SEVEN

 

Asking Tristan to the football game, the first game in which Grant had been playing more than a few minutes here and there, was a huge step, one that Grant had been sure would end in disaster. Tristan didn’t seem like the football type, to say the very least, and Grant was pretty sure that it was probably far too intimate a thing for Tristan to want to do to come and cheer Grant and the rest of the team on.

But when Grant had pulled himself together and had extended the invitation in a voice which he was glad to note only shook a little, Tristan had shot him a surprised look but had raised his shoulders in a shrug, as if to say Sure, why not?

Honestly, Grant had wondered if Tristan would bother to show up at all, but it had been the right thing to do, Grant felt it way down deep to his bones. Tristan had helped Grant with his homework, though Tristan had been under no obligation to do so. Grant had sort of gotten the impression that Tristan was spoiled and a bit selfish, and yet his actions had helped Grant to ace the pop quiz that his Physics teacher had sprung on him, one that Grant knew he would have failed.

And then there had been all of the making out after the homework, which haunted Grant. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop wishing that it could actually mean something. The lust was there, the desire, but Grant felt like there had been something more. Maybe he was mistaking it, because of his own inexperience and because Tristan was, by far, the hottest human being that he’d ever touched, but it felt like there had been some sort of connection besides that of a shared desire.

Maybe he wasn’t wrong, either, because when he shaded his eyes against the fall sunshine and looked into the stands, Tristan was there. Grant’s eyes were drawn to him immediately, and even with the distance separating them, Grant was certain that there was that same tug, the same connection, between his eyes and Grant’s.

“Watch yourself, Stephens,” Manny warned, as their team took the field. “Warren’s pissed.”

Grant frowned and turned his eyes to Manny, who was looking at him with genuinely concerned brown eyes. It was a friendly warning, not a threat, but the whole thing irritated Grant to no end.

“I don’t care,” he said, not trying to pull any punches. “Warren can hate me as much as he wants, but he isn’t fit to play right now. He can get pissed off about it all he wants, but it’s just the truth.”

Manny’s eyes widened with surprise, and Grant felt a surge of satisfaction as he continued. Manny was a gossip, a very well-meaning gossip, definitely, but he definitely liked to be the one to tell stories. Let him tell this story. Grant was sick of tiptoeing around.

“I’m getting a little bit sick of his prima donna act, anyway,” Grant informed Manny because Grant would always try to be polite, but he wasn’t going to let anyone control him through fear. It just wasn’t the way he was wired.

The game started then, and Grant quickly realized that Manny was right. Grant could feel the pressure of someone staring at him from the stands, and during a brief break, he glanced up to see that it was Warren, who wasn’t so much staring as he was glaring.

The game didn’t go well, not at first. A complete defensive breakdown had the visiting team celebrating their first touchdown, and then their second. It actually helped Grant, though, helped him pull his attention away from Warren, and even away from Tristan, to focus entirely on the game.

He was at his best when he was behind, and Grant let himself be lost in the natural flow of the game, giving instructions to men who were as much as three years older than him without hesitation.

Under his leadership, the team closed the lead, and then it happened. Manny hiked the ball to Grant, and Grant caught it. It was one of those plays that went exactly as they were supposed to, right out of the playbook, the kind that was utterly gorgeous to watch in action.

The running back caught the pass and took off down the field, evading defense the whole way. No one could touch him, and, for the first time that game, Grant’s team was ahead.

From there, it was in the bag. The other team couldn’t do a thing to catch up, and a game which could have ended so easily in complete failure turned into something of a runaway train. At one point, Grant glanced up at Tristan, wondering how his beautiful roommate was enjoying the game, only to see something that, for some reason, froze his blood in his veins and made him feel like his stomach had been packed with ice.

Warren was sitting right beside Tristan. Not just beside him, either, but very close, so that their knees were touching. Warren had, apparently, gotten really good with his crutches, and while Grant was busy playing this game, Warren had been putting the moves on his …

His what?

Tristan and Warren knew each other, that much was clear. They had known each other for a while, or that was the impression that Grant had gotten. The only thing that made him feel a little bit better was that Tristan seemed bored by the whole thing, not even looking over at Warren, and when Grant glanced over, Tristan smiled and gave a little wave which made everything seem somehow manageable again, somehow okay.

