EIGHT

 

The whole thing was sort of a blur, now that it was over. Tristan wasn’t quite sure how the sequence of events had led to being what it was. He had walked into the game more or less convinced that he was still not the sort of person who was interested in dating, and he had walked out having asked Grant on a date.

He still wasn’t entirely clear about what had happened in the hours in between that had led to this change in himself.

When he had taken his seat, he had deliberately chosen one that was very close to the front, even though it had meant showing up incredibly early. It wasn’t until the football team trotted onto the field that Tristan had had to admit to himself that he had chosen this seat simply because he wanted to be able to see Grant, had wanted Grant to see him.

So maybe that was the first sign that Tristan, who had been determined not to fall for any of the bullshit romance stuff, had started to do just that. But he was convinced that he would have been okay if not for Grant himself.

It was easy to fall for the hype, to deride jocks in general and football players in particular. For Tristan, it had always been simple just to assume that anyone who played this ridiculous game was some sort of idiot, to the point where he had barely even bothered to attend a game.

Seeing the way that Grant played it, though, it was like a whole new game. And it could have just been Tristan’s ridiculous crush, but he didn’t think so, because he heard the murmurs, and then the outright cheers, of the people around him.

“He’s good,” someone said.

“He’s way better than Warren. He doesn’t showboat like Warren always does. Not a glory hound,” someone else replied.

And indeed, to Tristan’s untrained eye, that did seem to be true. Grant moved with smooth confidence, like he belonged on the field, and he effortlessly directed the team, and even Tristan could tell that Grant had a grasp of the game, of the tactics involved, that the other team just simply didn’t have.

In other words? Grant wasn’t an idiot. And as the game went on, Tristan realized it was more than that. Grant was nothing short of a genius, a natural leader, and for Tristan, it was an uncomfortable realization. Grant may struggle with physics, and math wasn’t his strong suit, but on the football field, he was unrivaled.

And it wasn’t only Tristan’s opinion. Nobody seemed to care that Warren was there when he dropped into the seat beside Tristan. No one even seemed to notice. They were all talking football, saying how rare it was for a freshman to be this good, how maybe the team wasn’t completely screwed this year.

Warren wasn’t happy, and Tristan couldn’t help but feel a little bad for him. But still, very little could draw his attention from the field, where Grant was directing the play as though he had been born to do it.

That’s my man.

The thought came into his head clear as day as Grant turned to look at him, right at him, those blue eyes glinting in the fall sunshine, obvious even in the distance that separated them. A fierce, hungry sort of pride gripped him, and he even wished, for just a second, before he came back to himself, that the people around him would know that Grant was his. Something gripped at Tristan, he could only call it temporary insanity, and at that moment if Grant had come up to him, Tristan probably would have kissed him and not cared about anyone watching.

And that was how he came to ask Grant if he wanted to go out. Which was what had led to him staring at his closet, having no idea what to wear, or where Grant, who had insisted on planning the date, was going to take him. Having no clue about how he was supposed to behave, was not something that he was used to caring about.

“Are you ready?”

Grant slipped into the room, blond hair neatly combed, still slightly damp from the shower that he had just had. He gave Tristan an intimate little smile, so very handsome and strong and just utterly perfect, it wasn’t even fair.

Although it was good to see what he was wearing, a pair of jeans that Tristan couldn’t help but notice showed of the round curve of his perfect bubble butt and a button down shirt in a blue that exactly matched the shade of his eyes. Tristan was already wearing jeans, and the simplest thing seemed to be to grab a shirt similar to Grant’s but in a dark red.

He looked good. Okay, maybe he didn’t have anything on Grant, with his blond, American pie good looks, those broad shoulders, and that strong body, but he thought he at least looked okay, his dark hair artfully messy, the red of the shirt making his skin, tanned from the summer, more golden. He at least wouldn’t embarrass Grant.

“Yeah,” he decided and turned away from the mirror, just in time to be caught by the shoulders by a pair of strong hands. His heart fluttered as Grant pulled him close, as those hands slipped down Tristan’s back and settled in the small of it.

“I’ve been looking forward to this,” he admitted. And their lips met in the smallest, briefest of kisses before Grant, who really did seem to have this all planned out, ushered Tristan out the door and past their frat brothers, who seemed to have no idea what was going on, even though Tristan was positive that it was written all over his face.

The only one who seemed like he might think something was up between them was Warren, but on the other hand, it was sort of hard to tell. Warren was always glaring daggers at Grant, and if the look that he shot Tristan was reproachful, it was probably only because Tristan was spending time with someone who Warren considered to be the enemy.

