by Mia Kerick
A potent feeling rushed into my awareness, but again I had trouble either identifying or admitting it. “Oh, oh, okay.” If I had to name the feeling, though, I’d call it disappointment.
She led me into their spotless kitchen, which, in opposition to their living room, was quite stark. There was no decoration here whatsoever, not even curtains on the window. “Tristan likes to keep his kitchen bare.”
His kitchen? Again, she offered no explanation.
“Does Tristan like to cook or something?” Even when Tristan wasn’t here, it still felt as if he was.
She smiled. “He sure does. And he’s good at it.”
I was suddenly reminded of Mikey’s words about Tristan before we left the restaurant: he’d make someone a frigging perfect wife. How true.
The table was set very simply with rustic white crockery plates and heavy flatware. The cloth napkins were charcoal gray, folded neatly into rectangles. A long loaf of what looked like home-baked bread rested in a narrow basket. Savannah went to the refrigerator and pulled out a large matching crockery bowl. “It’s Thai Chopped Chicken Salad.”
She proceeded to serve us each a plateful. It looked delicious. “Did you make this, Savannah?”
In response to that question, Savannah released a spurt of laughter. “You’ll be glad I didn’t when you taste it.”
I took a big bite. It tasted like heaven on a fork. “Tristan made this?”
She nodded. “He loves to do all of the homemaking stuff for us—you know, cooking, cleaning, laundry, decorating. Probably because he never had a real home before this one.”
I fought like hell to squelch the compassion I felt swelling in my heart for Tristan, the boy. All alone on the streets. But I didn’t say anything; I didn’t think I could have.
“I was only out on the street for six weeks all together.” Now her attention appeared totally focused on the salad.
“Six weeks? Why only six weeks?”
Beads of moisture had collected on the narrow strip of skin above her upper lip. Savannah took a few more bites and then she put her fork down. So I did the same. But she kept her eyes on the plate while my eyes were stuck on her. “Something, um, something happened to us—to him—out there, and I decided that state care was a better option, uh, for me, than living on the street. I went into foster care for the next four years, until I graduated from high school.”
I didn’t know why, but I had to ask. “What happened to Tristan, you know, when you went into foster care?”
Savannah’s attention shifted toward the bare kitchen window that overlooked the city street. She spoke quietly. “He stayed out there.”
Without hesitation, Savannah picked up her fork again and I followed suit. For the next few minutes, we ate in silence.
My subsequent query was much more calculated, I must confess. I needed to know how Savannah and Tristan fit together; the answer to this would hopefully provide me with a clue as to the nature of their current relationship. “Did you stay in touch with Tristan during high school?”
Shaking her head in regret, Savannah answered, “No. I lost touch with him for a long time. And I’m talking about years, Robby.” Then a spark of enthusiasm lit her eyes. “But when I started my undergraduate degree at SU, I managed to track him down. Or more honestly, I bumped into him. He was working at the diner. You know, at the S-Squared. Once we’d hooked up again, we moved in here. And I’d gotten a job at the diner, too, so I worked there until I started grad school. The rest of the story is pretty much what you see.” She gestured to her surroundings.
Very gradually, the picture was coming together. But, exactly what did “hooked up” mean?
WE WERE sitting on the couch in the living room drinking wine when Tristan came home. He trotted right over to us with eager eyes and a wide smile. Savannah reached up as he bent down, and they embraced briefly. And then—what the fuck?—Tristan bent right down and hugged me as well. Chills rose up my spine and, disappointingly, it wasn’t at all unpleasant.
“Hi, Robby!” God, he was so fucking cute. “Did you like the salad? I wanted to make some hot and sour soup too, but Savannah said that enough was enough.”
Before I could answer, I heard Savannah suggest, “Grab a glass and another bottle of chardonnay, and come join us.”
I threw in awkwardly, “Oh, and, yeah, the salad was awesome. You sure can cook!”
