“It’s not my fault your reflexes are incredibly poor,” Tristan said with a sweet smile, pressing the ice harder to the rapidly swelling flesh.
He received another baleful look from the left eye. “I’m supposed to participated in a photo shoot for the wedding.”
“Then you should thank me that I saved you from it.”
“And what am I supposed to tell her?”
“Who?”
“Donna.”
“Donna?” Tristan said with feigned confusion.
“My fiancee,” Zach said slowly. “The woman I’m marrying.”
“Ah.” Tristan moved closer in order to press the ice pack to Zach’s cheekbone. It wasn’t the most comfortable position. He was aware that his thigh was practically straddling Zach’s. Too aware. “I guess you can tell her the truth. You can tell her what a dick you were and that you entirely deserved it.”
“Is that what it looks like from your perspective?”
“Nope, that’s just the truth.” Tristan dropped himself on Zach lap, giving up all pretenses of not straddling him. When Zach raised his eyebrows, Tristan scowled. “If I have to play doctor for you, I’m not going to strain my own injury. I shouldn’t even be doing this.” He added with a cheeky smile, “You have a functional right hand, after all.”
Zach let out a laugh. “And you have the memory of an elephant. And you’re doing this because it’s your bloody fault.”
“It’s yours,” Tristan said, sinking his fingers into Zach’s thick hair and yanking hard, forcing him to turn his face a little. Zach said something scathing, and Tristan said something equally scathing back, but it all seemed distant, irrelevant, stupid. His heart was pounding, his skin felt too warm, Zach’s thigh was hard under him, and he just couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t think.
Goddammit.
Tristan always tried to be honest with himself. He knew what this was. Of course he knew. It didn’t take a genius. Sitting so close to Zach—in his lap—was turning him into an idiot who wondered what Zach’s cock looked like and whether it was as big and thick as those hands—and what it would feel like in his mouth.
God. If Zach hadn’t been someone he strongly disliked, someone who infuriated him, frustrated him and made him feel inferior and stupid, Tristan wouldn’t have been so angry with himself. He would have just gone for it, as he always did when he wanted something—or someone—badly enough. He knew he was attractive. He knew he was attractive enough to make even straight men bi-curious. But this was Zach fucking Hardaway. There was no way in hell Tristan was going to come on to him. He could easily imagine the superior, disgusted look on Zach’s face if Zach realized that he wanted him—that Tristan was gagging for his cock. A wave of humiliation swept through him at the mere thought. How pathetic it would look.
Though, he didn’t want Zach. His stupid body was just horny and seemed to like the idea of getting under his dick of a personal trainer.
He just needed to get laid and then all this silliness would go away.
“I’m done playing doctor,” Tristan said curtly, dropping the ice pack and sliding off Zach’s lap as casually as possible. Avoiding looking at Zach, he headed to the door. “Get out of my house. Why are you always in my house?”
Zach muttered something under his breath, too quietly for him to hear, before following him out of the gym.
Tristan didn’t turn around, but he could feel Zach right behind him—could feel him with every inch of his body. Zach’s eyes must be on the same level as Tristan’s ass. Was Zach looking?
Tristan cringed, disgusted with his train of thought. Millions years of evolution and humans were still no better than animals. Mindless animals driven by base instincts. He didn’t like the guy one bit. Zach had quickly replaced his brother as the person Tristan couldn’t stand the most. But it didn’t change the fact that a part of him wanted to turn around, shove Zach against the wall and climb him like a tree.
Tristan set his jaw. He was going to get laid tonight, his injury be damned.
Chapter 4
The problem with being a famous footballer was that Tristan couldn’t just go to a gay bar and pick up someone when he wanted to get laid. He couldn’t screw some random stranger who might sell the story to the papers the moment Tristan left. He had to be extremely careful, so his choices were limited. He supposed he could fuck men who had as much to lose as him if they were outed—he knew a few players who were almost certainly gay—but the risk was twice as high. Or maybe he was just being paranoid. Either way, hooking up with men was always too risky. That was why he mostly stuck to flirting with men and fucking women. Sex with women was unsatisfying at best and vaguely gross at worst, but it was safer. Smarter. He wasn’t as stupid as Gabe to risk his career for a dick. It wasn’t worth it.