Dad Next Door (Crimson Club Book 5)

13. Quinn

I was just coming backinto the garage from putting our leftover food away when a familiar car drove up Tristan’s driveway.

Nerves tickled my chest, and my stomach flip-flopped.

“Dad wants to know if you’re coming to Sunday dinner this week,” Jesse said, not looking up from his phone.

“Tell him I’ll be there as long as he makes his spinach dip and gets the good pumpernickel bread to go with it.”

Jesse chuckled and typed something. “He said it’s a deal if you bring pastries from that cat place.”

“The Cat Café? Yeah, sure. I’ll call Liam this week and put an order in. Ask what he wants. Otherwise I’m getting stuff I like.”

Jesse’s thumbs tapped against his screen.

“Hey—oh, you have company.” Tristan stood at the open garage door, a hesitant expression on his handsome face.

“Not sure I’m considered company.” Jesse stood and flashed Tristan a smile. “Hi, I’m Jesse. Quinn’s stepbrother.”

“Hi. I’m Tristan. Quinn’s…neighbor?” He flicked his gaze between us nervously. “Should I go?”

I crossed the garage and stopped in front of him.

He looked between me and Jesse again.

I leaned in and pressed a quick kiss against his lips. “Was that okay?” I asked softly as I pulled away.

We hadn’t talked about what our new relationship would look like, but I wanted to reassure him that I was still invested in us. And I liked kissing him, even if it was a simple peck.

His smile was a bit goofy. “Yeah. You can do that anytime you want.”

“I was about to head out.” Jesse tucked his phone away and shot me a sly grin. “Dad says he wants a red velvet cake pop and one of those éclairs with the watermelon custard in it. I want some of those tuxedo cheesecake slices. And get Adam some truffle lava cakes. He devoured the last batch you brought over. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“Later.”

“It was nice to meet you,” Tristan said.

“You too, neighbor Tristan.” He winked and strode out of the garage.

“I shouldn’t have come over.” Tristan chewed on his lip.

“Why not?”

“I saw his car in the driveway, and I…” He looked away. “I got jealous. I know it’s dumb, but we usually hang out when I’m done with work on Monday and don’t have Leo, but you already had company and?—”

Wrapping my arm around his waist, I tugged him against my chest. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah?” He smiled crookedly.

“Yeah.” I kissed him again. The casual intimacy was nice, way nicer than I remembered from my previous relationships. “And I get why you reacted that way. It’s natural after what Asshole McDouchenozzle put you through.”

“I just hate that I immediately thought the worst about you.” He rested his forehead against mine.

“It takes time to get over that kind of neglect.” I pressed a soft kiss against his lips. “Did you eat?” Taking his hand, I led him over to my chair set up. “We ordered Lebanese food. I’ve got a ton of leftovers in the house.”

“I’m good, thanks.” He sank into one of the chairs with a sigh.

“That sounded loaded.” I went to the fridge. “Beer or soda?”

“It was.” He chuckled, but it sounded more like a weird grunt. “Soda, please. Today was…a day. Drinking right now would not be a good idea.”

“Wanna talk about it?” I handed him an orange soda and sat across from him.

He took it and popped the top. “Simon sent a letter to the clinic. And, of course, he used a courier so it would be extra annoying and cause a scene.”

“A letter by courier? Is this 1985?”

“It hurts my elder millennial soul that you think 1985 is ancient history.” He put one hand over his heart.

“My bad. How’s this: A letter by courier? Is this 1885?”

“Better.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“What did Asshole want?”

“To call me a bad parent because my boy toy”—he made air quotes—“lives next door. He used all the same language he did at the wedding when he made Jace come say hi to us.”

“He has a problem with you dating your neighbor eighteen months after your divorce, but it’s totally fine that he moved his side dude into his place only weeks after he filed for divorce?”

“Essentially.” He sipped his soda. “He hates that he can’t control me anymore and has no say over my life. It’s like clockwork. Every few months, he gets his knickers in a knot over something and writes one of these letters on his fancy lawyer letterhead to scold me and try and make me feel guilty for having a life outside of being a dad.”

“Is that legal? It sounds like bullying.”