I was sent the most devastating smile I’d seen so far, and that was definitely saying something. “Really, Robby? I’m so glad you liked it.” He strode off to the kitchen mumbling something about the fact that he was originally planning to make a grilled chicken Caesar salad using some croutons he’d brought home from the restaurant, but he’d decided maybe that was too boring.
“You don’t mind that I asked him to join us, do you?” I got one of those pointed glances from Savannah.
Quickly, I shook my head. “No, of course not. It’s fine.” But I was already planning my exit strategy. I’d felt the surge of my overly interested hormones the very second Tristan had come through the door. I knew I had to get out of here before… before I stopped feeling so satisfied with the evening I’d just shared with Savannah. Before I was reminded that when I was with her, something was missing. Before I admitted that when I so much as laid eyes on Tristan, that something wasn’t missing anymore.
That unexpected realization was nothing short of earth-shattering to me. I stood up and moved swiftly toward the door. “I think it’s time I called it a night.”
Shit. In my rush to get to the door, I nearly slammed into Tristan, who was returning from the kitchen, wine and wine glass in hand. “I thought you were going to stay a while.” His eyes reflected a disappointment so bitter it hurt me to witness it.
“Come on, Robby. Stay for an hour or so—we can play cards,” Savannah piped up from her corner of the couch. Her voice showed markedly less passion than Tristan’s, yet I could tell she hoped I’d stay.
“I guess I can stay for a while.”
Savannah purred with the smug satisfaction of a feline; if Tristan had a tail, it’d be wagging a hundred miles per hour.
And I really was much more of a dog person.
WE DIDN’T play Bridge, Rummy, or Black Jack. And we most definitely didn’t play Strip Poker. No, the three of us played every single kids’ card game that I’d ever heard of. We faced each other in War, Crazy Eights, Go Fish, and Slap Jack. Spoons and I Doubt It were absolute battlegrounds. At first, I felt rather detached from the excitement of it all, and I sat back and watched my date and her roommate compete like a couple of determined elementary school kids for what I would have considered meaningless wins. I figured their enthusiasm was probably some kind of unconscious attempt to recapture a bit of their stolen childhoods. But before too long, I caught the fever and did whatever I could to make victory my own. Soon all three of us approached each and every game with equally high intensity. After each game concluded, we sucked down wine, discussed our strategies, and laughed together.
It was the most fun I’d had in way too long.
It was the most fun I’d had in way too long?
That in itself was incredibly fucked-up.
After several hours of play, a comfortable sense of camaraderie emanating among us, I felt my face split into a wide grin. “No offense to Savannah, but you, Tristan, are a master of children’s card games.”
Tristan beamed at me from across the room, his cheeks turning red like I’d admitted he was the master of the universe. And, yes, it warmed my heart.
Savannah got up and lithely strolled across the room to stand in front of Tristan’s chair. “No offense taken.” I think the reply was directed to me, but she was staring directly into Tristan’s eyes, and she was nodding. “You should challenge Tris to a Chutes and Ladders marathon. He’s a force to be reckoned with in that game.” Even as she spoke, she gazed into her roommate’s eyes. Tristan stared back. The affection between them was palpable, but it was more than that. They wer
e communicating without words. I found myself wanting in on their clandestine messaging system.
And that spelled “Time for Robby to Leave.”
I stood up and stretched. “I had a great time, you guys, but you know what they say about all good things.”
My words almost broke their spell but didn’t quite get the job done. Without removing her eyes from Tristan’s, Savannah said, “I’ll walk you to the door, Robby.”
Tristan nodded at her slightly and headed to the bedroom without saying good-bye to me at all. Strange.
Savannah followed me down the hall, and then sort of crowded me up against the door. And since I was the red-blooded man here, I decided it was my turn to make a move. I bent down and pressed my lips against hers, knowing fully well that my head and heart were consumed with affection for a blurred image of two people.
“I had fun tonight—it was really great.” I had so much more to say, because being with Tristan and Savannah was so much more than fun.
But who should I say it to?
