.”

Tristan laughed. “It feels so weird to flirt with someone again. I haven’t done this in a long time.”

“Glad to be of service. It’s no hardship, believe me. And I should apologize.”

“For what?”

“For not thinking of this sooner. We’ve been emailing for two months.”

“Could have been worse.” Tristan’s smile twisted up in one corner, giving him a very sexy smirk. “You could have thought of this tomorrow.”

“Good point. So you remembered breakfast and dinner times. That’s fantastic.”

Tristan bounced, which made the laptop shake. He must have been sitting on his bed. The wall behind him was covered in sheets of paper and sticky notes. “I know, right? And it’s still there. Breakfast at eight and dinner at five thirty. This is the first new memory I’ve made in three years, Gabe. Like an actual memory, not my déjà vu sense.”

“Are you sure? How did you know about the déjà vu sense?”

Tristan blinked. “Fuck me.”

Yes, please.

“What’s wrong?” Gabe asked, keeping the other thought to himself.

“You’re right. I know I didn’t read about déjà vu in the last thirty minutes or so. Oh shit!”

The laptop bounced again, giving Gabe a view of the ceiling. In the background, Tristan was producing excited, cheering sounds that made Gabe laugh out loud. If ever Gabe had to describe pure joy, it would be Tristan in that moment.

“This is crazy,” Tristan said as he righted the laptop. He’d changed positions, his back against a bed, so he’d probably gone down to the floor. “I can’t believe the trial is working.”

“When do you see your doctor again?”

“Hold on a sec.” Tristan put the laptop down. He returned in less than thirty seconds. “Sorry, had to check the calendar. I have an evaluation on Tuesday, but I did call him today. I don’t remember if he was excited, but who cares? I have enough excitement for everyone. Probably for five or six people.”

“Nothing wrong with that. It’s a big deal.”

“It’s a huge fucking deal.” His smile flickered. “I guess the only downside is that if the drug is working, I could have seizures.”

“Nah, don’t worry about that. Focus on the positive.” Gabe didn’t like the idea of Tristan on the ground, seizing uncontrollably. He’d seen his mother have a seizure after drinking so much that she’d given herself alcohol poisoning, and it had been nightmarish. “Did your doctor give you any idea of how quickly you’ll progress?”

Tristan looked to his left, probably conferring with one of his notebooks. “He said once memory function has begun to improve, it can be two to six weeks before significant improvement is made.”

“Did he define significant improvement?”

His attention returned to Gabe. “It means I can go out on my own without forgetting where I am and who I’m with.”

“Excellent.”

“So if that happens, do you want to go out with me in two to six weeks?” Tristan ducked his head, at once forward and shy in the action.

Gabe’s heart skipped. The ballsy invitation only made Tristan more appealing. “Yes, I would.”

“Good.” He bit his lower lip in an adorable way, then glanced to the left again. “Oh, I wanted to ask because I couldn’t find it in any of our emails, but do you have any siblings?”

“No. I’m an only child.” Gabe had never gone into the intricacies of his parents’ relationships, because it wasn’t something he wanted written down. And he didn’t want to go into gory details when Tristan would likely forget it all anyway. “My mother and biological father split when I was really young, and it wasn’t on the best of terms.”

“Because he came out?”

“Yeah. They never really became friends again, which I guess isn’t unusual for divorced couples.”

“It would probably be more strange for them to be best friends.”

“Definitely.” Not that it had ever been likely. Too many hurt feelings were involved from all parties, including Gabe. And because he didn’t want Tristan to think he was uninterested or rude, he added, “You told me about your brother. A little bit, anyway, when we first met.”

“Oh. Okay good.” Tristan’s expression went momentarily sad, then smoothed over. “You want to know something weird? Even though I accept that the accident happened more than three years ago, I still feel like I just saw my parents a few months ago. I went home for the weekend, because it was my father’s birthday. Mom made chicken Alfredo for dinner, because that’s his favorite, and she made lemon bars for dessert because they’re mine.”

Something in his face unfocused as he went away into the memory, speaking as much to the past as to Gabe. “She makes them homemade, not some mix from a box. And with real lemons, not concentrate. It makes them extra tangy. I can eat a whole pan. She said I did once, when I was five, and I had a sick stomach all the next day. No one else makes them as good as she does.”

And he hadn’t had one in years, because his parents all but disowned him. Such a sweet, funny soul who deserved so much better.

Gabe had no idea how to make lemon bars, but he made a mental note to research it. How hard could they be?