“It’s a gray area. So not legal, but not illegal. And yeah, it’s basically bullying.” He toyed with a crease in his slacks. “We made an impression at the wedding.”

“How so?”

“I’ve gotten dozens of invites to things in the last two days. I can count on one hand the number of invites I’ve gotten to anything in the last six months. It’s three, FYI, and they were all parties.”

I waited as he kept fiddling with his pants. That was another of Tristan’s tells that he was upset.

“All the invites had your name on them too. A part of me is like fuck yeah, because now I’m the one who’s interesting and worth paying attention to, but at the same time, I just want to tell everyone to fuck off because they’re so transparent it’s insulting. They don’t want to hang out with me, they want to get dirt on us. They’re treating you like a shiny new toy, and I don’t like it.”

“So tell them to fuck off.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Maybe don’t use those exact words, but tell them thanks for the invites, but you’re busy. If they can’t show up for you when you need them, they don’t deserve your time or friendship when it’s suddenly convenient for them.”

“Being an adult suuuuucks.” He slumped in his chair. “I miss the days when being friends with someone meant you were past all the bullshit and head games. Now it’s all subterfuge and decoding motivations. Everyone has an ulterior motive, and no one seems to care about anyone but themselves. It’s exhausting.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “Ugh. Ignore me. I’m just having a pity party.”

“Sounds like you had a rough day.” I pressed my ankle against his leg.

“Yeah.” He dragged one hand through his perpetually messy hair. “It doesn’t help that one of the other vets quit today. Just walked out and gave everyone the middle finger.”

“Like, literally gave everyone the finger?”

A small smile tilted his lips. “Yup. You know the scene in that Mr. Bean movie where he’s waving his middle fingers around at everyone because he thought that was a greeting or something innocuous?”

“Never saw the film, but I’ve seen clips of that scene.” I laughed. “Was that what they did?”

He snickered. “Yeah. I hate to laugh because his reasons for quitting are legitimate, but his big storm-out was the most extra thing I’ve ever seen.” His smile fell. “It’s also hard not to be pissed at him because now the rest of us have to pick up the slack and work overtime until they can get a replacement.”

“Overtime? You already work a ton of overtime.”

“And now I’ll have to do more.” He sighed and tapped the tab on his soda. “I keep hoping things will get better, but I think it’s time I start looking for another job. I like the staff and my patients, but I really dislike how management runs things. They’re overbooking appointments, which cuts down the time we can spend with our patients, and the pressure to upsell products or split visits up to maximize profits isn’t why I got into animal medicine. They don’t even want us to call them our patients anymore and instead refer to them as our clients.”

“My friend is a nurse, and he said that referring to patients as clients is standard now.”

“I was hoping we’d get a bit of a break before that trickled down to vet med. I get that clinics are a business, but we’re medical professionals, and our priority should be treating our patients, not trying to pad the wallets of the people who sign our checks.” He took a long drink of his soda. “But yeah. Today has been a day.”

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You already did by listening.”

Wanting to see one of his real smiles, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and opened one of my music apps. “I owe you a performance.”

“A performance?” He arched one eyebrow, his mouth curling up in a smile.

“Yup.” I scrolled through one of my playlists and cued up the song I was looking for. “I can’t sing away your work problems, but I have the perfect song for your ex issues.”

“You do?”

I handed him my phone. “What do you think?”

He looked at the screen and grinned. “I love this song. You don’t know how many times I listened to it on a loop after my divorce was finalized.”

“It’s the perfect breakup song. I love how it’s empowering people to take hold of their futures instead of reminding them to be sad about something that’s over.” I stood and moved so I was a few feet behind him. “The acoustics in here are perfect, but this is the sweet spot.”

He flipped so he was sitting in his chair backward.

“Whenever you’re ready, maestro.”

Grinning, Tristan tapped on my screen. “Flowers” by Miley Cyrus began to play.

Not holding back, I gave Tristan an over-the-top performance, complete with cheesy choreography and using random items as microphones.

He was howling with laughter by the time the song faded out. Exactly what I hoped would happen.

“Oh my god,” he wheezed, holding his stomach. “That was the best thing ever.”

“Thank you, thank you.” I bowed theatrically. “I’ll be here all week.”

He clapped. “Bravo. Bravo!”

