Forsaking Truth by Lydia Michaels Page B

Good. He

was hoping that was the case, but this was so different from any other relationship he’d ever had. He wasn’t remotely close

to understanding the dynamic and who fulfilled which role.
    He’d always imagined

settling down with a wife. She was stacked, could bake, and knew how to

decorate the shit out of a Christmas tree. N ever in a

million years had he contemplated any future remotely close to this. Although,

this was far from the outcome. This was the very beginning, but he wanted it to

last—for at least a while.
    “What are you thinking

about?”
    “How life is

surprising.”
    “I think it’s all planned,” Tristan said. “I think the bad

things that happen are actually good things disguised as challenges to make us

stronger and carve us into who we’re meant to be. Destiny.”
    “Do you like sports?”

Luke asked, preferring to leave Tristan ’s deep

insight for another time.
    He chuckled. “Did you

think I pranced around in high heels and painted my nails in private? Yes, I

like sports. But be fair warned, I’m a Dallas fan.”
    He groaned. “That’s

gonna be an issue.”
    Tristan laughed.
    After they cle aned up from dinner, Luke took a shower in the tiny

bathroom that barely fit his body. His heart started racing as he was drying

off. Outside the door was Tristan. Tall, handsome, southern twang talking, all

kissable lips, Tristan.
    He gripped the lip of

t he tiny wall mounted sink and breathed. He couldn’t

seem to catch his breath. His eyes shut and he experienced the same rush he got

running through the tunnel onto the field. Anxiety, adrenaline, and

anticipation churned inside of him making him dizzy with a rush unlike anything he’d ever known.
    He swallowed and

glanced at his reflection. His jaw was shaved, hair trimmed. Unsure what would

come next, he hesitated leaving the small room.
    The scent of burning

wood greeted him as he quietly cracked the door. Easing into the tight hallway,

he caught sight of Tristan’s bare back leaning over, his jeans slung low at his

tapered waist, as he twisted paper and fed it into the woodstove. He’d gone outside for more wood. He’d also found the linens in the

chest and made up the futon bed.
    Luke’s stomach flipped

as he took in the scene of shadows playing over his lover’s tanned skin as

flames flickered through the opening of the stove. Tristan shut th e grate and stood. When he turned, he stilled, realizing he

had an audience. “Hey.”
    Luke’s throat dried

like the Sahara. “Hey,” he rasped.
    “I made the bed.”
    “I saw.” He also

noticed his bag was tossed conveniently close. Did they need anything? Fuck,

condo ms would’ve been smart. His insides seemed to

take a dip at that thought.
    “I think I’ll grab a

quick shower too, if you don’t mind.”
    That was good. Give

him some time to process. “Okay.”
    Tristan passed him and

Luke sucked in a deep breath as he dragged the tips

of his fingers over the lower part of his sternum. His cock came to attention

and he caught Tristan’s wrist, pulling him close for a brief kiss.
    Tristan smiled against

his lips and nibbled, then stepped back. “Five minutes.”
    The door to the

bathroom closed and Luke debated staying in his

towel, losing it, or slipping back into his jeans. He dropped to the low bed

and eyed Tristan’s bag. Listening for the running water, he tipped his finger

in the open zipper compartment and peeked in without disturbi ng much.
    Looking back at the

hall to make sure he was alone, he leaned over to scope things out. There was a

sweater, a book and a small black toiletry case. He slowly undid the toiletry

zipper. Travel toothpaste, a toothbrush in one of those plastic caddi es, three condoms, deodorant, and—oil. Thank fuck.
    Quickly zipping up the

bag, he scooted over on the bed. He looked around the room and waited, tapping

his fingers on his thigh anxiously. They were gonna do this. There’d be