“We talked about school after dinner,” Tristan continued. “I was about to finish my junior year, and Dad had already decided I was going to Penn State for med school. I didn’t get a choice, he said, because he was paying for it. I didn’t fight him. All I wanted was to get through school and then do whatever the hell I wanted to do with my life. And when I agreed with him, everything was always pleasant. No harsh silences like those first few months after Alex died. No disappointed glares. Sometimes I think he suspected I was gay, but thought if he ignored it, like he ignored that I wasn’t as smart as Alex, it wouldn’t be true. I’d be the smart, straight son who was going to be a doctor. If I’ve seen them since, I obviously don’t remember it.”

More than anything in that moment, Gabe wanted to reach into his laptop and give Tristan a hug. He didn’t want to add to Tristan’s state of melancholy, but he also never wanted to lie to him. “Noel told me that your parents haven’t visited you since the hospital.”

Tristan nodded, his blue eyes too shiny. “That sounds right. Noel would have told me if they had.”

“It’s their loss. They still have one son, and they can’t see far enough past their bigotry to love you like you deserve.”

“How do you know what I deserve?”

“Because I’m a good judge of people. I can see past bullshit pretty well, and you, my friend, are a genuine person. You’ve got a good heart.”

His cheeks pinked up. “Okay, we are so definitely going on a date now.”

“Yes, we are. In two to six weeks.”

“Awesome. Give me a minute.”

Gabe’s view was suddenly blocked by a close up of lined notebook paper and scrawled words too out of focus to read. The page shook a lot. Tristan was writing all of this down. Gabe waited patiently, glad Tristan thought to do that, so he had their conversation notes for later.

After a few minutes, Tristan put the notebook away. “So I made up a cheat sheet of all the things I’ve collected about you, and you’re a waiter. Tell me a story about that.”

“A funny story or a terrible story?”

“Surprise me.”

Gabe had worked in food service for years, so he’d seen and heard it all, and had pretty much everything said to him, from racial slurs—a grouchy old man once called him a spic, and Gabe wasn’t even Hispanic, he just tanned well—to very clear come-ons. Unfortunately, most of the come-ons were from women. He’d nearly lost his temper more times than he could count, and he’d seen assholes get a decent comeuppance in return.

“So I’ve worked in a few places over the years,” Gabe said. “One of them was this fifties style all-night diner, and I was one of the few guys who waited tables there so I got a lot of the overnight shifts. The owner liked having dudes around in case disruptive drunks came in looking for a greasy dinner.”

“Makes sense,” Tristan said. “Did you like overnight?”

“Not really. It’s the reason I started drinking coffee, though. Anyway, this one Friday night, around eleven or so, this bus pulls into the parking lot. An entire team of high school soccer players gets out, all of them hooting and being rowdy because they’d won some kind of regional championship. And they are absolute assholes to me. Changing their minds on orders, talking back for no reason, making fun of the place. When the food comes, they’re throwing shit around, tossing pickles at the windows to see if they’ll stick. Basically being dicks and wrecking the place.

“After they’ve been in the place a good twenty-five minutes, finally their coach comes into the diner and sees what’s going on, and he nearly shits himself. His face was epic. He lets out this bellowing ‘What the actual fuck?’ that, I swear to God, made the windows rattle.”

Tristan leaned in closer, his eager face filling the computer screen.

“The coach starts lecturing them about manners, sportsmanship and good behavior. And then. Then! This is the best part.” Gabe grinned at the memory of the pride he’d felt that day. “The coach helps me bring out the mop bucket and a ton of cleaning supplies, and he makes his team clean the entire damned diner.”

“You are shitting me.” Tristan hooted. “That’s fantastic! Oh my God, I wish I could have seen those kids’ faces.”

“I loved every minute of it. And I got a really good tip.”

“I would hope so. I don’t think I could ever be a waiter. I don’t have a very good brain-to-mouth censor. I’d be fired after the first dumbass said something rude to me.”

“Good thing animators don’t deal with the general public then.”

Tristan’s eyebrows arched. “I told you about that?”

“Yes. The night we danced together at Big Dick’s. I could tell how much you enjoyed it by the way you talked.”

“I still think about it sometimes, and it always depresses me. Except not so much recently, I don’t think.”

“That’s because you’ve been going to art classes every Saturday.”

“I am?” He glanced around his room until his gaze settled somewhere. “That’s right. I bet that’s why I have that painting of your face on my wall.”

Gabe grinned. “You put me on your wall?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“I’m not really my type.”