I did a little Elvis-inspired dance, then added some jazz hands and pretended to tip my hat at the audience while doing a goofy walk, like I was being played offstage.

“Your voice is incredible,” Tristan said when he’d recovered. “I’ve heard you sing pop, blues, jazz, rock, country, alternative, and even heavy metal, and each genre sounds like a completely different voice. How is that possible?”

“Training. And being a natural chameleon helps. Kelly Clarkson is another example of someone who can sing anything, and she doesn’t get nearly enough credit for her range. She’s one of the most versatile vocalists I’ve ever heard. Freddie Mercury is another. My dad is a die-hard Queen fan, and I spent my childhood listening to their albums with him.”

“I love Queen. I used to sing Bohemian Rhapsody to Leo when he was a baby in all the voices to make him laugh. With baby-friendly lyrics, of course.” He smiled fondly. “And Kelly Clarkson is amazing too. I’ve been a fan of hers forever. If I was a singer, I’d never let her cover one of my songs because it would be hers from then on.”

“Hard same.” I grinned. “So, am I doing an encore or sitting my ass back down?”

“Definitely an encore.”

“What do you want to hear? Another breakup power song? A cheesy boy band ballad? Something from a musical? Your wish is my command.”

“Something from a musical.”

“Done. Do you have a favorite show or song?”

“I saw Les Misérables when it came to Seattle years ago. I loved it.”

I grinned. “That’s one of my favorites too. I played Jean Valjean in my senior showcase. Which song?”

“Um, ‘Bring Him Home’ is my favorite, but?—”

“‘Bring Him Home’ it is.” I crossed over to him and put my hand out for my phone.

He passed it to me. I went to my karaoke app and found a piano version of the music.

When it was cued up, I made my way back to my spot. “Ready?”

“Ready,” he said eagerly.

Pulling in a deep breath, I started the music. The opening bars of the song brought me back to the last time I performed it on stage. I let the memories wash over me and slipped into the role of Jean Valjean as I sang for him.

Tristan never took his eyes off me, his expression full of wonder. I put everything I had into the song. I wanted to show him not only my training but also my passion for the stage and performing.

By the time I let the last note fade out, adding some extra vibrato just to be fancy, Tristan’s eyes were damp.

“Tris?” I powered my phone down and knelt in front of him.

“I’m fine. No, I’m not fine.” He smiled crookedly and lifted his arm. He pulled back the sleeve of his shirt so I could see his skin. “Goosebumps.” He dropped his arm. “That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard. I could feel every note. Every word resonated. I mean, I knew you could sing, but it didn’t register that you could sing like that.”

Pride swelled in my chest at his praise. Like every other actor out there, validation was my kryptonite, but it meant so much more when it came from someone I cared about.

He dropped a soft kiss against my lips. “Thank you for singing for me.”

“Do you feel better?”

“So much better.”

“I’m glad. And like I said before, I’ll sing for you anytime you want.”

His smile was soft and full of affection.

Something deep in my chest twisted, then detonated in an explosion of flutters.

Tristan’s breath caught as our gazes locked.

Slowly, I stood and went to sit in my chair. As much as I wanted to kiss him—and keep kissing him—now wasn’t the time.

“It’s time for thetalk, isn’t it?” he asked, flipping around so he was sitting in his seat properly.

“It is.”

He cracked a small smile. “I have no idea how to start this conversation.”

“Me either. But I think the easiest way will be to just lay out what we want and what’s important to us.”

He nodded. “Yeah. That sounds good.” A pause. “Am I going first?”

“I think that’s best. You have a lot more variables in your life.”

“Yeah.” A sigh. “I guess the biggest thing for me is honesty. I’m too old to play games, and I don’t have the time or energy to worry if my partner is telling me the truth about things. I’m not saying I think you’re like that because I absolutely don’t, but I need someone who can talk about important things. Who doesn’t let things fester and build up until there’s an explosion or a fight.” He fiddled with a crease in his slacks again. “I hate fighting. I hate being yelled at. It makes me shut down and basically play dead and accept whatever the other person says just to make it stop.”

“I’ll never be that guy. I don’t fight with people. I’m not the greatest at communicating when my head is busy or being loud, but I’ll do my best to be as honest and open with you as I can.”