“I like you, Robby. I really do.” Savannah kissed me again, not so much with desire as with a powerful sense of need that I could practically taste. When she withdrew her lips from mine, she whispered, “We really like you, Robby. Do you like us?”
Chapter 9
Robby
I MUST have heard her wrong. Because it had sounded a fuck of a lot like she’d said, “We really like you, Robby. Do you like us?”
That was “we” and “us,” not “I” and “me.”
I sat at the desk in my office attempting to crunch numbers for the vet clinic addition, but nothing was adding up. On top of that, Mikey had been driving me absolutely crazy all morning with questions about how far I’d gotten in the sack with Savannah, seeing as I’d taken her on the three necessary dates prerequisite, in his opinion, to even a nice girl “putting out.” Yes, Mikey’s words.
Finally, I’d sent Mikey to the scrap yard with aluminum, copper, and steel from a recent demolition, just to get him out of my hair. I couldn’t really think when he was here babbling away about “hot babes,” and “huge tits,” and “getting laid.” And if I’d introduced the concept of our little “threesome” to Mikey, neither of us would get any work done all day.
A ménage à trois? I mean, was that what Tristan and Savannah were after? I didn’t even know how those things worked. Technically, I’d seen a porn flick or two that had featured a ménage à trois as the main event, but that was just sex. Not a real relationship. And the movies I’d watched were always strictly two women with one man. Once, I’d even been invited to participate in one of these girl-dominated threesomes in college, which I’d quickly refused. I’d never been a guy who’d thought with my little head, and my big head had told me, “Bad idea.”
I simply had no life experience to help me categorize what was happening here. My big head knew Savannah was the right choice for my very conservative family’s traditional lifestyle. My little head was far more invested in my relationship with Tristan. I was clueless as to what their interest was in me. Was Savannah’s interest independent of Tristan? Did Tristan’s extreme friendliness suggest that he had feelings for me? What if he did have feelings for me? And what if I had feelings for him?
Suddenly, I grabbed my cell phone. I was going to give it one more try with Savannah. This situation was far less complicated than I was making it out to be. I was a decent-looking heterosexual man who was dating a beautiful, sexy blonde bombshell who just so happened to have an overly friendly male roommate with a pathetically sad life story. And that was it. There was nothing more to it.
I’d take Savannah to a movie. There was absolutely nothing whatsoever complicated about going to a movie.
I PARALLEL-parked my Jeep on the street directly beneath Savannah’s apartment. Looking up into her curtainless kitchen window, I saw two shadowy figures standing close together. Naturally.
It’s now or never, I guess.
I headed purposefully toward the stairway that I was confident led to my future girlfriend. Yes, I was going to give it one last shot with Savannah. Tonight she’d be my girlfriend or she’d be nothing to me.
Savannah opened the door on the very first knock. With her, there was no knocking and waiting incessantly, like there’d been with other girls. When the door opened, all I could think was, smolderingly beautiful. She’d let her hair fall in cascades of yellow-white curls that tumbled freely down her back. Draped in a deep-red velvet dress, she resembled a queen of bygone years. More importantly, tonight Savannah held a queen’s power over both of our destinies and as soon as her self-assured eyes met mine, I became aware of the fact that she probably knew it.
“Geez, Savannah, you look beautiful tonight!” I couldn’t help staring at her, but her reaction to my compliment was the same as always. Nonexistent.
“Robby.” With a slight shake of her head, she said my name that way and led me inside.
“You did hear me correctly when I said I was taking you to the movies and not to the opera, right? I mean, you’re dressed to kill!”
That chiming bell sound, her laughter. “Go say hello to Tristan, he’s in the kitchen. I’m gonna get my shoes.”
I did as Savannah asked, assuring myself as I went that I had nothing to fear. Tristan was not in control of my mind or my body. Control of Robby Dalton’s physical and emotional (and sexual) behavior was exclusively mine. And I was going to get the girl tonight. It was the only rational thing to do, the only choice I had that fit into my lifestyle.
