The muscles in his legs suddenly wanted to move. Twitched and pulsed. Jesus, he was a horrible son, because he wanted nothing more than to get out of here, so they wouldn’t have to talk.
“I don’t know,” Tristan said.
“It’s early.”
“True. Let me go grab the scones. I’ll see what time it is when I get back.”
After calling Isabel out of her room, Tristan left. His mom lived close to the Warf, so instead of getting in his car, he walked down the block to Fisherman’s Roast. As he crossed the street, his eyes caught a man down by the water, tossing something into the air that the birds swooped in and caught.
Over and over he threw food for them, which they attacked with frenzy. If he turned to the right, it would lead him straight to the coffee house, but Tristan moved toward the water instead. It was an asshole thing to do—to stall so that he wouldn’t have time to talk to his own mom, but he did it anyway. Curious why someone would be out here at six in the morning feeding birds.
Tristan didn’t approach him, instead sitting on a bench, twenty or thirty feet behind the man. From the back he looked young, shaved head (he’d never get why men did that), a good four inches shorter than Tristan’s six feet, two inches. He wore old-looking blue jeans and a sweatshirt, without the hood pulled up. Every couple tosses or so, he’d bend, grabbing food from the bag at his feet and throwing it for the birds again.
And then he stopped, his shoulders slumped as he looked out at the ocean. Sadness radiated off him, riding the wind, twisting and turning around Tristan.
The boy shook his head. Bent it forward and then lifted the hood up and onto his head. For a good five minutes, he just stood there. And Tristan sat. Sat and watched, though he didn’t know why. He looked the way Tristan felt, the way he wanted to be. Alone.
When the guy turned around, he flinched as though Tristan had scared him. Not that he didn’t get it. He probably looked strange, sitting here watching him. Still, he didn’t turn away.
“Sorry...I didn’t know anyone was here.”
He started to walk away when Tristan spoke. “That’s an odd thing to be sorry for. You shouldn’t take responsibility for things you have no control over. Why is it your fault? You didn’t know I was here. I’m the one who came up behind you. I’m the one who sat down. None of which you are to blame for.”
He narrowed his eyes a little, as though he couldn’t figure Tristan out. Most people couldn’t.
“I didn’t...that’s not...”
“People who aren’t responsible always try to take responsibility, yet those who are never do. I don’t understand that. Don’t apologize for things you shouldn’t. Let other people own their own mistakes. If you’re like most of us, I’m sure you have enough of your own.”
Tristan shrugged, not moving from the bench. He wasn’t quite sure why he’d just said what he did, but he wouldn’t take it back, either. His business or not, it was true. It made it much easier for people to take advantage of you.
Without replying, the man standing in front of him let his eyes travel the length of Tristan. Interest. There was definitely interest there. Confusion, too. Straight boy attracted to a man for the first time? No, he didn’t think so.
He read people well. Always had, and it definitely came in handy as an attorney.
“You’re eating me alive with your eyes, much like those birds devoured your food.”
His eyes widened in shock as red flooded his cheeks. The boy was pretty. Young, but pretty.
“I’m not. I didn’t mean...I don’t.”
Tristan smiled. This he was good at—playing this game. He’d done it enough. Even when he was fucking Ben, they hadn’t been exclusive. Sex he could do very well. It was the other things he wanted nothing to do with.
“It’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with it. How old are you?”
He looked at the ground. “Twenty-three.”
Thank God. He’d thought younger. That was good, at least. An eight year age difference wasn’t bad. Maybe coming down here hadn’t been a bad idea. He could use a distraction.
“What would you say if I asked you to meet me tonight?” Tristan stood, slowly walking toward the other man. He took a step backward when Tristan moved forward. Tristan stopped, and when he did, something fell from the man’s hand.
Guilt slammed into Tristan from all different directions. His first thought was the guy wasn’t interested, but his wide-eyed expression said differently. Damn it. Maybe he was in the closet? But it looked like more than that, too. He had this innocent expression on his face, as though he wasn’t sure what to make of Tristan. “Fuck. Let’s forget I said that. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
