A toothbrush meant a long-term stay.
Tristan nodded, hoping his words came out nonchalant and not as a spew of vomit as his stomach did backflips. “Well, I hope so. Don’t want your baking off because you can’t taste shit right.”
“You’re so considerate.” Henry raised a hand, lowered it, raised it again. His face reddened, and eventually he patted Tristan’s cheek. Gently, injustthe way to pierce through all the nerves and skitter electricity across his skin. The tiniest stirring at his crotch, as much as he hated to admitthatin what should have been a tender moment. But his tightening pants weren’t going to be ignored.
Tristan made himself stand there instead of melting into a pool of hormones or backing away from Henry. “I’m sure there’s a store nearby where we can get a bottle of vodka.”
“I’m sure there is too.” Henry chuckled a little bit. “I’ll run out and get supplies. Then we can shower.”
“Oh, so we’re showering together?”
Henry shrugged. “Conservation of water. It’s important.”
Tristan wasn’t going softer. But the thought of being in the shower... it would mean the lights on. Was he ready for that on top of everything else that was going down?
In that moment, standing in the studio, turned on, and barely resisting the urge to take Henry in the middle of the bread display, it seemed like that wouldn’t be quite as bad as he’d built it up in his head. If anything, he could use some stress relief.As long as it doesn’t get me sent packing.
Henry dropped the paper bag from the liquor store onto the bed. His tongue barely wanted to move, his palms sweated.Fucking stupid—we’ve done this before for Christ’s sake.It didn’t make sense for him to feel nervous, and yet he did. It was probably a holdover from the competition. Much as he wanted to put on a good show for Tristan—who was currently unpacking their liquor store haul and setting it up next to the TV—he couldn’t stop a niggling worry from churning through his belly. Bertha was gone, and who’d turned her in remained a mystery. It could have been a few people. Practically everyone had interacted with her at some point during the bread practice days, trying to address her issues.
Any of them could have spotted a suspicious discrepancy. Whatever it might have been.
She had to have done something significant, that much was clear. Several people had lent Katherine a hand, and she wasn’t being tossed out.
Henry desperately needed a drink and an orgasm to get his nerves to unspool. “So, I’m going to jump into the shower. If that’s good with you?”
After a second’s hesitation, Tristan nodded. “I... Does that offer to join you still stand?”
Henry nodded back, projecting as much calm as he could muster.So probably not a ton.“It’s your shower.”
Tristan sucked in a sharp breath, then took off his glasses. “Okay. Yeah. But... don’t say anything, okay?”
Henry nodded, resisting the urge to laugh at such a ridiculous comment. What did he think Henry wouldsay? “You have my word.”
“I mean it.” Tristan’s ears reddened and his mouth turned down slightly at the corners. “I... Okay, I turned the lights off for a reason the other night. And I keep my shirt on for a reason... I don’t show off my body a whole lot. So no comments. Please. I’m already stressed out enough today.”
Henry nodded again. “I wouldn’t say something to make you feel bad. I mean, okay, maybe I would have before when I thought you were a son-of-a-bitch caterer, but not now.”
“I think the word you used was ‘highfalutin.’” Tristan cracked a little smile. “I was a ‘highfalutin caterer.’”
“You’re not letting me live that down, are you?”
Tristan shook his head. “Did you really expect me to?”
“Color me... hopeful.”
Tristan sighed, then wrapped his arm gingerly around Henry’s waist. “Let’s get you your precious shower.”
They walked into the bathroom together. Henry slipped off his shoes and socks, then his pants and his shirt.Better if I go first. Maybe it’ll help. Or maybe I think too highly of my own contribution to this whole thing.Either way, he was down to his underwear, standing there in the bathroom. He wasn’t going to pressure Tristan into anything, though. He reached back and turned on the faucet. “How hot do you like the water?”
“Umm, flesh-scalding?” Tristan chuckled, then slid off his shoes. His socks, followed by his pants to reveal strong, thick legs dusted over with dark hairs, and awfully flimsy cerulean boxer shorts with off-white pinstripes running down the legs. He hesitated, then slowly pulled up the hem of his shirt. Henry watched a little more closely than he should have, given Tristan’s nerves.Forbidden fruit.
Slight, wispy hair led up from his waistband, across his belly button and over well-defined abs and a dark treasure trail. More tawny skin was revealed with each inch Tristan’s hem rose. His ribs pressed slightly against his skin as his arms stretched higher.
Another inch up, just at the bottom of Tristan’s left pec, a curving scar. Slightly jagged along the edges, but still very well-defined. On the other pec, a puckered burn mark. Those definitely weren’t normal baker’s scars and injuries, unless he was working shirtless during all those catering events. And juggling burning-hot pieces of metal. Suddenly, it made sense why he’d jerked away at that awards ceremony.
The small marks continued down his biceps, mixed in with bigger ones. Some were clearly cut marks. Others were something else entirely, although Henry couldn’t have said what.Now I know what he was talking about.They weren’t grotesque, but Tristan definitely had a lot of scars. A lot.
Finally, Tristan stripped off his shirt, all the way up and over his head. He turned to set it on the counter, and Henry noticed some thicker, much fainter marks left on his back. Across his shoulders, mostly. But before long, Henry was distracted by other sights. Like Tristan’s ass, barely covered by the thin material of his boxers. And the barbed-wire tramp stamp completely visible and inviting.I guess that’s the one-time barbed wire says, “Come touch me, you’ll love it.”
