Chapter 25
Tristan
I have never in my life been nervous to climb into bed with a man. Not once.
Yeah, so maybe I can chalk some of that perfect record up to the fact that there was no climbing into bed the night when I was fifteen and lost my virginity in the back of some guy’s car in an empty parking lot. ‘Cause honestly, I guess I was a little nervous then.
No bed involved there though, so it’s still true.
Hopping into some guy’s bed? Nope. Never once been nervous.
So of course it’s gotta be Jesse who’s gone and turned that upside down.
‘Cause right now? Nervous AF.
It’s a new, weird sort of nervous. Not the fear that I’m going to fuck up and piss him off. I just can’t actually be afraid of him.
I haven’t been able to decide whether that makes me naive and stupid—going back on that whole I-never-make-the-same-mistake-twice thing I’ve always had going on and all that, or whether it’s a good thing and means I’m just not a cynical fuck.
Let’s go with not-a-cynical-fuck, shall we?
But this new kind of nervous? It’s all jacked up butterflies and adrenaline and that damn skipping leap in my heart.
While I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth with the toothbrush I’d snagged from my place before I’d gotten called into work, I gave into the inevitable and rubbed one out, hoping it would take the edge off a bit.
And yeah, I might have spent the whole time wishing it was a certain pair of plush, soft, rosy-pink lips wrapped around my cock instead of my hand.
Not that I’m tricking myself into thinking it’s gonna help me much once I’m snuggled up with the owner of those sexy lips. Nope, I’m fully prepared to spend the night, and, fuck, the foreseeable future, with the worst case of blue balls known to man.
I’m in his bed, joggers and tee safely on, when Jesse comes out of the bathroom after his turn. Like last night, he’s in flannel pjs, green and grey plaid this time. And again, an old, pilly tee. Black tonight.
Not gonna lie, my mouth goes a little dry as I watch him, all shuffly and shy and adorable as he fusses around, taking way longer than anyone ever needed to get into bed.
That tee of his fits him snugger than his ugly-ass sweaters.
With every move he makes, I can totally see the movement of his muscles under the little bit of padding he’s got across his chest and over his stomach, and ohhh but it makes me want to touch all that cushy-firm, thick sexiness he’s got going on.
Hey, I never said I minded him taking forever, did I?
When he finally does flick off the light and tuck himself in next to me, Jesse’s so deliciously warm, like always, and even before he reaches for me, I can feel the gap under the blankets heat up.
I’d left plenty of space for him to lie down in his own bubble, without getting too cozy with me if that’s not what he’s up for, but damn do I love the fact that he doesn’t take it.
Nope, instead he snuggles right up to me with his big, soft hand splayed across my hip.
“Is this alright?” He whispers, stroking his thumb gently over the little strip of skin exposed between my shirt and joggers, and, of course, melt.
“I think I’m the one that’s supposed to be asking you that, sunshine,” I laugh, shaking my head as I carefully scooch just a teensy bit closer so my legs brush up against his. “Why ask me?”
There’s enough streetlamp light coming in through his sheer curtains that I can see his brows go all scrunchy.
“Because you matter, Tris. How you feel about this matters. I don’t want to tease you. You said I was last night, and I didn’t mean to. And now, there’s a part of me that’s afraid you must feel like I’m playing games with you, the way I just pulled the plug on everything out of nowhere.”
Oh, my heart. Oh, those fucking butterflies.
“Fuck, Jesse. I know you’re not playing games.” Why is my throat all tight and stinging? And why does my voice have to come out all raspy-choked sounding?
Nope. Gotta switch that shit off.
“And about last night?” I roll my hips forward, just a little nudge against his, swallowing down that damn tightness. “I’ve gotta tell you sunshine, I kinda liked you teasing me.”
There, that’s better.
But shit, no it’s not. What the actual fuck is wrong with me?
“Sorry,” I choke out, “Jesse, shit, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to push you. I get that that kind of thing isn’t on the table for right now.”
Before I get a chance to do more than just scoot my legs away from his a bit, he grabs hold of my thigh and hauls me back.
Holy fuck.
Only now my cock needs to calm the fuck down. Because that? Hella sexy.
“Tris—”
And oh, thank fuck, he’s laughing.
And ohhh, the way he leaves his hand curled around the back of my thigh a moment longer, just sort of stroking it up and down the teeniest bit before he lets go…
“Tris, it’s alright.” He leans in, serious again, all sexy smell of citrus and cinnamon mixed up with the minty scent of his toothpaste, and brushes the softest kiss against my lips. “Don’t change how you treat me. Don’t stop being you. You’re just what I need, exactly how you are.”
He kisses me again. Longer. Firmer. But just as sweet.
“Don’t treat me like I’m made of glass, okay?” he asks when he pulls away.
“Careful what you ask for, sunshine,” I wink at him, crazy-ass smile spreading across my face.
“Kiss me some more?”
“If you say so,” I grin before diving in, catching that plump, soft lower lip of his between mine.
So yeah. Kissing Jesse? Totally my new obsession.
I mean seriously. Those lips of his? Fucking. Magical.
Which means I’m spending a lot of my night as we kiss trying not to think about his mouth on any other parts of my body…
Bet you can guess how well that’s going.
And in between, we talk. Lying on our sides, with Jesse’s fingers stroking through my hair and mine all tangled up in his shirt against that warm chest of his.
He tells me about the sort of stuff I can’t tell him. That he lived just outside Chicago in the suburbs all his life until he moved to Seattle for college, first undergrad, now his PhD. That his parents still live there, in the same house he grew up in.
Mom’s retired from PR for some big ad company. Dad’s a lawyer.