Tristan laughed. “Tall, dark and handsome?”

“Nah. I prefer blonds.”

“Lucky me.” He tilted his head. “Have you ever thought of modeling?”

Gabe’s heart gave a funny lurch. He had no intention of telling Tristan that he already was an adult model, but he also didn’t want to lie. “I’m not very good at taking direction. And I don’t think I’d want to see my face on a billboard or the side of a bus.” Doing videos once or twice a month for a small company was one thing. Finding larger fame was quite another, and the exact reason why he hadn’t given Chet an answer about the Puppy Farm inquiry yet.

“Earth to Gabe,” Tristan said, waving both hands in front of the monitor. “Where’d you go?”

“Sorry, lost in thought. Did you ask me something?”

“I asked if you were an introvert or more of an exhibitionist.”

“Combination of both, I guess. It depends on the situation. When I’m at Big Dick’s I don’t like to be the center of attention. My dads own the place, and I need to set a good example.”

“So tell me about a time you were an exhibitionist.”

Gabe was unashamed to admit that he had more than one example. Unfortunately most of them involved Andrew, and he wasn’t going down that road of past heartbreak today. “I came out when I was nineteen, and I fucked around a lot for the next four years or so. This one night I was working at the same diner as before, and this guy comes in with a group of people. He spends the entire night cruising me. Like so obviously cruising me that his friends even started teasing him. So this one time I’m refilling water glasses, and he bluntly asks if I ever take smoke breaks.”

“Oh my God.” Tristan’s eyes lit up with delight, probably guessing exactly where the story was heading.

“I very nearly say no, I don’t smoke, until I get it. So I say, ‘Yeah, I’m about to take one right now. Out back by the trash cans.’ I go through the kitchen to the back. It’s pretty well lit out there, but there’s a three-sided cement block enclosure that provides privacy from the parking lot. And the cooks aren’t paying any attention. So this guy walks around from the front of the diner, drops to his knees and gives me a fucking blowjob right there.”

Tristan made a delighted sound. “That sounds so awesome. I’ve never done anything like that. Did you blow him back?”

“Nope. He finished me off, then wiped his mouth and left. His table was gone when I got inside, and they’d left a good tip.”

“Holy shit, that’s the best story.” Tristan was practically vibrating with excitement. “Noel doesn’t talk about his sex life, because he’s always been private about that stuff, so it’s refreshing to hear someone else in the world is getting laid.”

“There are people getting laid a lot more frequently than I am.”

“Not a casual hookup kind of guy anymore?”

“Not for a while. That thing kind of lost its appeal.”

“Have you ever had a long-term boyfriend? I’m asking because if it was in your letters, I didn’t note it on my cheat sheet.”

Gabe had never mentioned Andrew to Tristan. Andrew wasn’t a happy memory. “I had one. It lasted for about a year, but it wasn’t meant to be.” Way too polite a description for the situation, but whatever.

“I’ve never had one, either. In college, I didn’t want one and it would have been awkward anyway, because I wasn’t out at home. And then this happened.” He gestured outward, at his room. “No one wants to date a guy who won’t remember them half an hour later.”

“But you’re starting to remember things. Don’t blow off the boyfriend thing just yet.”

“Oh I’m not.” Tristan licked his lower lip in a very unsubtle way. “Not anymore.”

I bet when he’s in full-force flirt mode no one can resist him.

Gabe’s dick was certainly starting to take notice, much like it had that night dancing at Big Dick’s. He’d masturbated to that memory quite a few times. He’d even used it while he fluffed himself before his last shoot. Every single thing about Tristan was fucking sexy as hell. He desperately wanted to see him in person again.

“Listen, maybe one of these Thursdays when you hang with Noel, you guys can come to the city and I’ll hang out with you too,” Gabe said, a little rushed and in one breath.

Tristan’s smile went from seductive to excited. “Definitely.” He reached over to scrawl something. “Actually, give me a few. I need to write down that blowjob story and a note to ask Noel about Thursday.”

“Sure.” The time Tristan spent writing, Gabe spent watching him. The way his eyebrows dipped into a V. The way he stuck the tip of his tongue out while thinking hard. A small mole on his left jaw. A second one a few inches lower on his neck. He hadn’t shaved recently, but the blond whiskers on his cheeks were fine and very pale. They almost blended in with his complexion.

How could anyone have hurt him so badly?

Gabe rubbed at his stiffening cock with one hand, while balancing his computer with the other. He could probably get off just listening to Tristan talk about sex while licking his lower lip.

