Dad Next Door (Crimson Club Book 5)

10. Quinn

The party wasin full swing when Tristan and I returned to the ballroom. A DJ was set up on a small platform, and most of the tables and chairs had been cleared away to create a huge dance floor.

“Did we miss the cake?” Tristan asked, looking around.

I spotted someone with a small plate and what looked like the remnants of cake on it. “I think we missed the cutting.”

“There’s a dessert table in the far corner.”

Tristan jumped a mile at the soft voice that rang out from behind us. His expression went from shocked to confused, then flipped to anger before settling on polite detachment.

“Thanks.” Tristan turned to the man who was standing behind us. “How are you, Jace?”

I’d only seen Jace from afar until now. They had similar builds, and he had the same dark hair and light eyes as Tristan. At first glance, he could pass as Tristan’s younger brother or another close relative. Simon had a type.

“I’m good, thanks.” Jace flicked his gaze to me but quickly returned it to Tristan. “How have you been?”

“Good, thanks.” Tristan’s posture was stiff, but he wasn’t giving the signal that he wanted me to end the conversation. “Are you enjoying the wedding?”

“I could do without the monkey suit, but it’s been a nice night.” He bit his lip, like he was either holding himself back from saying something or gathering the courage to speak freely.

“I hear you on that.” Tristan’s smile was forced but polite. “Makes me glad I don’t have to wear this kind of thing every day.”

“Same.” Jace smiled, relaxing the slightest bit.

“Hi, I’m Quinn,” I said to give Tristan a break from the painfully awkward small talk happening.

“Jace.” He put out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too.” I shook his hand. His grip was loose, and his hands were damp with sweat. Was he nervous, or was this normal for him?

“There you are.” Simon sidled up to us and put his arm over Jace’s shoulders. “You got away from me.”

Something about the way he was touching Jace was off. The move wasn’t affectionate. Instead it felt like he was reinforcing that Jace belonged to him.

Tristan stiffened, all traces of his earlier politeness gone. I shifted closer and put my hand on the small of his back. Mostly for support, but also to show Asshole McDouchenozzle that Tristan was mine, and I sure as hell was claiming him.

Wait, no. He wasn’t mine. He was with me.

This wasn’t the first time tonight the line between fake date and real one had blurred. I was too emotionally invested in what was going on to be objective, and my character mask was slipping because of how much I cared about Tristan as a friend.

That had to be it.

That explained why I found myself touching him without meaning to. Why I couldn’t stop looking at him and feeling pride at how well he was handling everything. Why I’d had the overwhelming urge to kiss him by the balcony doors after he’d told me more of the shit Simon had put him through.

That had come out of nowhere, and I’d almost done it. I’d almost kissed him, and my reasons had nothing to do with wanting to make him feel better or helping to take away his pain.

“Tristan.” Simon’s voice dripped with fake charm, but his steely gaze gave away his true feelings at seeing his ex. “It’s nice to see you out and about.” He flicked his gaze to me, his nose wrinkling up in a sneer. “And with a new friend.”

“Hi, I’m Quinn. We haven’t officially met,” I said, taking the attention off Tristan again.

“Nice to meet you.” Simon’s tone was dismissive, but the look he gave me was scrutinizing. “Simon Honeywell.”

“Nice to meet you too.” I ran my hand over Tristan’s back in a gentle circle.

“You look familiar. Don’t you live next door to Tris?”

Tristan bristled at the use of his nickname. He’d told me Simon never used it until they’d broken up because he thought nicknames were childish. I slid my hand up his back and draped my arm over his shoulders.

“I do.”

Simon looked like someone had stuck a bag of dog shit under his nose as he glared at us. “And you think that’s appropriate?”

“Appropriate?” Tristan asked tightly.

“Exposing Leo to your fling with the neighbor. I’m sure you agree that having a revolving door of men coming in and out of his life isn’t something he should be exposed to at his age.” Simon’s smile was congenial, as was his tone. His body language was anything but.

Jace, to his credit, looked like he wanted to sink into the floor and disappear.

“A revolving door of men?” Tristan spluttered, his cheeks and ears going beet red.

“I understand your concern for your son,” I cut in. Hopefully I wasn’t overstepping, but there was no way in hell I was letting him talk to Tris like that. “But you need to watch your tone, and your words, when speaking to Tristan.”

Simon swung his gaze to me, his eyes hard and his face twisted up in rage as the mask slipped and he showed his true feelings. A moment later the mask was back on, his expression blank.