 

* * *

 

When Grant did a date, it seemed like he really, really did it. Like he threw himself into it with just as much passion as he threw himself into football.

It started off rocky, in a way. Tristan had never even been in a car as old and beaten up as Grant’s was, and he spent the first part of their date gripping onto the car door, sure that every bump in the road was going to shake the vehicle apart. Nervous about the whole thing, not sure that he even should have agreed to do this.

But when they parked, then things got better. Almost terrifyingly so. Grant had driven them to the ocean, and they sat on the waterfront and ate seafood from a little food cart nearby. Grant grinned at him and popped a prawn, dripping garlic butter, into Tristan’s mouth, and it was the single most romantic thing that had ever happened to him.

And it only got more intense, them feeding each other, Tristan unworried about who might see them. This wasn’t the campus, after all, and here, they were just two men out on a date together. And not the only ones, either. Tristan saw another couple of guys with their arms around each other, and a lesbian couple, strolling by and lost in each other’s eyes as they held hands.

No one cared. No one even looked at them, as far as Tristan could tell, and he got bolder when he realized that. He started to feed Grant back, little bits and scraps of the fresh, delicious, fish, lemon and garlic and butter getting all over his fingers until Grant licked it off.

Grant’s mouth was hot and tight, and his tongue was clever as he swirled it over the tips of Tristan’s fingers. Heat rushed through him, despite the chilly breeze from the water, and the scent of salt and seaweed and fish was all around him.

The thing was, it was an incredibly simple time. Just a few hours spent with someone who was important to Tristan, not at all the huge deal that he had built it up to be in his head. He had seen men take girls that they were trying to impress out. It was all fancy cars and expensive restaurants, and part of Tristan had expected for this to be like that.

Instead, it was something thoughtful, something that made perfect sense, given how Grant was. It was a way for them to be close to each other without having to worry that one of their frat brothers would see them. Without having to worry about the rumors which might spread, the people who might find out.

Like Grant’s coach, who might kick him off the football team. Like Tristan’s parents, who might withdraw his allowance. They both had things on the line, but none of it seemed to matter, as though he and Grant had stepped together through some sort of magic portal and the rest of the world was left behind.

After they ate, they kicked off their shoes and rolled up the cuffs of their pants and walked as the sun went down over the water, turning the sky and the sea and the sand into the red, gold, and orange fire.

“It’s sort of funny,” Tristan murmured, almost to himself, though he was aware that Grant was there and listening. Grant had been listening to him closely through the whole date. “It’s so beautiful, but it’s just the sun shining through the atmosphere and the layers of smog.”

“Nice, Tristan,” Grant said, laughing, shading his eyes against the setting sun and grinning at Tristan. For the rest of his life, Tristan knew, he would remember this moment, remember how it felt to look into the deep, rich blue of his eyes as he stood there, the little, cold waves lapping at his bare toes, his hand raised against the rays of the sun. Everything about him was so beautiful, and Tristan felt his heart aching with a sort of longing that had nothing to do with arousal, for once, or pain.

He had protected himself so well, and yet, here he was, feeling things that he had sworn he would never feel.

“Sorry,” Tristan replied, with a little shrug and a smirk. They watched a seagull fly by overhead, giving its mournful cry, and then they started to walk again. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Been on a date?” Grant’s hand was hanging by his side, and the back of Tristan’s hand brushed against it. Without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world, Grant took Tristan’s hand in his own, fingers curling sweetly around it before they slipped between Tristan’s.

It was so intimate, the way their fingers twined together, their palms embracing. No one had ever held Tristan’s hand before like it was the most natural thing in the world. Why was Grant doing this? Why was he being so perfect, when Tristan had made it clear right away that he didn’t have to?

Tristan would have scrambled into bed with Grant the first time they met, so this was all so unnecessary. None of the men who had shared Tristan’s bed had ever tried to date him, had tried to offer him anything other than sex, and it sort of blew him away that there was someone out there who would even try.

“Yeah,” Tristan finally admitted, being blunt with it, even though he had always hated admitting that he was out of his element, uncomfortable. A secret thing about him was that he was always trying to seem like he was comfortable with any situation, but mostly, it was just an act. Could Grant see through that? Sometimes those eyes seemed to see everything. “Yeah. It’s my first time being on a date.”

