TWO

 

So what was it about the guy that made it impossible for Tristan to stop thinking about him, anyway?

Sure, he was tall and broad-shouldered, and he had long, long legs that could wrap around Tristan twice. Sure, he had bright eyes and high cheekbones and the most seductive lips that Tristan had ever seen, but so what? It wasn’t like Tristan hadn’t seen gorgeous men before.

Tristan stood there, his heart hammering crazily away in his chest like it wanted to escape, and he tried to figure out why it was so hard to tear his gaze from the man who was also standing as if frozen outside the frat party. The truth was, the man was gorgeous, but that wasn’t enough.

After all, Warren was also gorgeous, and in a similar way to the way that this man was, the tall, strong, golden boy, the all American hero. The sort of guy that Tristan had been surrounded by his whole life, the sort of guy that Tristan himself couldn’t be more different from.

Muscles like that didn’t come from nowhere. And as Tristan looked, he actually realized that he recognized this stranger. Though the man, Grant Stephens, was just as new as Tristan was at the school, people were already talking about him. It had to be him, just one more muscle-headed jock here to join the throngs of muscle-headed jocks. Wonderful.

With a soft snort at his own stupidity, Tristan did look away from Grant, and once he had, it was easier to walk away. To tell himself that the effect that Grant had had on him, it had just been some sort of stupid physical thing. Not anything that mattered, though even as he was stepping away, he found himself wondering about the color of the other man’s eyes. It had been strange lighting, and he hadn’t been able to tell.

As soon as he walked in, he knew that he was making a mistake. There had to be some other way because he belonged at this crazy frat boy jock party the same way a mouse belongs in a den of lions. His shoulders stiffened, and maybe he would have turned away if he hadn’t heard movement behind him, if he hadn’t realized that Grant, the future superstar athlete, Tristan was sure, was probably close behind him.

Anyway, as soon as he walked in the door, someone was there. Warren. Wonderful. Warren was a friend of his, he supposed. At least, their fathers were friends, and business partners, which had always worked out to roughly the same thing in Tristan’s life.

“You here to pledge?” Warren asked, his arm slung around Tristan’s neck in that affectionate, but rough, way that jocks seemed to show that they liked each other. It was so weird to Tristan, and he pulled out of the headlock as soon as he could.

“I don’t think so,” Tristan spoke abruptly, and he saw the surprise on Warren’s face. Tristan wanted to snort with amusement when he saw that look. As far as Warren was concerned, Tristan had pretty much just said that he planned to go live on the moon, that was how absurd it was.

“You know you don’t actually have to pledge. You’re in regardless. You just have to accept our bid,” Warren said, his voice so low that Tristan could barely hear it over the din of the party and had to lean closer to have a chance of making out the words. “You’re not like the rest of the loser freshmen. We actually want you.”

Every so often, Tristan wondered if he misremembered just how much of an asshole Warren really was. They ran in different circles, after all, Tristan had never been interested in football, and it was all that Warren was really into. They had an interest in sex in common, but that was about it.

But when they did spend any amount of time together, Tristan remembered. No, Warren wasn’t as bad as he thought. Warren was much, much worse, and immediately, Tristan felt his hackles rising.

“Yeah, well. I’m not that sure that I want you,” he said bluntly, watching as Warren, who was very much not used to being spoken to that way, recoiled back a bit in shock. “I just don’t think that I’m a frat brother type.”

“Think about it. You know that your dad wants you here,” Warren urged, and for him, it was obviously a good enough reason to do pretty much anything, parental approval. As much as Tristan hated to admit it, that approval was the only reason he had bothered coming at all.

“Maybe,” Tristan allowed, hating himself for even that one word, the suggestion that he might change his mind. He didn’t belong here, and he knew it, but he was wanted here because of his name. It was enough to drive a guy crazy.

“Just think about it. Enjoy the food. Get drunk. See what we can offer you,” Warren spoke with satisfaction, like he thought he had already won, and Tristan gave him a dirty look as he stepped away. At least one of those ideas seemed good, and he tracked down a cup of beer right away.

Getting a little drunk might just make this party tolerable. And it might help him figure out what he should do about the whole stupid situation.

The problem was, Warren wasn’t talking out of his ass on the whole father thing. Tristan’s father had been in this same fraternity, and so had his father before him. It was a tradition in Tristan’s family, and if he didn’t join, he knew very well that he would be risking losing the generous allowance that his parents were giving him.

Maybe it would be worth it, though.

Someone was looking at him. Tristan had kept himself away from the rest of the people, although he knew most of them. They were just like Warren, people that he’d grown up with, people who had parents that were friends with his parents. Lots of good, obedient little drones, doing as their fathers wanted, getting an education to go into the same fields as their fathers were already in.