“You don’t think I have the right to be worried about what my son is exposed to when I’m not around?” he asked icily.

“You have every right to worry about whatever you want. But you don’t have the right to tell Tristan what he can and can’t do, and you don’t have the right to disrespect him. Our relationship is our business, the same as your relationship is yours.”

Tristan shot me a grateful look. I pulled him closer, fitting him in front of my body so I could wrap my arm around him.

Simon’s eyes blazed with anger as he glared at me. I held his stare until he looked away first.

“I suppose now isn’t the time to discuss this.” Simon tightened his grip on Jace, who whimpered from the added weight on his shoulders.

Tristan gripped my hand and squeezed it three times. That was our signal that he needed the conversation to end now.

“Enjoy the rest of the wedding.” I kept my tone light but softened it when I turned Tristan to face me. “Do you want to check out the dessert table, babe?”

He nodded gratefully.

“Let’s get you a drink too.” Ignoring Jace and Simon, I trailed the backs of my fingers down his cheek. “Are you getting warm? Do you need to step outside for a bit?”

He shook his head. “I’m okay.”

I could feel Simon’s glare as I leaned in and brushed a soft kiss against the corner of Tristan’s mouth, not quite on the lips but close enough to look like a full lip lock from Simon’s vantage point.

Thank you, theater tricks.

“It was nice to meet you.” I didn’t bother looking at the other couple and kept my gaze on Tristan. “Come on, babe. Let’s get something sweet to tide us over until we get home.”

Tristan let out a nervous giggle that could have been a reflex or a choice. Either way, it played perfectly into our exchange. “See ya,” he said, never taking his eyes off mine and effectively dismissing his ex.

Just to drive the point home, I brushed another kiss against the side of his mouth. He parted his lips and let out a shaky breath as I pulled away.

My own breathing hitched at the sensation of his smooth cheek against my lips.

He smelled good, like a mix of cinnamon and lemons, with a hint of something musky. He’d told me he didn’t wear cologne or aftershave when he was working, and the intoxicating scent of whatever he’d put on mixing with his shampoo and deodorant was both novel and somehow familiar.

Shaking myself out of my stupor and trying not to read into why I was thinking about how soft Tristan’s skin was or how good he smelled, I took his hand and led him away from his ex without a glance back at them.

“Holy shit.” Tristan gripped my hand so hard my fingers cracked.

“Is that a holy shit, I want to punch him in the face squeeze, or a holy shit, I need to escape because that was too much squeeze?” I asked.

“The first one.” He quickened his pace. “I’m not a violent person. I abhor violence in any form. I’ve never hit someone, never been in a fight, but holy hell, I want to put my fist through his stupid face so bad right now.”

“I know. And he deserves that and so much more. I saw the mask slip. He tried to hide it, but we got under his skin.”

Tristan snickered. “That used to terrify me, the mask slipping. Every time I saw his rage face, I knew it was only a matter of time before he turned that rage on me. I can’t count how many times I had to listen to him rant and scream about something that had nothing to do with me but was somehow my fault. Now he’s Jace’s problem.”

“He is. And he’s never going to yell at you or use you as his emotional punching bag again. I’m not violent either, I’m about as much of a pacifist as they come, but I will end him if he ever mistreats you again.”

We slowed as we came up to the dessert table. The spread was impressive, but the serving sizes were tiny. Most were barely a mouthful.

Tristan reached for one of the plates. I got to it first and shot him a sly grin. “Let’s really give him a show.”

Tristan arched his eyebrow curiously, an easy smile on his full lips. “What do you have in mind?”

“We should share a plate. Let me be the good boy toy and get a sampling while you stand there looking gorgeous.”

A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed that Simon was still watching us, or rather, glaring at us. I filled the plate with pieces of cake, a few monogrammed chocolates, and some fruit skewers.

Moving off to the side, we found an empty table and parked ourselves at it.

“Is it weird that I love cake but hate icing?” Tristan asked.

“Not weird at all. I used to love icing when I was a kid but can’t really stomach it now. My dad would always let me have the corner pieces at birthdays or whenever we had cake to celebrate something because they had the best icing to pastry ratio. Now I’m the guy who scrapes the icing off cupcakes.”

“I do that with Leo.” He smiled and cut the icing off a piece of cake with his fork. “He gets the corners and I eat from the middle.” He fit the square of cake into his mouth and chewed.

“What do you think?” I asked when he’d swallowed. “I can’t even tell what flavor that was supposed to be. It just tastes dry.”

