Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 99918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
“I would’ve given you mine,” Dylan said, sliding inside the golf cart beside him. Tristan rolled his eyes as they were whisked away. He was in so much pain, he didn’t even get to enjoy Dylan’s happy mood.
“Now you offer me your water.”
“I should have brought my clothes and gone from Crystal Cove to the hotel,” Dylan said as he pulled Tristan’s sports car into the driveway of his house. He reached up and pushed the remote to open the garage door. “But then someone still would have had to drive you home, probably in an ambulance.”
“Har, har. You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?” Tristan had his head back on the headrest, but rolled his face to the left to look at Dylan.
“That was an accidental slip of a joke. That shouldn’t happen too many more times,” Dylan chuckled, putting the Ferrari in first gear before shutting it down. “You don’t need to be driving dehydrated.”
“I’m not dehydrated. I’m good now. I’m just not a runner. I work out every day, it’s just different out there,” Tristan countered.
“You should stay in today, let yourself even out. All that sweating and overexertion, you have to be dehydrated,” Dylan advised, getting out of the car.
“I’m fine,” Tristan argued and followed along behind Dylan. He had kept an eye on Tristan, and he did seem fine. Dylan entered the back door, thinking of another joke and suddenly came to an abrupt stop as unease gripped his entire body. A little, dark-haired woman stood in the pantry, looking his way.
“Mr. Tristan not home,” she said in a thick Hispanic accent.
“He’s with me,” Tristan called out, stepping in the house from behind him. Tristan gently touched his back. That touch catapulted the fear of being seen by someone else even higher. Being in Tristan’s home, having the small laughs and slight touches meant intimacy and that rooted Dylan in his spot unable to move a muscle. Tristan hadn’t seemed to catch on and slid an arm around him as he moved to the side, trying to get fully inside the house. Dylan turned quickly toward Tristan and pointed at the woman, then pointed to himself, panic had to be clear on his face. If that attempt at sign language didn’t get his point across, surely the fear in his eyes would make him respond. Instead he got nothing but a confused look from Tristan who was reaching for him yet again in front of the woman.
“They call. Gatorade on the counter,” the small-framed Spanish woman said. Dylan bolted, and he could hear Tristan follow him instead of going for the Gatorade. That was exactly the opposite of what he wanted. Dylan made a beeline to the living room. He needed to get his clothes and get out of this house.
Fuck! His clothes were gone again! He scanned the living room, then went for the kitchen. He didn’t see them on the counter or the table like before.
“What’s wrong?” Tristan asked from directly behind him.
“Where are my clothes?” Dylan faced off with Tristan, becoming angry now. Tristan was steps behind him, the concern clear on his face, and that was something Dylan didn’t want to see. He took off for Tristan’s bedroom. His clothes were folded at the end of a freshly made bed. Everything had been cleaned and put away in Tristan’s room as well as the bathroom.
Dylan went straight to his clothes, his wallet and his phone had been placed on top. Not inside the pockets, but on top. That meant she knew who he was.
“What’s happened?” Tristan asked, coming up behind him, touching him again. Dylan ignored him completely, grabbed his things, and palmed his phone to search for his Uber app.
“She saw me. She knows who I am. She cleaned up our mess,” Dylan finally said, thumbing through all the different applications until he found the one he wanted.
“Maria has never said a word about anything she sees in here. I’m not sure she even reads English,” Tristan said, turning Dylan toward him.
“I’ve got to go. There’s a driver a few minutes from here.” Dylan ducked around Tristan who stuck out an arm, stopping him in his tracks. That was where the years of weightlifting came in handy.
“She doesn’t care. She won’t say anything.” He jerked out of Tristan’s hold, stepping several feet away, and finally got the space he needed.
“I’ll drive you to the hotel.” Tristan’s voice turned hard.
“I don’t want people to see me like this,” Dylan stated on his way out of the room. He did manage a “yet” as he headed toward the front door.
Seconds later, Tristan was behind him, clamping a hand over the hard oak door Dylan was beginning to open.
“You held my hand on the beach. You let me jack you off on that same beach. Julian saw you,” Tristan hissed in his ear. Fuck! Dylan hadn’t even considered those things as real threats. The beach had been dark and they’d been completely alone. Julian was paid to be discreet. But he had been out for people to see them together. His insecure gaze darted up, meeting Tristan’s intense stare. This whole thing panicked him more than ever. Julian especially.
“I shouldn’t have done this,” he whispered. A range of emotions played across Tristan’s handsome face, until resignation was the only thing Dylan saw.
“I promised you were and are safe. I wouldn’t have put you in that kind of situation. I won’t ever put you in that type of situation,” Tristan vowed.
“I can’t do this again. Not yet. I’ve risked too much already,” Dylan said softly, but with conviction. The anger was gone. Desolation and the voice of reason took its place. He had solid reasons to stay hidden—three of them.
“You haven’t risked anything,” Tristan declared. His eyes went to the small glass panels of the door and he got a funny look on his face. Tristan grabbed Dylan’s wallet from on top of the clothes he carried and was out the door before Dylan could react.