Take over the family business, in other words. The very thought of taking over his father’s media empire made him want to gag.

It was Grant, and in this light, Tristan realized, he could tell that those eyes were the most brilliant blue he had ever seen, the intense blue of the sky in the summer, late in the evening when it’s finally starting to cool down. The sort of blue that it could hurt to look into for too long.

As he watched, Grant looked away and went over to Warren. For just a moment, before he reminded himself that it was none of his business, Tristan wanted to scream at Grant to get away from Warren. That the flashy, brand new quarterback should do nothing that brought him anywhere near Warren because Warren ate guys like Grant for breakfast.

With all of Warren’s connections, it had always been easy for him just to blackball anyone he didn’t want around. If Grant wanted to have a chance of sticking around, he needed to fly under the radar. But again, what Grant did was none of Tristan’s business.

Grant spoke something too quietly for Tristan to hear, but he definitely heard Warren’s response. Warren laughed, so much scorn, so much derision, in that sound that it was a weapon. It sent shivers of pure, physical terror down Tristan’s spine to hear that sound.

He had heard it before, directed at him. Usually right before someone punched him.

“You have to be kidding,” Warren spoke clearly, his voice deliberately loud enough to penetrate even the loud, throbbing music. Tristan wasn’t the only one who was watching, and he suddenly, deeply, sincerely pitied Grant.

This was about to get ugly.

“I’m not kidding. I want in,” Grant spoke openly and freely, as though he hadn’t realized just how much trouble he was getting himself into. “Manny said that this was the place to be, so I’m here.”

Tristan drifted closer, his fingers clutching onto the thin plastic of the cup so tightly that he actually heard it crinkle. It was like a train wreck. He couldn’t look away.

“I don’t think you’re exactly SPT material,” Warren spoke, a smirk very obvious on his face, one that he didn’t even seem to be trying to hold back. And in those words, Tristan heard so much, more than Grant probably could.

What Warren meant was, Grant was not dressed right. He obviously didn’t have money, or a family name, backing him up. And maybe that wouldn’t have been enough on its own, though people had been kept out for less, and on top of that, Warren saw Grant as a threat.

“There are other fraternities out there with lower standards,” Warren continued, and Tristan watched as the insults, not so thinly veiled, were obviously received loud and clear. Grant flushed a little bit, just a bit of color high on those incredible cheekbones, but it was clear that he knew.

Tristan had already decided not to get involved, so he turned away, resolute in that decision. It was none of his business, and it wasn’t like he wanted some dumb jock around. So why was he turning abruptly back around, pounding the rest of his beer, and then walking over to where Warren and Grant stood facing off?

Maybe it was just that he didn’t like bullies, or that he didn’t like to see anyone bullied. Sure, he knew that he wasn’t the nicest guy in the world a lot of the time, but at least he didn’t treat people like this, use his name and his money to fuck up people’s lives.

“You have to be kidding me.”

Tristan spoke the words, and from the smirk that spread on Warren’s face, the older man was sure that Tristan was coming to back him up. He even raised his eyebrows at Tristan, as though to ask silently, What’s with this loser? It was as though he fully expected Tristan to agree with him, and Tristan took no small amount of pleasure in bursting that particular bubble.

“Seriously? He’s one of the biggest names on campus right now, and you’re not going to even listen to him?” Tristan could feel Grant’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t make himself look at him, so he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Warren, instead.

“Look at him, Tristan,” Warren argued, but Tristan, of course, didn’t. “He’s not the sort of person that we’re looking for in a pledge. It would be a waste of everyone’s time to let him, and pretty cruel, anyway, when he has no chance.”

A waste of everyone’s time? And this was Warren not being cruel? Tristan didn’t hold back his snort of derision.

“I’m pretty sure that there’s not an income requirement to get into this fraternity,” Tristan pointed out. They had quite a crowd around them now. Someone had even turned down the volume on the music, so more of the party could hear him. “But I don’t think that’s the problem. I think you’re afraid.”

“Afraid of this faggot?” Warren spoke with too much force, and Tristan had to set his legs under him so that he didn’t fall over. Faggot. Damned if he hadn’t heard that particular word a few times. “What would I be afraid about? He’s nothing.”

“Because you think he might be better than you at throwing around some stupid ball,” Tristan spoke casually, letting a smirk come to his face as he did. Yes, he knew that he was alienating these people. No, he didn’t particularly care. Seeing how Warren spoke about Grant as though the other man wasn’t even there, seeing how no one else was standing up to Warren and how no one else ever did, he was pretty sure he could handle not having this place in his life.