“I think Kim is going to lose her mind on the boutique bakery she ordered these from.” He picked up one of the chocolates and examined it. “Did you try one of these yet?”

“They’re pretty good, but I’m not really a chocolate fan.”

“No?” He popped the chocolate in his mouth and chewed.

“I like it enough, but I’m more of a savory person. I prefer muffins to cupcakes and pie over cake any day of the week.”

“Me too. My nana used to make the most incredible spiced apple pie with pecans and brown sugar. No one in my family can replicate it, even with her recipe.”

“That sounds good.”

“So good.” He picked up one of the fruit skewers and bit off a piece of pineapple.

My eyes were drawn to his throat as he chewed, then swallowed. Something deep in my gut tightened.

“Is it true that pineapple makes cum taste better?” he asked.

I snapped my gaze up to his face, which was filled with earnest curiosity.

“Is that not a thing?” he asked. “I thought it was a thing.”

“It’s a thing.” I picked up the other skewer. “But I think it’s more of an urban legend than a scientific fact.”

“So you didn’t eat pineapple before a shoot?”

“Nope. Cucumbers were my thing.”

“Cucumbers?”

Using my fork, I pulled a strawberry off the end of a fruit skewer. I held it up to Tristan. He looked at the berry, then cautiously parted his lips so I could feed it to him.

“The water content helps with load size and gives you a better money shot. I munched on a lot of cucumbers leading up to shoot days and when I was on set.”

“I know that’s not supposed to be funny.” He snickered. “But all I can see is a naked you sitting crisscross-applesauce on a bed, as happy as can be while crunching down on a giant English cucumber.”

“Make that a regular-sized cucumber, and that’s not entirely inaccurate.” This time, I used my fingers to pull a piece of melon free from the skewer. I held it up to him.

Tristan leaned in and took the fruit. The soft brush of his lips against my skin sent a crackle of awareness through me.

Dazedly, I brought my thumb to my mouth and sucked off a bit of juice that had been left behind.

Tristan’s breathing hitched, and I couldn’t stop my gaze from falling to his mouth as he licked his lips.

“Can I?” Tristan flicked his eyes to the skewer still clutched in my hand.

I nodded.

Time did something funny as Tristan pulled another strawberry off the skewer and held it out to me. Everything seemed slightly out of sync, like the world slowed while time sped up.

I leaned forward and took it, purposely letting my lips drag over his fingers.

He made a strangled sound, his ears as red as I’d ever seen them.

Tristan was good at putting on what he called his customer service mask, but his ears always gave away his true feelings. For some reason, I found that incredibly endearing.

Lost in whatever feedback loop we’d gotten trapped in, we finished off the fruit and chocolate and put the plate aside, still half full of cake pieces.

“Do you need a drink, or would you like to dance?” I asked, still not completely with it.

The line between acting and reality was a blurred mess, and I didn’t know what to do with that.

What I did know was that sitting still was only going to make it worse. I needed to move and do something so I could focus on getting back into character.

He looked out at the crowded dance floor, a wistful expression on his face.

“Tris?”

“Sorry. Just had a zone-out moment.” He tore his eyes from the dancing couples and looked at his hands. “I’m almost forty, and I’ve never danced with a man.”

“Never?”

He shook his head, still looking down. “I’ve danced with women, but I never got a chance to dance with a man. I wasn’t out in high school, and I wasn’t a club or party person, so I didn’t get that experience in college either. Then I met Simon and never got the chance again.”

“Time to fix that.” I stood and bowed theatrically. Tris liked it when I was over the top, and I really wanted to see him smile right now. The sad, kicked-puppy look he got whenever he talked about all the things he either missed out on or had to give up because of his ex always twisted something deep inside me. “May I have this dance?”

Tristan laughed, his cheeks bright with a blush. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yup.” I deepened my bow so my forehead was almost level with my waistline. “Now, would you like to dance?”

“I’d love to dance with you.” He put his hand in mine.

Standing up straight, I pulled him onto the dance floor.

“Have you ever danced with a guy before?” he asked when we’d stopped.

“Sort of.” I circled my hands around his waist. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah.” He delicately cleared his throat and rested his hands on my shoulders.

“It wasn’t like this,” I said, catching the beat of the song. Tristan followed my lead and swayed along to the music. Using my hands to guide him, I moved us in a modified box step.

“What wasn’t like this?” he asked.