He smiled faintly. “I know. I just had to put that out there because it’s one of my biggest triggers. The same with being ignored or treated like an afterthought.”

I nodded. After everything he’d told me about his marriage, I already knew how much being ignored or neglected affected him.

“And I guess the other thing is us staying friends,” he continued. “I know adding sex to a friendship can make things messy, but your friendship means more to me than anything else. You might have noticed I don’t have a lot of those, not real ones, at least. And right now, friendships and finding my community are more important to me than sex or romantic companionship.”

“I hear what you’re saying,” I said slowly, hoping I wasn’t misreading things. “But I don’t want to be friends who have sex. I want to have a real relationship. I don’t do casual. I can’t. It can look however you want, but it’s going to be real for me no matter what. But that also doesn’t mean we can’t go back to just being friends if this doesn’t work.”

He swallowed, his eyes full of so many emotions I couldn’t read them. “It’ll be real for me too. I can’t do casual either.”

Relief washed over me in a calming wave. “So, what do you want this to look like?”

“I think low-key, like you said.”

“So, like we act one way when we’re alone, and another way around other people?” My heart sank a bit. I could do that if he needed me to, but it wasn’t what I wanted.

He shook his head. “No. I can’t flip between being your friend and being more. I can’t spend all my time worrying about everything I say or do around you.”

I let out a breath. “Okay. Good. I could do that, but I really don’t want to. But low-key, like we just take things slow and see where they go?”

He smiled shyly. “Yeah. I like the sound of that.”

“Me too.” More relief washed over me. “Do you have any boundaries for me? I can stop dancing at the club. I just need to talk to Biggs?—”

“No,” he said firmly. “Your jobs are separate from us. I don’t want you to change anything because of me. I’m not someone who puts rules on people like you can’t hang out with other men or go to clubs or whatever. I might have let Simon walk all over me in our home life, but it was over the second I found out he cheated on me, and I never once thought about forgiving him or fighting for him. As soon as my trust is broken, it can’t be repaired.”

The last of my anxiety dissipated. This was what a relationship with an adult looked like. Mutual trust and honesty—two things that were paramount to me as well. “We’re on the same page on that. My ex-girlfriend cheated on me, and I was the same way. It was a long time ago, but it was over the second I found out, and I’ve never looked back.”

He smiled, his shoulders dropping slightly as he relaxed too.

“There’s one thing you should know about me.” Lowering my gaze, I spun the dial with printed numbers around on my watch. I had a bunch of hidden fidget devices like rings and pendants that I could wear, and little cube ones I kept in my pockets for when I needed more than just a spinning watch or ring. “I need to take things slow.”

“Slow?” he asked softly when I fell silent.

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat.

I’d spent years talking about sexual limits with my scene partners and never once felt shy or unsure but doing it with Tristan was nerve-racking. I didn’t think he’d judge me, but the fear that he’d realize I wasn’t what he wanted was still there.

“It takes time for me to be comfortable enough with someone to be able to relax and enjoy physical intimacy. But it seems like dating culture has shifted from courtship to everything happening at lightning speed. Lust and love have become synonymous, and it’s expected to have sex first and worry about compatibility later. It’s all about instant gratification and orgasms. At least from what I’ve observed.” I spun the dial on my watch faster. “I don’t judge people who want that, and I’m not saying orgasms are bad, but they’re not the be-all and end-all of intimacy. Getting to know what each other likes and exploring it together, anticipating the next thing you get to share. For me, that’s way better than just getting off with someone. I know it’s weird, but I need an emotional connection with my partner. Otherwise it’s empty, and I’d rather not bother than have any more meaningless or empty sex.”

Tristan leaned forward and rested his hand on my knee. I’d never really been a hand person, but I liked Tristan’s. His long fingers, the short, blunt nails that suggested he bit them when he was younger. The wide palms and thick wrists, even the little sprinkling of hair on the backs of them, were sexy. And I loved how strong he was while still having soft skin that was the opposite of my calloused mitts.

“I know exactly what you mean, and it’s not weird. I need that too.” He leaned back since our chairs were too far apart for him to keep touching me comfortably.

“I haven’t been with anyone new in almost fifteen years. And if I’m being honest, it’s been almost that long since I enjoyed sex.”