For a moment, Warren went very, very pale, and then his face flushed an ugly, dull, brick-red. Tristan actually braced himself, prepared for Warren to launch a fist, but instead, the blond man grabbed Tristan around the waist and tugged him right out the back door, shoving people aside, bulldozing over them.

“What is this, man?” Warren asked when they were safely outside and could speak in private. “Why are you standing up for that guy? You know he doesn’t belong here just as much as I do. Why are you risking jackshit for him?”

Tristan shrugged, pulling himself carefully away from Warren for the second time that evening.

“It doesn’t really matter,” he told him casually. “Because I’m not pledging, and I won’t join if you ask me to. Just stop being a prick and let the guy in. Your jealousy is showing.”

Gradually, the red in Warren’s face subsided, and a sort of appraising coolness came into his gaze instead.

“You love him so much, he’s your responsibility,” Warren finally said. Tristan frowned, confused as to how that worked because he had just said that he wasn’t joining … oh. Shit. “He only joins if you do. You share a room with him. You take care of him until he figures out that I’m right about him.”

In the space of twenty seconds or so, Warren confirmed Tristan’s fears. Grant would only be accepted if Tristan was. Tristan’s eyes burned, and his stomach clenched. He needed a drink. A lot of them.

Who was this Grant guy to him, anyway? No one. Why should Tristan do any more than he had already done to get Grant what he wanted? He wasn’t friends with the guy, didn’t even really know him. He had never actually exchanged words with him, even.

“Go get me a drink,” Tristan abruptly said, and he couldn’t actually say that he expected Warren to do it, but the other man gave him a smirk and came back, not with a beer, as Tristan would have expected, but with a whole bottle of whiskey. Good stuff, too, of course, because it wasn’t like Warren would ever drink anything else.

“So, are you going to do it?” Warren asked, and Tristan shrugged a little. The truth was, he was sort of over a barrel. The more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t let Warren win on this. He couldn’t watch Warren destroy Grant’s life, for some reason.

Or was it just that he had realized that he couldn’t take the risk of pissing his father off? Because that was true, too, he thought. Every so often, he thought maybe he could break free, but the truth was he had no idea how he would do it on his own. He’d never had to before.

“Yeah. Maybe. Probably.” Tristan snatched the bottle of booze and waved Warren off. This was a weird game that this man was playing, and he wasn’t sure he understood the rules, or why anyone would want to play it at all, but Tristan had started playing the moment he’d stood up to Warren in front of everyone at the party. Warren could probably not forgive that.

Oh well. It wasn’t the first time that Tristan’s mouth had gotten him into trouble, and it wouldn’t be the last. With a sigh, he settled down on some patio furniture, draping his body over it.

He might as well get used to hanging out here since it seemed like he was probably going to be living here soon enough.

Time went on, and Tristan didn’t really pay much attention to it. There were other people in the yard, mostly couples looking for a private place to make out, but he didn’t really give a crap about any of them. All of the couples were, of course, boy/girl, not that Tristan would have expected anything else.

For the moment, it was nice just to drink, and to be left alone, and to leave everyone else alone. Later, he would have to find Warren again, and it seemed like no matter what he told him it wasn’t going to end well for Tristan.

Someone was watching him again. Before Tristan even looked, he knew who it was. He had felt the same pressure of those eyes on him before.

“Can I sit?” Grant asked, and Tristan gave a bit of a shrug, looking up, and up, into his eyes with a little bit of a deliberate smirk of amusement.

“Be my guest, it’s a free country,” he said, and even though it was hardly an engraved invitation, Grant did lower that impossibly beautiful body of his into the lawn chair next to Tristan.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Tristan just looked, and so did Grant, and somehow the alcohol in Tristan’s system seemed to act as some sort of a buffer, making it possible for him just to look and let himself enjoy looking.

“I … uh …” Grant finally started to speak, and if Tristan didn’t know better, he would think that the man was nervous, almost tongue-tied. What did someone like Grant have to be nervous about? Tristan arched an eyebrow and waited.

“Thanks,” Grant finished, after a long silence. “For talking to Warren, for standing up for me. I guess I owe you one.”

Tristan opened his mouth to give some sort of flippant response, but Grant, it seemed, wasn’t done just yet.

“Can I take you out for lunch sometime, maybe, to say thank you? Warren told me that you said you would help me get in. So I owe you more than one, really. I’m Grant Stephens, by the way.”

Now that the words were out, Grant seemed much more relaxed, less freaked out, and now it was Tristan who was having a hard time knowing what to say.

“Tristan Ainsley,” he finally settled on, not much, but at least it was a response to what Grant had said to him. Now, what was he going to say about the rest of it?