TWENTY-TWO No Big Deal
T RISTAN: LAST NIGHT
“Noah,” Elliana’s voice echoes in her room as she calls out to the kid, but he’s already gone. I hear a couple of doors closing, and Elle tosses on a robe to follow him. Tugging my boxer briefs back up, I tromp after her. She knocks on his door saying his name again, but he doesn’t respond. Now that I’m here, I detect the sounds of his shower and turn to her.
“He can’t hear you, Elle.”
“But I made him stay when clearly, I shouldn’t have,” her voice is an octave higher with apprehension. Also, she’s not wearing those four-inch stilettos of hers, and her diminished height along with all the shit that went down at her shop makes me want to spool bubble wrap around her. Not letting her out of my sight sounds appealing, too. “This is my fault.”
“It’s not your fault.”
While I agree that Noah sprinted off for a reason, I understand his need to deal with it alone. He and I are the most introverted members of the household, so I get it.
Yet I don’t know that Elle does. She keeps knocking despite what I’ve just told her, and internally I cringe on the kid’s behalf. She’s not going to let sleeping dogs lie, which means she may be poking and prodding at Noah until she’s satisfied he’s all right.
He’ll eventually have to answer her questions to some extent, but it looks like it’s not going to happen tonight. Embracing her, I stroke up and down her spine, compelled to monitor her well-being.
“Hey,” I come up with this on the fly. “If you follow me downstairs, I’ll make you anything you want. Let the birthday shenanigans continue.”
“It’s 3:30 in the morning, Tristan. My birthday is over.”
“It’s still your birthday week . And I can spoil you if I want.”
She hugs my arm, tucking herself against me. “How can I say no to that?”
Taking her hand, I lead her past her bedroom where Jackson, seemingly unperturbed by Noah’s rapid departure—or to be fair, maybe just zonked after getting to fuck Elle—is face down in her pillows, dead to the world.
Escorting her to the kitchen, I ask what she wants, and when she mentions more key lime, I’m quick to serve it up to her. I take a serving of the apple crisp, and when she leans in for a spoonful, feed some to her. It turned out quite well.
It’s as we’re sitting there together filling up on dessert that she grins over at me, and though this isn’t my typical MO, I feel compelled to grin back at her like Lewis Carroll’s famous cat. As if on cue, Three Socks appears begging to share, and Elle gives the feline some whipped cream from the top of her pie.
I find myself in this warm bubble of contentment before reality seizes me in its icy grip.
I’m on a slippery slope, and I need to watch myself. I’m supposed to be doing a job to make money and pull my ass out of the shitty situation I found myself in, not getting all infatuated with my employer like a goddamn idiot.
Yet every time I look at Elliana, I yearn to hold her. But maybe because of this threat to her or how my time here has progressed, I can’t seem to maintain my customary detachment.
Goddamn idiot here, party of one.
What’s even more alarming is how I’m becoming attached to living in this house, as well. Probably because Elle’s allowed me nothing but freedom in the kitchen, I feel more at home than I would’ve thought possible. I like that so far she doesn’t breach the private space of my room, and that she doesn’t make it her mission to boss all of us around.
I like the kid. I respect what Noah does and who he is.
And Jackson. That motherfucker. I no longer know what my opinion of him is. At first all he did was trample on my nerves. Daily. But lately his constant guitar picking, humming, and playing haven’t been as annoying.
And there’s no way in fuck that I could’ve managed the catio and koi pond surprise for Elle without his help. He has legit woodworking skills, and while I’d expected him to be all ADHD when it came to focusing on tasks, that’s not how the situation developed. He took the objective I gave him and ran with it until it was done. Complete to an excellent standard to boot.
Color me impressed.
Yet I’m not moronic enough to assume that us playing house like this will ever amount to the real thing. I mean, I’m basically a glorified gigolo with chef training. I know that. There’s no getting away from it. Even if sometimes Elle is so accommodating that it doesn’t feel like it.
She’s not the type to handcuff us to a cellar wall somewhere and ram strap-on dildos into our asses. I wouldn’t have agreed to such extreme treatment, even as desperate as I am. But what I’ve discovered is that I enjoy her company even when our clothes are on.
Which makes it official if there was ever any doubt. I’m the king of goddamn idiots.