I snapped my eyes up. Had Simon hurt him? Anger replaced my earlier shame, but I did my best to keep my expression neutral and not make the situation about my feelings.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” he said.

Oops, looked like I failed at hiding my true feelings.

“Simon’s an asshole, but he’s not violent. His thing was control.” Tristan sighed heavily and picked up the soda can he’d put down during my impromptu performance. He stared at the brightly colored metal and squeezed it, creating little cracks that echoed in the garage.

“Tris?” I asked when he fell silent.

“Things between us were never great, but they weren’t bad. At least not in the beginning. He didn’t really put a lot of effort into making sex good for me, but at least he wanted it back then. Our sex life pretty much died when we brought Leo home. I thought things would get better when we adjusted to being parents, but it didn’t. He hardly ever initiated it, and it got to the point where we were only having sex maybe once every few months, and even less toward the end. And I stopped trying to start things because there’s only so many times you can get rejected by your husband before it fucks with your head. I have no idea if Jace was the first side piece, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there were others. He had to be getting it somewhere if he didn’t want it at home.”

I bit my lip so I didn’t interrupt and go on a rant about how withholding or weaponizing sex was emotional manipulation and a form of abuse. He knew that, and he didn’t need me to bring it up when he was already feeling vulnerable and reliving his trauma.

“The last time we were together was…not great. It was empty and cold and so impersonal. Like he was a stranger. I felt like a thing. Like a sex doll or a toy and not like his partner of fourteen years. Then he rolled over, got out of bed, and said he was going to his office to do some work because he couldn’t sleep. A month later, he walked out on me and I found out about Jace.” He lifted his eyes. “I need slow too. Always have. I like all the stuff you mentioned. The anticipation, learning about my partner and figuring out what we like and what works for us. And now I can’t even imagine letting someone have that kind of power over me again unless I completely trust them and know they’ll treat me right.”

“I’m sorry you went through that. I can’t say anything that will erase what happened to you, but I’d rather jump in front of a speeding bus than hurt you. And I also know you’re not directing any of this at me. This isn’t a not all men moment. I just want you to know that I understand there are things in your past that still affect you today.”

“Gotta love trauma.” He chuckled, but it was forced and strangled.

“My intrusive thoughts are telling me to break out into song so I can see you smile again,” I said to hopefully lighten the mood. I didn’t want to drag up any more of his trauma tonight. He’d been through enough the past few days.

He chuckled, the light coming back to his eyes. “I mean, I’ll never say no to a private performance. Especially if you add in a dance number. But I’m okay. And I don’t want to waste any more time thinking about Simon or my marriage.”

I glanced at my watch to check the time. “When do you work tomorrow? Are you opening or doing a closing shift?”

“Opening.” He made a face. “I was supposed to close this week, but they redid the schedule, and I’m covering Eric’s opening shifts now that he quit.” He pulled his phone out and checked the time. His groan told me he also hadn’t realized how late it was. “I should go. It’s been hours since the dog walker left, and I need to get ready for work tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I have to do some work before bed too.”

“Work at this time of night?” He stood and looked down at the can he was still holding like he only just remembered it existed.

I took it from him and went to toss it in the recycling bin. “I need to film some content so I can schedule the posts for it. This week is going to be busy, and I have no idea what the next few weeks will look like, other than having to get on a big boy sleep schedule again.”

When I was facing Tristan, he looked as unsure and off-kilter as I felt.

“I want to say I feel like I’m in high school again, trying to figure out if this is the right time to kiss my crush. But I never did that in high school.” His ears flushed red.

My stomach tightened with both nerves and anticipation. “Me either, but just so you know, it’s always the right time to kiss me.” I stepped toward him.

He let out a shaky breath and met me halfway, closing the distance between us.

Strong hands gripped my hips, and his hot, hard body pressed against mine. He leaned in and gave me a gentle kiss that was barely more than a soft brush of his lips on mine.

Wrapping one arm around his waist, I tangled the other in his soft hair. He whimpered, the sound low and deep. Taking a chance, I wound my fingers through the glossy strands and held on, making sure to keep my touch gentle.

He moaned softly and slipped his hands from my waist to my lower back, then slid them under my shirt, his skin teasing mine as he rubbed right above my waistband.

