I was on the verge of tears. Maybe I had been reckless, but after citing my own points for marrying him I felt so emotional I needed to cry. I tried to dash away, to hide in the bedroom until my emotions settled, but he grabbed my arm and spun me to face him.
I think he was going to yell, but his expression softened, and he loosened his grip on my arms. "You're shaking."
"Duh! I'm freaking out!"
"Oh, Grant," he sighed. Tristan took me into his arms and held me tightly. He rubbed my back and kissed my temple. "I'm so sorry. I should never have argued with Teresa in front of you. It wasn't fair. She's not a nice person. I knew she'd react like this when she found out about me, but I didn't think it would escalate the way it did. I'm so sorry."
I sniffled and buried my face in his neck. He smelled like pancakes.
"What was the comment you made about her father?"
"Oh. Her father left when she was a kid."
I asked, "That's it? Then why is she so mean toward us?"
"Ever since I met her, Teresa has had a chip on her shoulder about her father and has talked down about men for years. She's never been out-and-out hateful toward homosexuals, but hearing I'm gay probably added gay men to her list." Tristan looked up at the ceiling as if to heaven or God and said, "I apologize to all gay men everywhere. I didn't intend to incur her wrath."
"We forgive you," I said.
Tristan smiled at me. "Thanks. I make no excuses for Teresa, but I know she's never forgiven her father for leaving, and she's never forgiven me for not marrying her."
"Oh. Why didn't you?"
"Because I don't love her. I didn't know she was pregnant until I was out of boot camp. I mentioned marriage out of guilt, but she turned me down, relating me to her father in some sort of twisted way. Her father had cheated on her mother multiple times; Teresa told me she wasn't about to shackle herself to a potential cheater. I let it go because I knew I was gay by that point and would never be happy if I married her. Her mother started drinking years ago, which explains Teresa's drinking problem. The whole situation is a clusterfuck. By the time I was out of the military, coming out as gay seemed to be self-serving. It wouldn't have helped Teresa, and Claire was too young to understand. Teresa and I were never truly together, so I let it go. I figured I'd tell her on a need-to-know basis."
I snuggled my face into his neck. "But why didn't you explain all that in the argument? You aren't like her father, and it sounds like you were trying to save her feelings." He smelled so yummy it was increasingly difficult to focus on the conversation.
"I'm not, and I was, but I'm also not vengeful like her. She has always had to one-up people. I thought it best not to stir up more trouble. Claire knows I'm gay, and I have you. There isn't much more I need."
"Then I'm glad." I couldn't help but kiss his skin-he smelled so good.
Tristan snickered and released me, pulling back far enough to look in my eyes but not letting go of my waist. "You are amazing. I can't believe, after all that, you'd still find the desire to kiss me. Aren't you pissed? You said you're freaking out, but still you kiss me?"
I shrugged, settling my hands on his chest and brushing my fingers lightly over his chest hairs. "What can I say? I'm still attracted to you. You're shirtless and you smell like food, so I kissed you. Arguing with your baby momma doesn't change how I feel about you. I'm not running away, especially now."
"So you're willing to marry me after one date?" He sounded bewildered.
"Yes. I know it's stupid. We hardly know each other. We live vastly different lives and we've only been on one real date. But if this was where our relationship was heading eventually, then why wait? Reneging now proves Teresa right."
"No, it doesn't. She's wrong, no matter what we do next. Getting married on a whim isn't logical or smart."
I ran my fingers across his collarbone. Debating half-clothed was now my favorite way of discussing things. His skin was so warm. "But neither is allowing her to feel self-righteous. I'm not going to stand for her insults. We can make this work. I know we can."
Tristan's eyes danced over my face. He smiled softly, as he often did while gazing at me, and agreed, "Okay. We'll get married. But why did you pick the seventeenth?"
"I knew it would take a few days to get a license, so we couldn't possibly get married tomorrow. We need to buy rings and find an officiator for the ceremony. Most people don't get married during the week, so it had to be a Saturday. I'm off on the seventeenth. I'm not even sure if a week will be enough time, but we can try. We should probably invite people, don't you think? At least close friends, and maybe your daughter."
He tilted his head back. "Oh God, I'm getting married." He looked me in the eyes and squeezed my shoulders. "You and I are getting married. Holy shit!" He laughed and pulled me into a hug. "Well, I guess you better go home, shower, and get your ass back here, because we've got some planning to do."
I laughed until I cried. It was all so much, so fast, and yet I didn't want to get off the ride. I knew I simply needed to hang on tight.
Chapter 7: Daughters, Diamonds, And Divas Who Materialize Out Of Nowhere
I SHOWERED and returned to his place to find my car running.
"You fixed it!"
"It was the battery," Tristan explained, shutting my hood and wiping his hands on a rag. It was already dirty, so I wasn't sure how much good it would do him to wipe his fingers on it. "When I got in to turn the key I noticed the visor mirror was open. A small light could have drained the battery if you hadn't replaced it in a while, but then I noticed the headlights weren't fully shut off. You left the running lights on. I gave you a jump-no problem."
I remembered checking my hair in the mirror, but not leaving the lights on. How embarrassing. "My mom told me driving with the running lights on was safer. Newer cars have lights that come on automatically, but mine don't. Thanks," I said, feeling a little guilty for my mistake. I spotted a hammer sitting on my fender. "Then what's the hammer for?"
"Sometimes a car won't start when the starter sticks. I brought my hammer just in case I needed to tap it."
I smirked and joked, "A hammer? Is that why you make the big bucks? You can fix things with hammers? How very male of you."
Tristan grunted like Tim "The Tool Man" Taylor and I giggled. He waved me to follow him inside. I kept a safe distance from Tristan and his rag, since I wouldn't appreciate getting grease on my dress khakis. "It's two o'clock. Do you want some lunch?"
"I don't know. I guess?" I felt guilty eating all his food. He had already made me breakfast.
He tossed the oily rag onto the dining room table next to the engine and furrowed his eyebrows. "Are you not hungry, or is there another reason? Because, to tell you the truth, I wasn't really sure you'd come back today." He walked to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. I couldn't help thinking hands like that should be washed in a slop sink or at the very least the bathroom, not in the kitchen.
I squirmed when he picked up the dishtowel to dry them, but I responded calmly, "You have my car."
"And you took my truck."
I plopped down on one of the swivel chairs at his cluttered breakfast bar and pushed aside some trash so I could rest my elbows. His house, in the daylight, was more distressing than when we had been making out on his couch. It was in need of some serious organization. "I don't know what I want, Tristan. My stomach's queasy."
Tristan walked around behind me and slid his arm around my waist. He whispered in my ear, "I'm sorry. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to back out."
I laid my head back on his shoulder and rested my arms on top of his. "No. It's not that. There's just so much to think about, and I guess the last few hours have given me a headache."
He kissed my temple and nuzzled my hair with his nose. "I know. If it makes you feel any better, we could go shopping?"
"For what?" I asked, turning my head to look at him.
He grinned. "Rings."
I smiled. "Oh yeah, we need those."
"I also need something to wear. You always look dashing in your dress shirts, but I don't own anything nice. My wardrobe consists of T-shirts and jeans."
"And one pair of underwear," I pointed out, holding up my index finger.