Noah’s out of the house early with his firefighting gig, and none of us see him until dinner that night. Even then, he broadcasts his discomfort like a timer dinging when Elle demands he sit at the table with us. Yet his response to her minor interrogation isn’t something I would’ve predicted.
“I don’t think I should tell you,” Noah mutters, and I wonder if I misunderstood him. This kid is compliant to his core. Usually.
“Why not?” Elle asks.
“Because you might oust me from your house once you know.”
Wow. Jackson and I share a fleeting look. He seems as astonished by this as I do.
Elle gently lays a hand on Noah’s arm. “What if I promise I won’t?”
“But you don’t know how... detrimental this could be.”
“Detrimental to you?”
“To me, to you, all of us ,” the kid exclaims, every feature on his face shriveling like a raisin. He seems out-and-out distraught. Also, he has his blush turned up to full power.
“Honeybunny, we live together, eat together, hang out together, and have gotten off in front of each other more than once. Don’t you think you can trust us a little?”
“But you don’t know... I didn’t know this about myself until last night.” The redness of his complexion deepens, and Jackson shifts in his seat as he taps his damn guitar pick on the tabletop. Of course, no one seems to notice this but me.
Elle clutches onto the kid’s hand with each of hers. “Didn’t know what?”
Noah hems and haws until finally, he blurts out, “I got turned on when we were all there in your bed.”
“Me, too,” Elle says, her mouth and eyes brightening with a smile. “Just being around you guys keeps me soaked most of the time.”
Well, there’s a fresh insight into her psyche. One that has my cock hardening like the granite of a countertop. Now I’m the guy tempted to shift in my seat. I don’t on principle, though. Instead, I offer my own take on the situation.
“Think we were all turned on last night. Can’t be in the middle of a live porno and not get horny.”
“No. That’s not what I... Elle, you always... I mean, I always react to seeing you uncovered,” the kid confesses as if he had a different response than any other man in the room. “But Tristan, when you uh... got off on Elle, I...” he stammers, stumbling over his explanation, and I frown at him.
“You found it arousing to observe Tristan splattering his come on her,” Jackson surmises. “Did you race out of there to go jack yourself off?”
Burying his head in his hands, Noah groans in miserable affirmation. “Yeah.”
“Dude, that’s no big deal,” Jackson continues. “This doesn’t have to be a crisis.”
“But what if it means I’m gay?” Noah mumbles out so faintly I have to lean in to understand him.
“It may not mean that,” adds Elliana.
“Porn is full of women and men, Noah,” I jump in. “Men get hard and get off watching it, and it’s not only pussies and tits that get us there. It doesn’t mean you need to question your sexuality.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being gay,” Jackson picks up the narrative again. “Or bi, queer, or whatever. You’re obviously attracted to Elle. Lots of people are attracted to lots of other people who aren’t necessarily the opposite sex. I have been. Whatever you identify as, you’re fine. Okay?”
The musician is right. Having anyone consent to hook up with you is a good thing in my book, even if I’ve personally never knowingly done it with someone who isn’t identifiably female.
Too bad I tend to alienate everyone, regardless of sexual orientation, gender identity, or any other factor. Still, I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not exactly a people person. I’m actually kind of stunned that this whole live-in situation with Elle hasn’t blown up in my face.
“I kissed a girl once. And I’ve had lesbian dreams and woke up wet,” Elle volunteers, and holy fuck that’s hot.
Come to think of it, I had a couple of sex dreams where I was being blown by another man. I’m straight, and it didn’t bother me. I’ve never felt into any particular guy, but who’s to say it couldn’t happen? Sounds pretty limited, if you ask me. And didn’t I read a statistic stating that the LGBTQIA+ community amounts to ten to twenty percent of the population?
That’s not a small number.
Also, who the fuck cares? Why not live and let live? Frankly, I don’t care what any of us are. Noah could tell me he’s fantasized about being with a sasquatch crossed with a lion while swimming on a horse through a river of cake batter, and I wouldn’t so much as flinch.
What difference does it make?
“So,” Noah starts in a small voice, peeking at each of us in turn. “If I am not just into women, you’d be all right with that?”
“Sure,” Jackson pipes up, and I bob my head in agreement.
Elle’s onboard, too. “Of course.”
“But my family might not be,” he whispers, sounding defeated.
And at that, we all fall silent.