He regretted his words right away. "I'm sorry. I know it wasn't fair. Your pain is just as legitimate as mine."
I held the phone between my shoulder and ear as I hung my pants up. I knew enough to know this was his lament. There was no answer for comments like that. They were simple facts. "Tell her when it feels right, but you shouldn't let it go past the second date, because it might seem deceitful. You have nothing to hide. You are an amazing person. You're so brave and strong, you have no idea. If Cindy is the right girl for you, then I'm sure she'll accept you just as you are. There isn't much else you can do."
"You're right." He sighed. "I'll do it. First I'll take her out and get a feel for the kind of person she is."
"Sounds good. Hold on, I need to change my shirt." I set the phone down on the bed, removed my white T-shirt, and tossed it in the hamper, closing the lid. As I reached for a fresh one, I hesitated. What if I went the rest of the night without one until Tristan got here? I could show him I'm not afraid. Moreover, I could show myself I'm not afraid.
"Hello," I heard Mel beckon from the other end.
I picked it up. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking about my shirt. But yeah, I agree. Feel her out and tell her the truth about everything before it goes very far. Honesty is best." My mother had told me many stories about her sister, who was a habitual liar, all of which ended badly. So as a kid I had never wanted to be like my aunt Crystal.
He said, "My honesty worked on you."
I smiled. "Exactly."
I changed my underwear and slipped on my pajama bottoms. I strolled into my kitchen shirtless and glanced at my front windows. No one can see, I rationalized, but I still went over and pulled the curtains closed. It was strange poking around my fridge only half-clothed, but if Tristan liked my body, I knew I needed to be comfortable in my own skin, half-naked. He would probably want me fully naked, and soon, but I was working up to that.
Mel and I chitchatted for a while. I put the phone on speaker while I ate leftover ham and macaroni and cheese. I liked to cook enough for several days, because then I didn't have to cook every night. Some people didn't like leftovers-my father had been one-but I found them convenient. By the end of the conversation, after I'd cleaned up dinner, Mel had agreed to text me how his first date went.
I was on the couch reading by the time I heard a knock at my door. It was 9:10 p.m., and the knock was probably Tristan, even though he had a key. I peeked through the tiny window in the door to make sure, since I was not going to answer the door shirtless unless it was Tristan. It was. "Hey," I said, opening the door and sweeping my hand toward the inside of the house. "I hope you know you can walk right in. I gave you a key for a reason."
He said, "I know. I gave it to Wes so he could bring the flowers over, and I forgot to get it back." His eyes widened. "You're shirtless! Wow, baby," he beamed, gripping each shoulder and studying my body. "You make my mouth water just looking at you."
I was glad he'd said it like that, because I was two seconds from crossing my arms over my nipples protectively. It was hard exposing my flesh, but his obvious pleasure made my discomfort worth it. Then my brain caught up to what he'd said. "Wait, you gave my key to your coworker?"
"My office manager, Wes. Yes. I had a few jobs I was working on at the same time and couldn't get away. He offered because he's a sappy romantic, and I appreciated it. The delivery guy brought the flowers to my shop and Wes zipped them over here."
"You work five minutes away," I protested. "You couldn't take ten minutes to do this yourself? You send a stranger into my house, into my bedroom, and you think I'll be okay with that because the flowers were awesome?"
He backed up. "Grant, I didn't mean to upset you. I told you I've been getting behind."
"Because you met me and I ruined your routine. I heard you." I was suddenly angry. The flowers had been so sweet and wonderful, until he admitted they hadn't been brought over and arranged in my house by him! A stranger brought them in and still had my key. I blurted, "What if he comes into my house when I'm not home and steals things? I can't file a claim if my house wasn't broken into, you know?" I didn't know if that was true, but it sounded true to me.
Tristan held his hands out in front of him. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, Wes would never do that. You don't need to get angry, Grant. I'll get the key back. I'll call him right now and tell him to bring it by if that's such a huge issue for you, but I think you're being ridiculous. Wes is very honest. Accusing him of something like that is out of line. Actually, I'm not calling him, because it would hurt his feelings. Besides, if you had answered my texts hours ago, I probably would have remembered to ask Wes for the key. Where have you been? Why weren't you answering your phone?"
I took out my phone. I hadn't noticed his texts asking if I was all right, if I liked the flowers, and one asking where I was because I hadn't responded about the flowers. Tristan looked upset, and I guess I couldn't blame him. I had exploded for no real reason.
I slouched. "I'm sorry. I'm not used to people having keys to my house, unless it's my mother. I guess I didn't like how you gave my key to someone I didn't know, the first week you had it."
"Next time, I'll ask. Okay?"
I nodded. Tristan held open his arms and I sank into his embrace. That is, until I caught a whiff of his manly stench. I pushed back out of his arms. "Um, no offense, but you reek."
"I know. I was hustling to get things done and sweating like a pig. Then I spilled engine degreaser on my shirt, and that stuff is nasty. I need to look into buying a different brand."
I felt guilty asking, but I had to. "Are you going home first to shower?"
"No, I have clothes." Tristan pointed to a bag next to the door. He must have dropped it upon entering, and I hadn't noticed.
"Oh. Then can you put your dirty clothes in a trash bag so the dirt and stuff doesn't get on my carpet?"
He rolled his head to the side. "Really? You think I'm going to get your carpet dirty? Grant, I wasn't rolling on the floor. We have lifts. I stand most of the time. You know what? Never mind. I'll strip down outside." He turned for the door before I had the chance to stop him. Tristan hopped out onto the porch and pushed his pants down in seconds.
"What are you doing?" I shrieked.
"I'm taking my clothes off out here so I don't get dirt in there." Then off came his shirt. I was glad no cars drove by while he was stripping, or he might have caused an accident. "I'll even toss them in the bed of my truck until tomorrow."
"But … ," I started to say, but he rushed over to the truck parked next to my car.
He came back to me in underwear, and my heart palpitated. He was so sexy. He stepped past me into the house. "If you don't mind, I'll be taking a shower now." He stalked off.
Tristan was upset. He didn't get that I kept my house clean and that he was filthy. I never got that dirty. When I came home, my clothes looked almost like they did when I'd gotten dressed in the morning. I went over to the bathroom door and knocked. I heard the water running, but he didn't answer. "Tristan?" I turned the knob, but it was locked. "Shit," I cursed under my breath.
The water shut off while I waited by the door. He opened it abruptly and jumped at the sight of me standing there. "I didn't mean to make you mad," I said, head hung low, hoping he would take it as regret.
He strutted into the bedroom, towel around his waist, water droplets on his chest. "Yeah, well, I guess we're even. We seem to be good at pissing each other off." He left the bedroom, and I followed him through the house to the front door, where he grabbed his bag, and then back into my room. He placed the bag on my bed and dropped the towel. I looked away.
Tristan snorted, but I couldn't tell if it was from amusement or irritation.
"I didn't think you rolled on the floor, by the way. I didn't mean to make it sound that way." I kept my eyes averted as I spoke.
"I'm not mad about the clothes."
"You're not?" I asked, looking back. He was in his underwear, sitting on my bed.
"No. I'm hurt because you didn't say anything about the flowers. I went to all the trouble of sneaking them in here, and you didn't even text me to say thank you. Why? Because you were talking to your friend Mel, that's why!" His voice grew louder by the end of the sentence, and I shrank back a little.