"Hello," she said, rocking on her heels. "It's nice to know you have friends, Dad."
"Hey! I have friends. Jeff and Will are my friends."
"Jeff and Will work for you. That doesn't count. Can I go do the class?"
I enjoyed the way she ribbed him. They seemed comfortable with each other.
"Sure," he said. "I'll be down here when you're done."
Claire looked at me and said, "Watch out for my dad, will you? He's a mess without me."
Tristan moaned quietly, and I chuckled as Claire took off down a hallway. "She's funny."
"Very," he commented drolly. "I'm doing leg presses next. Where are you off to?"
I shrugged. I'd made my round, and I was tired. How did I tell the workout master I was done? "Um, I thought I'd finish with the treadmill for twenty minutes."
"Weren't you on that when we got here?"
He'd seen me? "Oh, yeah. I guess I'll … I might do … ." I glanced around, trying to figure out which machines to name.
"You're done for the day, aren't you?" How did he know? Tristan sensed my shock and explained, "You're sweaty, and your last rep over there was a struggle, wasn't it?"
I nodded. He'd been watching me as I had been watching him. I'm not sure how I felt about that, considering we were only supposed to be friends. "Yeah. I'm really tired. I guess I'll see you around. It was nice meeting your daughter. She's cute." I felt odd standing next to him as he sat on a weight bench. If someone wanted to use the equipment, then we'd be in the way.
He smiled wider than I'd seen before. "Thanks. I think she's awesome, but I'm very biased."
"You're allowed to be." I wasn't good at small talk, but I couldn't leave quite yet. I was still conflicted. I was attracted to him, yet I knew I shouldn't be. We were friends, pals, buddies. Nothing more. "So, is it true you don't have many friends?" Kids could exaggerate. I wouldn't be surprised if Tristan had loads of friends. He seemed nice and friendly.
Another guy came over to the machine next to us. It felt like he was invading our conversation, although he didn't even look at us.
"Yes and no. I have friends, but I rarely see them anymore."
"Oh?"
"I'm married to my work, and they're stationed overseas."
"Stationed?" That was an odd way of describing it.
"Did I not mention it before? I was in the military."
"Which explains the muscles," I mumbled, my eyes going wide immediately. "Oh gosh, did I say that out loud?"
Tristan chuckled. "Yes, but you're fine. I've heard it all before. I was a workout buff before I joined the Navy, and I continued after I got out."
"Ah! Now the tattoo on your bicep makes sense."
Tristan pulled his arm forward and touched the tattoo. It was the Navy insignia. "Yeah. My buddy Josh and I got them together."
The drop in his tone told me something was wrong. I asked, "Do you still see him?"
He shook his head. "No. He died a year after we got them. We were on a boat somewhere between the Arabian Sea and the Indian Ocean, and Josh got sick. He thought it was influenza but ignored it way too long. He died a week later."
I almost got tears in my eyes. Josh's death sounded so tragically avoidable.
"Are you using this?" a different man asked, gesturing to the equipment we were standing next to.
The man's question seemed to snap both of us out of our momentary funk. "Oh, no, sorry," Tristan said, getting up and motioning for the other man to use it.
We stepped to the side, and suddenly I felt awkward. There were more people in the place than I had realized, and having a conversation in the middle of the room made me self-conscious.
Tristan gestured over to the wall, and I followed him to the side of the room. "You're tired, and this place is too crowded to talk. I'm sorry to drop Josh's death on you like that, but it just came out. It's been twelve years, but sometimes thinking about him takes me back to the times we laughed." He shook his head and blinked, as if shaking off the bad memories. "Anyway … maybe we can grab a beer sometime, and I'll give you the rundown of my military history. Josh and I did have some fun times together." He grinned. Was he joking? How much military history could he have?
His question threw me. "I, um … I guess."
"I'd really like to hang out with you. Claire wasn't kidding about my lack of friends. I don't take time out of working long enough to make any."
A too-damn-irresistible smile graced his perfect lips. Our friendship wasn't going to work if he kept smiling at me like that. My groin didn't know the difference between a straight guy and an interested guy, especially after he licked his lips. I coughed into my fist and then said casually, "Why make an exception for me? I'm not all that interesting."
He frowned his disapproval at me. "I like you, Grant. You're … simple."
Lust jumped the track in favor of irritation. "Simple?" I snapped. I didn't like the word, and I didn't veil my reaction.
Tristan explained, "Not simple as in ‘simpleton.' What I mean is that you're straightforward. You say what you mean, and I don't have to guess what you're thinking. Your intent is written on your face."
I didn't see that as a plus when I'd been thinking nonfriendship thoughts for a couple of weeks. Every time he walked into the bank, I felt heat swirling in areas that had been neglected all my life. I couldn't think of a response for being called "simple."
He touched my arm, and I glanced to his hand and back up to his eyes.
"Grant, don't be mad. I didn't mean to offend you. I like you. Can we go for a beer and get to know each other? You said yourself you're new to the area. If I don't have many friends, and you don't have many friends, then why don't we give this a shot?"
He let go of my arm, and I swallowed. Friends with a straight guy whose touch made me shiver and whose lips made me salivate? Oh, holy hell, I was in for a rough ride.
"Okay," I said.
He smiled again, glad I had agreed. "Wait here one second." He disappeared up the steps toward the front desk and returned with a slip of paper. "I don't have a card on me, but here's my phone number. Call or text me a time you're free. I'm busy with my daughter this weekend, but I can certainly meet up with you during the week, or next weekend."
I looked down at the slip of paper. He'd really given me his number. Huh. I'd made a friend. I'd have to tell my mom. "Thanks. Yeah, I guess I could have a beer, but I'm telling you I'm not all that interesting."
His face lit up. "That's fine. I have plenty of stories if you run out of things to talk about."
"Okay." I didn't know what else to say. I mean, the whole exchange felt rather odd already, but if he had as few friends as I had, then I supposed this was one way of making some. "I'm gonna go. I'll talk to you next week."
He stuck out his hand. This time when I shook it, it didn't feel dirty. It was either because of my own sweat and grime, or because he didn't seem as filthy.
"I MADE a friend," I told Mel. I'd already called my mother. She hadn't seemed as impressed as I thought she might. "A straight male friend."
"Oh, wow! Good for you. I thought you had way too many girl friends. It isn't healthy."
"I know what you mean. It's not like I mind chick flicks or pedicures, but I think it'll be fun watching a football game for a change, better yet a baseball game. He asked if I wanted to get a beer sometime and talk."
"Do you even like beer? I thought you said you've never had a drink."
Mel knew me too well. I answered, "I haven't, but there's a first time for everything. I'm sure I could have something light."
"If I were you, I'd go to a local liquor store and talk to someone."
"You think so?" I walked from the stove, where I was cooking beef stew, to the table, where I set my bowl and arranged my spoon and napkin. Mel and I normally chatted for a few minutes several times a week as I made dinner, or shortly after I'd finished.
"For sure. If you needed to know about wine, I'm your guy, but I don't like beer."
"Okay. Maybe I will. Did you talk to Cindy yet?" I had to change the subject. We'd been talking about me in every conversation for a week. I needed to let Mel know I cared about his life too.
"Yes."
"What? When? Why didn't you text me?" I was so excited I almost dropped my spoon right into the pot.
"I talked to her today. I ordered some cornbread to go."
"That's great!"
I was so happy, but Mel's voice said the exact opposite. "No. It's pathetic. I didn't want cornbread. I only ordered it because no one was around and she was the only employee out front. I felt like a doofus."