It wasn’t like Tristan belonged to Grant, anyway. It was just that it would sting a little if Tristan said that he didn’t date guys, and then he turned around and got with Warren. The situation was highly confusing, but the jealousy burned bright and hot in him, and it was a relief to turn his attention back to the game.

Everything was on, luckily. The other team didn’t stand a chance, but the moment that the game was over, Grant had the quickest shower in the history of the world and then dodged pats on the back, avoided his coach, who was going to want to go over the game. He could only avoid the man for so long, he knew, but it would be long enough if only …

Yes. Tristan was still there like he had known that Grant would be back without Grant having had to say anything. Not only that, but he had moved down the rows of seat, which had mostly cleared out.

To make things better, Grant couldn’t help but notice that Warren was still sitting a few rows back, where Tristan had been just a short time ago. Tristan had walked away, and from the look on Warren’s face, he wasn’t exactly happy about it.

Grant found it impossible to be heartbroken about that.

“Hey,” Tristan sounded different. Quieter than usual, more thoughtful. Grant had been braced for him to be completely bored out of his mind, so this was probably better, but he still had to wonder what that one word, said in that tone, meant. Tristan was so hard to read sometimes.

“Hey,” Grant echoed, feeling a bit like an idiot, but standing there and talking to Tristan, even with the barrier between them, also made him so euphoric he couldn’t stop grinning. Tristan leaned in, and so did Grant, keeping their conversation, such as it was, more private.

“Did you have a good time …” Grant started, at the same time as Tristan started to ask a question of his own.

“Did you still want to …”

They stopped, Grant waiting for Tristan to finish whatever it was he had been trying to say, but it seemed like Tristan might just be doing the same thing.

“Yeah,” Tristan finally responded. “It didn’t completely suck, I guess.” Which was pretty high praise, Grant could tell, coming from Tristan, who was so cerebral. He had always seemed sort of faintly, disdainfully amused by football, and it was hardly the first time that Grant had run into that phenomenon.

“What were you going to ask me?” Grant asked, rubbing his palms, which had started to sweat nervously, against the soft, worn material of the sweats he had pulled on after his shower.

“It doesn’t mean anything.” Tristan’s voice was suddenly intensely defensive, as though Grant had accused him of something rather than having just asked him a simple question. “I just thought, if you can pull yourself from work and school and sports, you might want to go out sometime.”

As far as being asked out went, Grant was sure there had been more romantic times in the history of the world than this one. Tristan was fidgeting, like part of him couldn’t even figure out why he was asking the question, and his gaze kept slipping elusively away from Grant’s. But he was asking, and there was really no chance that Grant would say anything but what he did.

“I would like that,” he told Tristan honestly, finally managing to catch his eye and holding his gaze, pretty sure he could actually see the nerves shining in the dark orbs. It would be easy to think that Tristan didn’t actually want to do this, but when Grant really looked, when he saw through Tristan’s defensive aura, he was sure that he saw things that he had been so sure wouldn’t be there.

“Really?” Tristan asked, and Grant couldn’t help but grin when he heard how much shock was in Tristan’s voice. Or maybe it was just that Grant couldn’t help but grin, not when he had just been asked out by the only person that he had seriously wanted to date ever.

“Yeah. Leave it to me,” Grant offered. He had some ideas for a date, things that he’d been tossing around in the privacy of his own thoughts but had never really thought that he’d get to pull out. “I’m off work Saturday night.”

Tristan had recovered enough to shoot Grant one of those sardonic, amused little looks, but he also gave a tiny nod, which Grant took as acceptance. Even Tristan turning and walking for the exit couldn’t deflate the balloon of joy which seemed to be inflating deep inside of him, irresistible and hopeful.

Tristan didn’t do dating, and yet, Tristan was willing to go on a date. Grant had a chance to impress him, and even though he wasn’t all that sure that he was up to the challenge, he was still going to give it his best shot, and hope.

It was more than he’d had even five minutes ago, this hope, and even though Grant had no idea how he was going to keep balancing everything if he had a boyfriend on top of all of his school and work stuff, even if he knew that it was too soon to count on anything actually working out with Tristan, the soles of his shoes still seemed to not quite touch the ground as he watched Tristan leave, then turned to walk away, himself.

Warren was glaring at him, but even that didn’t seem to matter that much. Warren was nearly always glaring at him, so that was nothing unusual. It had worried him once, but nothing could worry him when Tristan Ainsley had agreed to go out with him.