I went into the kitchen and there he was. I steeled myself in anticipation of his enchanting eyes and wistful smile, but it wasn’t necessary. Because Tristan was different tonight. No bright eyes, no wide smile. He sat at the kitchen table staring at his hand, which was wrapped around a beer bottle.
“Hey, man, what’s up?” I tried to catch his eye, but he seemed almost mesmerized by the sight of his hand on the beer. “You working tonight?”
The right word to describe Tristan was withdrawn. He shrugged a bit and then shook his shaggy head. “Nah, worked lunch today.”
“Going out tonight, then? Have a hot date?”
Tristan looked squarely at me, and a spurt of bitter laughter shot from his lips. “Not quite.”
And then there was awkward silence.
With a pair of strappy black wedge sandals dangling from her two little fingers, Savannah entered the kitchen. She looked at her roommate and then at me. “Tristan’s not himself tonight,” she said bluntly.
Well, any moron could see that, but I didn’t ask either of them what was bothering him. And I admit that I felt a pang in my heart at my cruel evasion.
Moving behind him, Savannah draped her arms around Tristan’s chest. “Come with us to the movie, Tris.” She looked directly over the back of his head and into my eyes; this was a challenge. “Robby and I would love your company.”
I looked back at her, my face carefully devoid of expression, and still I said nothing.
Tristan shook off Savannah’s arms, stood up, and went over to the sink. He placed the bottle down on the counter and then turned around to face us with what I’d call a smirk on his lips. “No, you guys go ahead and have fun.” He was obviously making an effort to appear more upbeat, clearly for our sakes. “I’m bushed anyways. I think I’ll turn in early.” He turned to the refrigerator and pulled out another beer. “Now, get outta here, you two. You’ll miss the previews.”
I swore I could actually see Savannah’s brain in action. She was thinking on her feet, rearranging our night, setting things up exactly how she wanted them. “Robby, tell Tristan that we want him to come with us tonight.”
What the hell am I supposed to say to that?
And so I didn’t say anything until those melancholy brown eyes gazed over at me, effectively melting away all of my best intentions. “Come with us, Tristan.”
Tristan’s eyes stayed glued to mine, but he still appeared as despondent as before I’d spoken. And f
or some fucked-up reason, his pain was my pain. My heart lurched.
All I could do at that point was speak the plain truth. “Tristan, I want you to come with us. We’ll have a great time, us three.”
For a few moments, the kitchen was silent.
Trying like hell to act casual, to hide his need to be included, he asked me slowly, “Are you sure, Robby? ’Cause it wouldn’t kill me to stay home.”
And even as I spoke the truth yet again, I felt my heart sink. Because I knew that it was over with Savannah and me. Or, more honestly, with Savannah and Tristan and me. “Yes, I’m sure. I want you to come with us tonight.” I just couldn’t categorize what I was feeling and what’s more, I didn’t want to. Because sometimes the truth provided far more information than you really desired.
Savannah Meyers didn’t want a partnership with me. She wanted me to become a part of a twisted little trio. And maybe I wanted that very same thing a little bit too much for my own sanity. I just couldn’t deal with this crazy situation any longer. After tonight’s movie, I wouldn’t see them anymore. They could find another man to be their third.
And I could find another way to become complete.
THE three of us sat in a row with Savannah in the middle, all of our eyes fixed on the big screen. And Christ, I was thankful that I’d chosen an action/adventure movie. I couldn’t have handled a romantic flick tonight.
About a half hour into the movie, Savannah shifted in her seat so she could lean against my shoulder, and it felt so nice to have her soft, sweet-smelling curls falling over my shoulders. I leaned my head onto hers, catching Tristan’s warmth-filled eyes as I did so, and to be honest, that was when I stopped watching the movie. Because that was when my mind started spinning out of control. And there was no apparent rhyme or reason to my self-inquisition.
Have I made the right decision to call it off with Savannah?
Is Tristan hurt that Savannah is cuddled up with me right now?