I had no idea who moved first, but our lips came together in another kiss. This one was firmer and longer, but still slow and soft.

Shivers of desire danced up my spine and tickled my chest. I’d never had such a strong reaction to a kiss before. Never felt this kind of hunger. But it wasn’t the kind of hunger I read about in books or heard my friends talk about. That hunger was unrelenting and overwhelming.

What I felt for Tristan was all-consuming, but it didn’t shut my brain down or make me want to rush things.

It made me want to savor every second of whatever was about to happen between us.

The heat from his body warmed me from the inside. His touch, so gentle and almost reverent, made my stomach tighten and my cock fill until it pressed into his answering erection.

Tristan let out another of those soft whimpers. I took advantage of his parted lips and dipped my tongue between them.

He met me stroke for stroke, teasing my lips and tongue with sensual glides, and soon I was the one moaning and whimpering.

Gently, Tristan slowed our kisses until they were nothing more than soft pecks.

It took a second for me to blink my eyes open after he pulled away. “Holy shit, you’re good at that.”

He chuckled, his cheeks flushed and a warm smile on his kiss-swollen lips. “You’re pretty amazing yourself.”

Clearing my throat, I covertly adjusted myself so my balls weren’t being crushed by the lack of room in my pants. My dick was rock hard, but I ignored it. I could take care of things later while I relived that kiss in private.

He flicked his gaze to my crotch, a sly grin replacing his soft smile. “I bet that’ll help with filming.”

I barked out a laugh. I liked playful Tristan. “I’d say so. Way better than porn.”

“Can I ask you something about that?”

“Sure.” I motioned for him to follow me.

“What are you doing?” He fell into step beside me.

“Walking you home.”

“Oh.” He smiled shyly. “You don’t have to.”

“I know. I want to.” I slipped my arm around his waist and kept walking. “Was that what you wanted to ask me?”

“No. I was curious about how porn works for you. I did some research on what it means to be demi, and I read that some people who identify that way don’t enjoy porn, and others do. I know you need an emotional connection to feel sexual attraction for someone, but it doesn’t seem like porn would facilitate that. I’m sorry if I’m being nosy or annoying. I’m just having trouble connecting those dots because it’s not my lived experience.”

“It’s fine. You’re a scientist. It’s your nature to ask questions and figure stuff out.” We exited my garage and headed toward our shared property line. “I’m not sure if this is a me thing or if it has to do with my sexuality, but I can feel arousal without attraction. Same as I can feel attraction without arousal.”

He shot me a curious look as he stepped between two bushes in our shared hedge.

“I can look at someone and think they’re attractive but not want to do anything with those thoughts or feel any desire for them.” I slipped through the hedge behind him. “Same as I can get horny without it being dependent on anyone.”

He took my hand and led me up his driveway.

“It’s hard to explain, but when I watch porn, I don’t picture myself in the scene or fantasize about the models. It’s visual stimulation. A way to get my imagination going and think about things I enjoy. Most of the time, I don’t picture anyone in these fantasies. It’s more about how the act makes me feel and not about doing it with a partner.”

“That’s interesting,” Tristan said thoughtfully. “I kind of use it the same way. I mean, I do put myself in the model’s place, but not in the actual scene or with their scene partner. It’s more to jump-start my fantasies and give me a framework of what I want them to look like.”

We stopped on his front porch. A loud bark, followed by a series of even louder ones, filtered through the door.

“Koda sounds like he’s bigger than Freddie,” I observed. “How does such a vicious bark come out of a little guy like him?”

“That’s the Akita in him. He’s always been a loud boy.” Tristan faced me, his expression shy. “I should go in. They know I’m out here.”

More barks rang out.

“They’re persistent.” Leaning in, I gave him a quick kiss. “Night, Doc.”

“Night.”

I watched as he unlocked his door. A cacophony of barks and meows erupted the moment he cracked it open. He shot me a quick wave and pulled the door open wide enough to slip inside.

“I’m happy to see you guys too, but you gotta let me in,” he said, only half in the house. “Freddie, back. Shadow, stop trying to sit on your brother.”

Snickering, I waited until the door closed behind him then hurried to my house.