Even Henry’s wild, impossible fantasy outcome had involved him going back to his own hotel room after all was done. Henry had been okay with that, had known it was coming. But it hadn’t. Even when Henry had offered Tristan ways out... they were sleeping together.
Just sleeping.
Tristan... wanted him around. Sure, he wasn’t going to be the oneleavingin this situation like so many other guys—Henry hosted a lot more often than he liked—but there was no rule or kindness or etiquette that said he had to let Henry stay. Hell, maybe there was, but gay guys didn’t follow it.
Tristan wants me to stay, though. And probably not in the bathroom.Henry turned around and splashed cold water on his face once again for good measure. It didn’t make him feel any different, but it bought him another few seconds to get himself under control.
His phone bought him a little longer. He fished it out to see Carrie’s reply.You okay? Need to talk?
Henry thought about it: what had happened, where he was, how he felt. And honestly, when he was in that room with Tristan, even when they weren’t crawling all over each other, his problems didn’t seem so bad.Naw. Just got some action, so I’m good.
This time, she responded immediately.Deets?
A lady doesn’t kiss and tell. Call later and maybe I’ll forget I’m a lady.
Deal. I’m here if you need me.
With a sigh, Henry turned off the light, opened the door, and walked back out into the continuing comfort he’d been looking for. Tristan lay there, staring up at the ceiling. When Henry stopped, he looked over, a gentle smile on his lips. But no requests or demands. Henry was clearly welcome to share that space, and Tristan didn’t seem to expect anything more of him. Henry smiled at the scene. Itwasnice to be greeted by the sight of Tristan, and to know those expectations didn’t exist here. Not between them.
Henry’s mind flashed to another sight, a memory of Lance lying around in a faded concert T-shirt and some briefs. He turned and smiled at Henry—this had been before his mouth would go off and spout accusations at Henry, scream that he was too selfish for anyone’s good ...
Henry shook himself loose, walked over, and gingerly sat on the edge of the bed next to Tristan. Lance was long gone, nothing but a coal in Henry’s mind to fuel his furnace, push him forward. “So, do you want to sleep on that side or ...”
“That’s fine.” Tristan rolled over, smiling sweetly. “I’m... glad you decided to stay.”
“I figured you’d have wanted your privacy.”
“I would have figured that too.” Tristan shifted himself higher. “But I get the feeling you’re worth giving up some alone time for.” He sighed and pulled out his phone. “Can I get your email?”
“Oh, was I good enough for a comment card?”
Tristan shook his head. “I’m thinking maybe you’re worth giving up a recipe for, too. Don’t waste time, otherwise the afterglow might wear off and I’ll come back to my senses.”
Henry couldn’t do anything but blink for a few seconds. “You don’t have to.”
“Maybe I want to. Since that’s what started this whole thing anyway.”
Henry couldn’t help but grin as he rattled off the address. Within a few seconds, he had a file-sharing notification. “You have your chiffon cake recipe on your phone?”
“It’s in the cloud.” Tristan set his phone back on the table. “Even I’m notthatanal-retentive.”
“We didn’t go far enough to find out how anal-retentive you are.” Henry lay down, enjoying the space shared with another body at long last. The chiffon cake... he probably would never change from his own. But regardless, Tristan thought highly enough of him to hand it over. He nuzzled closer to Tristan, let himself fall against the warm, hard chest. “Any time you want company for the night again, you know where to find me. I’ll be here.”
“Careful.” Tristan chuckled, then slipped off his glasses, set them aside, and closed his eyes. “You don’t want to make any promises you can’t keep.”
“I never do.” Henry reached behind him and clicked off the light.
A couple of days later, Tristan sat on the stool at his station, resisting the urge to stare into his oven at the dinner rolls. He’d made four batches during these practice days so far, and they were close to perfect when they worked. Sweetened with molasses and flavored with nigella seeds and hazelnut. They alwaystastedgood; however, the additional flavors sometimes led to a charred undertone, or even kept the rolls from rising properly. They weren’t as hearty and full as Dorian’s far-too-delicious rye rolls—the bastard apparently made them all the time at his hotel—but at their best, they could stand on even footing. Even Henry said so... while he stood behind batch after batch of perfectly risen, shiny challah rolls with poppy seeds, or black salt and roasted fennel focaccia. That was Tristan’s problem: Was his presentation up to snuff? He couldn’t tell and couldn’t afford to have a slip with such stiff competition.
The cinnamon raisin bread, at least, was something Tristan had no problem pulling off. Of course, nobody else seemed to be having any problems with that either.
He’d take his smoke break after this. He hadn’t gotten one in the morning like he normally would have. It wasn’t great etiquette when you woke up next to a nonsmoker.
They hadn’t fooled around since that first night—exhaustion helped keep their libidos in check—but ever since they’d blown each other, Henry had spent every night in Tristan’s hotel room. He always asked if it was all right, and Tristan always said yes. He liked having Henry in bed next to him. More than he would have possibly guessed. His being there, scruffy and aggravating and sweet and masculine, led Tristan into hotter, steamier, crotch-tenting thoughts that often had him rolling onto his side so Henry wouldn’t notice.
He wanted Henry. He wanted him in the bed next to him, and he wanted to keep peeling away deeper layers of Henry. If he was honest with himself, he liked that he could let down his own walls, as well, actually breathe. This kind of infatuation was familiar, but something about Henry made it headier, left his body tingling and his mind focused on nothing except Henry.
Tristan blew out a long, slow breath, then looked behind him at Henry, also sitting. “Waiting game?”