I can see them and their house in my head. All pearls and suits and white picket fence and perfectly trimmed lawn.
My skin fucking crawls when I imagine how my mom, passed out partway undressed with her unbrushed hair halfway over her face, lying on a ripped up old couch in a shithole apartment, would measure up beside them.
No fucking way Jesse needs to know about that shit.
“We’re not all that close,” he explains. “It took them a while to come to terms with me being gay when I came out to them when I moved away. They didn’t talk to me for a while.”
My hand flexes around his shirt. “Assholes.”
Okay, so I might kinda have growled the word. Just a teensy bit.
Jesse only shrugs. Like it’s old news. Which I guess it is. For him.
But seriously? Fuck. Them. Sunshine does not deserve that shit.
On his next pass through my hair, his thumb swipes softly along my jaw line. Soothing. So sweet.
Cue those fucking butterflies.
“They respect it now.” As if that makes it all better.
He offers me a small smile. “And we have a call every week or so, just to catch up. Really, Tris, we weren’t ever all that close of a family.
I had everything I needed, but it was all just sort of,” he scrunches up his forehead in that totally adorable Jesse way.
“Going through the motions, I guess.” He shrugs again.
“Alex and Ellie and their family honestly feel more like my real family than they ever did.
“Alex’s parents and siblings are in Florida, but Ellie’s family all live close by.
After Stephen died, they sort of adopted me.
All of them make sure I come with Alex and Ellie and the girls for holidays, all their family get-togethers.
It feels,” he breathes out long and slow.
“It was kind of awkward at first, but I love it now.”
“I’m glad you have them.” I snuggle up a little closer to him, glad I have something I can say that isn’t verbally ripping his asshole parents to shreds. “Alex seems like a good friend. And Ellie too.”
“The best.”
A beat of silence, and I realize it might be kinda crappy of me not to offer up something after everything he’s just shared.
So I tell him, “I don’t talk to my mom much either.”
At least that’s one true thing I can say. If the fucking understatement of the century and true are the same thing.
Since I already went and blurted that shit about foster care and Mindy and Neal, Jesse probably could have already guessed what I’ve just told him, but whatever.
Maybe that’s why, or maybe just ‘cause he’s sweet enough to realize my answers could only be shitty, he doesn’t ask me anything about my mom. Or my dad.
Not that I’d even have anything to not say about him. Never even knew the fucker’s name.
Considering my mom’s taste in men though, I’ll count that as a blessing.
Thank fuck it all gets a little less personal from there. Sort of.
I find out he and Stephen spent half a year in Europe at the beginning of grad school.
Part of it was for his research. A chance to get his hands on some actual books and papers from all the way back in the fourteen hundreds and other hella cool sounding shit that I didn’t realize people were even allowed to do.
He got to travel all over too, and from the way his sweet grey-blues light up when he tells me about it, I can tell it was every bit as off-the-charts-amazing as it sounds.
So yeah, then he finds out I’ve never been on a plane. Never been anywhere farther from here than Houston.
And like the sweet, sweet sunshine he is, he doesn’t bat an eye. Only asks me where I’ve been that I liked best.
The smile he gives me when I tell him the truth— “Seattle,” just might be the fucking best thing I’ve ever seen.
I don’t press my luck by telling him I’ve never gone on a trip. Never actually traveled anywhere.
Only ever moved.
Maybe none of it sounds like a big deal, but to me, talking like this, sharing these little bits and pieces—fuck—letting Jesse in, is huge. It’s something I’ve never done. Like, ever.
Something I’ve never wanted to do.
But now? With Jesse? Damn if I don’t actually like it.
We find out neither of us ever had a pet growing up.
No surprises, he tells me that he loves to read historical fiction, especially ones with a bit of a love story to them. Even if it’s tragic.
Fuck if I can remember the last time I read a book.
I don’t tell him that.
His favorite color: green. Not bright green or really dark green, he tells me, but the sort of green the saltwater off the pier turns when the sun shines through it.
Tomorrow, I’m Googling a picture when he’s not around so I can see exactly what that color is.
He doesn’t look surprised when I tell him I can’t pick just one favorite color.
“Is it because of your painting?” he asks, and fuck me, but the way he’s got his cheek resting on the hand that isn’t still playing with my hair makes me go all soft and fuzzy feeling. “Because you spend so much time thinking about colors?”
Okay, so maybe that’s just an obvious sort of thing he’s said, but is it really? Because shit, it makes me feel seen.
“Right now, I like pink,” I whisper, trailing my fingers up over his chest, along his neck, up to his cheek. His skin is hot under my hand, and it doesn’t matter that I can’t see his blush in the dark. I can feel it. Scorching sunset pink.
And ‘cause that squirmy, fuzzy-warm thing that’s filling my chest and feeding those crazy-ass butterflies in my stomach just won’t take a hint and calm down, and ‘cause what I need more than air right now is a distraction from it— “I love how you blush for me, sunshine.”
I lean in and press my lips in place of my fingers. The puff of his breath as he exhales across the skin where my jaw meets the side of my neck is fucking electric. “I love seeing it creep down your neck under your collar.”
He lets out an addictive little moan when my lips drift from his cheek, over his jaw, and down across his throat.
“And, fuuck,” I rasp as he shudders against me, “when you’re ready for me to, I want to follow it across your whole body and watch every last inch of you turn that color, all flushed and pink and sexy as hell.”
“Jesus Christ, Tris,” he gasps.
His hand tightens in my hair, tugging me back to his mouth. He kisses me, hot and hard and deep, so that I can feel his burning sunset pink against my skin, radiating from him even after he pulls away.
Somehow though, not even that is enough to totally shut up those motherfucking butterflies.