“Dancing with a guy. I was a theater and dance kid. I did a ton of partnered work with guys over the years, but that was acting.”

“Isn’t tonight acting?” he asked softly.

“No.” My voice came out hoarse. “Nothing about tonight, other than when we got cornered, has been acting.”

He swallowed, his throat working.

Why was that so hot?

The song faded out, and the softer notes of a ballad filled the air.

I slowed our dancing until we were barely moving.

The rest of the room faded away, and all I was aware of was Tristan and how good he felt in my arms.

“Quinn?” His voice was a breathy whisper I saw rather than heard.

My eyes fell to his lips.

The urge to kiss him was there, but it had nothing to do with making Asshole McDouchenozzle jealous and everything to do with wanting Tristan.

I stared at his mouth, my mind racing with disjointed thoughts. I’d spent most of my teen years and the early part of my adult life among actors and dance kids. I’d had plenty of guys flirt with me and more than a few offers to experiment, but I’d never been tempted to accept any of them.

Now I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted to kiss Tristan. To give into the confusion and desire I couldn’t deny was there.

I must have been silent for too long because Tristan stepped out of my arms, his ears red with embarrassment. “Sorry,” he muttered and started to turn away.

I caught his arm. “Wait.”

He stopped but didn’t look at me.

“Tris.”

Slowly, he lifted his eyes.

I held out my arms. After a pause, he stepped back into my embrace.

“What’s happening?” he whispered.

“I don’t know.” I pulled him closer. “Can I kiss you?”

His eyes widened. “Like, for show?”

I shook my head. “No. Not for show.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I.”

“But you want to?” He swallowed nervously.

I nodded. “But I get it if you don’t. I can’t promise you anything beyond a kiss?—”

“Yes. Do it.” His grip on my shoulders tightened, his fingers digging into my muscles. “I want you to.”

My chest tightened, and what felt like a burst of adrenaline detonated deep inside my gut as my stomach swooped. The sensations were the same as being in a freefall, but we were standing still.

Lifting one hand from his waist, I gently cupped his cheek and leaned in. Tristan’s eyes fluttered closed, his lips parting in invitation.

More of those little adrenaline bursts detonated in my chest and gut. I’d never had this kind of reaction before. Never felt this kind of eager anticipation for a kiss.

Shoving every thought other than how much I wanted this out of my mind, I brushed my lips over his.

Tristan let out a soft moan and pressed closer.

Tilting my head, I slotted our mouths together and deepened the kiss.

He moaned again and wrapped his arms around me.

Something about the tightness of his grip and how it contrasted against the soft sounds of his pleasure sent my mind into a tailspin. Needing more, I lightly traced the tip of my tongue over the seam of his lips.

Tristan parted for me, his tongue meeting mine in a sensual glide.

Jesus, he was a good kisser.

Gently, I caressed his cheek with my hand and matched him kiss for kiss, my arousal growing with each passing second as he kept our kisses slow and soft.

“Christ,” I muttered when he pulled back, his eyes seeking and his expression wary.

When was the last time I’d been kissed like that? Where I didn’t have to be the aggressor and could just be in the moment?

“Was that a mistake?” Tris asked softly.

I shook my head and leaned in again, pressing our lips together in a firm kiss.

I’d never kissed someone as tall as Tristan, or as big. The hard planes of his body should have felt weird, but they felt good. Felt right.

Something hard pressed against my groin. His cock.

Tristan moved his hips back, putting some space between us.

Having none of that, I pulled him flush against me, forcing his erection to dig into mine.

He gasped against my mouth. I swallowed the sound.

Loud laughter broke through the cocoon of desire surrounding us, and we pulled away at the same moment.

We stood there, frozen in time and holding each other, as couples danced around us.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I nodded, not quite trusting my voice.

Was I?

I’d just kissed my best friend because I wanted to. I’d enjoyed it, and I wanted to do it again.

“Do you think anyone will miss us if we leave?” I asked when I finally found my voice. “I just…”

“Let me say goodbye to Kim, and we can go. Should I get us an Uber?”

I glanced at my watch, grateful for the distraction. The reception was set to go on for another two hours. It would take almost that long for Vlado to get here, pick us up, and then go back to get Nick after his shift.

“Yeah. That’s probably a good idea. I’ll text Nick to let him know what’s going on and order the car while you find her.”

He smiled, but it was that forced one I hated and not his real smile.

Before I could reassure him that we were fine and this was a me issue, he turned on his heel and left me standing in the middle of the dance floor.