“Okay, cool,” Tristan said as his attention returned to the screen. “Don’t worry, Noel won’t say no. Are you free this coming week?”

“I’m free until about four thirty. I swapped with someone to help cover the evening shift.”

“That’s cool, we can hang until then. We’ll come into the city and pick you up.”

Gabe wasn’t thrilled with the idea of Tristan seeing the shithole he lived in, or the possibility of his mother making an appearance. “How about we meet someplace? You can let me know closer to the day.”

“What? You don’t want me to see Casa de—hell. What’s your last name again?”

“Henson.”

“Right.” He wrote that down. “Henson. Gabe Henson. I like it. Mom’s last name or dad’s?”

“My bio dad’s. My mother named me Gabriel, though.”

“After the archangel?”

“After Gabriel Byrne.”

“The actor?”

Gabe blinked, surprised someone else his age knew who Gabriel Byrne was. “Yeah, she was a little obsessed with the movie Excalibur, which led to an obsession with the King Arthur legend in general.”

“I’ve never heard of Excalibur, but I’ve see a few Gabriel Byrne movies. I mean The Usual Suspects is the shit. And he really knew how to swing a sword in The Man in the Iron Mask.”

Gabe blinked at the mention of one of his guilty pleasure movies. “You’ve seen that?”

“Sure. I mean, it’s really nothing like the book, but who cares with all the eye candy. I mean, Peter Sarsgaard? Hello.”

“I get what you mean. Who was your favorite Musketeer?”

Tristan made a do you really have to ask? face. “With his sexy-ass accent?”

“Aramis,” they said in stereo.

“How did I know you’d get turned on by British accents?” Tristan said.

“It’s the accent and the voice itself. I mean, it’s Jeremy Irons. The only other Brit who comes close right now is Benedict Cumberbatch.”

“Who?”

Shit, way to go and mention someone who’s only gotten serious pop culture attention in the few years since Tristan’s injury.

“Give me a second,” Gabe said. He had to salvage this without drawing attention to it, so he searched for a video clip, then sent it to Tristan’s email. “Check your inbox.”

He waited while Tristan loaded and watched the clip. His blue eyes got wider with every passing minute. “Okay, yes,” Tristan said. “I like him. What movie is this?”

“Star Trek Into Darkness.”

“Really? They made a sequel? Noel and I saw the first one together in college. Are all the actors back?”

“Yep, same cast. Benedict plays the villain. It’s pretty good.”

“When my memory gets better, we’ll have to watch it together.”

Gabe grinned. “It’s a date.”

“There’s probably a lot of movies I’ll need to catch up on.”

“No doubt. A bunch of really good animated films have come out. We’ll have to have a marathon.”

Tristan gave him a sly smile. “You do realize that I don’t have a TV here, so in order to do that, you’ll have to show me your house.”

Gabe’s stomach soured at the idea, but he kept that off his face. “We’ll figure something out.” Like use the den at his dads’ house. They had a sixty-inch flat screen mounted on the wall. Although Gabe also liked the idea of cuddling with Tristan on his bed while they watched movies on his TV.

Not with Debbie around. No way.

Gabe told more stories about being a waiter until he inevitably had to end the call. He was already pushing it on being late to work. “Let’s do this again, yeah?”

“Count on it.”

They’d been chatting for more than forty minutes, and Gabe was curious. “Tristan, what’s the first thing you remember us talking about?”

Tristan’s brow scrunched up. “Um, we flirted a little, and then we talked about me remembering breakfast and dinner times.”

A small burst of hope lit up inside of Gabe’s heart. “That’s our entire conversation. Almost forty-five minutes.”

“Really? Damn.” Tristan’s baffled expression was ten kinds of adorable. “Damn.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I guess part of me thought that the time thing was a fluke.”

“Nope. Keep positive, okay? Believe this is working.”

“I will. Thanks, Gabe. It really helps knowing I have someone to get better for.”

Gabe shook his head. “No way. You get better for you. Us getting to know each other is a bonus.”

“Okay. Have fun at work. Ogle some hot guys for me.”

“I’ll do my best. Bye, Tristan.”

“Bye.”

Gabe reluctantly ended the call and closed his computer. He knew he was doing exactly what Dad warned him not to do, which was get attached. But this was different than his constant struggle to fix Debbie and her addiction. Tristan wanted to get better, and he had a real shot at doing so. Gabe would do whatever he could to help make that happen.