If Grant made fun of him, Tristan might just punch him, he decided. But Grant didn’t. Instead, he gave a rueful little smile and a nod and stopped in his tracks again, his hand still intimately entangled with Tristan’s.

“Me too,” Grant confessed, and something which Tristan hadn’t even known was inside of him, some tense, painful little ball, eased. No matter how good Grant had been at planning this date, this was his first time, too, and that was somehow a huge relief.

“I don’t hate it,” Tristan spoke suddenly, while he was high on the smell of the ocean and the feel of Grant’s palm against his own, while his heart was pounding so much that he almost felt dizzy with it. And before Grant could reply, Tristan dropped his hand. His own fingers hooked around the back of Grant’s neck, and he stood way up on his tiptoes so that he could kiss him.

This sort of thing didn’t happen to Tristan. Way back when he had first realized that he was gay, he’d sort of given up on it. And he had never thought that he wanted it, kissing as the sun went down over the water, little waves licking over his toes, the fresh, cool breeze off of the ocean only making the warmth of Grant’s mouth, his body, more delicious, more welcome.

But there was something else in that kiss, something that was much more familiar to Tristan. A sort of heat which sprung up between them, something that he had felt before, which was comforting. It was desire, and from the way that Grant’s arms swept around him, from the way those strong hands rested so respectfully on the small of Tristan’s back even as they trembled slightly, Tristan knew that he wasn’t the only one to feel it.

He was trembling, too, but the fact that Grant was obviously feeling the same things helped him to be okay with it.

Finally, the kiss broke, and Grant’s hands were so close to Tristan’s ass, seemingly burning him even through the material of his shirt. Their lips parted, but the connection between their eyes as Grant looked down at him seemed to Tristan to be almost more intimate, as did the way that Grant was holding him.

It was so gentle, even though Grant had so much strength in him. And while it was deeply romantic, gentle wasn’t entirely what Tristan wanted just then. He wanted to feel that strength, to feel those muscles clench and flex, wanted to watch Grant’s strong body convulse and his face contort with the pleasure that Tristan wanted to give him.

“Twenty minutes,” Tristan suddenly said, though he gathered from the confused look on Grant’s face that he didn’t quite follow. Which was, he supposed, fair enough. “It took us twenty minutes to get here. It’ll take us twenty minutes to get back.”

And then Grant did seem to get it, but he was still hesitating. Tristan wanted to drag Grant off, or else he might just molest him right here and now. At least safely back in their frat room, they could be alone, they could strip off their clothes, and they could press closer together than this.

“Tristan …” Grant took a deep breath, and the really infuriating thing was that Tristan, who was used to picking out the subtle little signs of when another man wanted him, who had learned that very well because he had stood a good chance of being beaten up if he didn’t, could tell that Grant did want him. He would have been able to tell even if he hadn’t felt an intriguing bulge straining against the front of Grant’s pants.

“You want to,” Tristan told him, and he shifted his body even closer, rubbing just lightly against that lump, teasing at it in a way that no one else on the beach would be able to tell was happening at all. “You want me alone just as much as I want you.”

“Yes,” Grant spoke simply, and Tristan wrapped his arm around Grant, his intention to pull away enough that he could tug the other man down the beach. But Grant stopped him, didn’t let go of him. “Yes, Tristan, I want you, but when I take someone to bed, I want it to be special. I want it to mean something.”

How was this happening? How was Tristan throwing himself at this man, time after time, and Grant just kept right on rejecting him? It was enough to drive him crazy. Tristan had never wanted anyone like he wanted Grant, and it seemed like Grant was the one person who would never give himself to Tristan.

“It means something to me,” Grant continued, as Tristan lapsed into silence, trying to figure out how to deal with this. It wasn’t even like he could just find someone else to take to bed, because the truth was, he realized suddenly, that he hadn’t even thought about anyone else sexually ever since he and Grant had started to share a room. “So if it ever means anything to you …”

Tristan cut Grant off, their lips meeting, almost crushing each other, as he fought with himself. If he could say the words, then he could have Grant. That was what Grant had basically said, and the thing was, Tristan wouldn’t be lying at all.

But he couldn’t. Old habits died too hard, and what would Grant take it as if Tristan admitted what he was feeling? Would Tristan be just trapping himself with this man who wanted far too much? He shook his head, avoiding Grant’s eyes once the kiss had broken, but Grant gripped his chin in his fingers and made Tristan gaze up at him.

When he met Grant’s eyes, he realized that he could do it, after all. He opened his mouth, and the words spilled out, much more easily than he would have expected.

“It means something to me, too.”