Tristan pulled up his sweatpants and stood before me, picking up his t-shirt. "Well, let me get changed. It might be kind of awkward if we were to discuss things like...this," he said, indicating in my room and on my bed.
"Oh really? There's something awkward about discussing the details of a sex-for-room arrangement?" I asked with feigned innocence.
Tristan rolled his eyes and pretended as if he didn't hear me, continuing on, "There's some breakfast downstairs. Why don't we discuss before I head on down to work?"
An eminently logical situation, and one that made me realize that my snark wasn't helping this situation get any better. I nodded my head in agreement and Tristan, seeing this, left my room.
We were seated across a table in the dining room as I filled my mouth with a croissant.
"So you wanted to clarify some things about the arrangement we have?" Tristan asked, taking a sip of his coffee.
"Mm-hmm," I said, my mouth full. I took a second to chew before I launched into my list. "I think we should go over some ground rules and also I think we didn't even think of some other things that we need to discuss."
"Fine by me, Tristan responded, taking a sip of his coffee again.
I decided to press ahead. "Okay, well let's see. First item I need to know is, like, are you telling anyone you know about our arrangement, if that's what we're calling now?"
Tristan stopped drinking his coffee, putting the mug down on the glass, a look of absolute horror crossing over his face. "No way in hell, Alicia."
I was a bit relieved. "So like, the guys from the bar or any of your close friends, you're not going around telling them that you bagged me?”
"I swear to God, Alicia," Tristan looked serious as he said it. I decided to believe him. Sure, he may be a crazy psycho, but at least he was honest.
But he wasn't finished. "Listen to me Alicia, as far as anyone knows or asks, you're just renting a room for me until you can get back on your feet.”
I nodded again - much more relieved. Time for question number 2. "Well what about friends who want to come to visit?”
"I don't usually have friends that come to the apartment to visit that much," Tristan said, trying to put me at ease as he went to grab a piece of toast with his coffee.
I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Not you," I said with a hint of exasperation. "Believe it or not, the world does not revolve around Tristan Carnahan."
Sufficiently chastened, he gave me a sheepish look and an "Oh. Sorry, you were talking about your friends?" When I nodded my head, he shrugged. "I don't care. Just one thing, if you could make sure that you could keep the volume lower than normal, that would be great."
"I can do that," I answered.
"Also, please make sure they don't steal anything or destroy the place."
"Okay," I said mildly insulted. "Jesus Christ, what kind of people do you think I'm going to be inviting over here?"
Tristan shrugged again. "I know absolutely nothing about you except that I met you at a bar, so I can't really answer that question."
He had a point. I kept silent, but he pressed on. "Like, what's your last name?"
I sighed. "Alicia Sutherland," I said, extending my hand. What the hell, his cock had just been inside of me less than an hour ago.
"Tristan Carnahan," he replied, taking my hand and shaking it. I rolled my eyes. It was time for the next item on my list.
"Okay, so I should have asked this before we did...uh..you know," I began, not sure at first where to start but then deciding to just go with it. "So I understand the arrangement that you and I made where we trade sex for housing, but I just want to make sure you know that my body is my body."
"Okay," Tristan said. I had the feeling he wasn't following so I decided to clarify. "When we're not having sex, I don't want you coming up to me and hugging me, or thinking you can hold my hand in public or even in private, or coming up and rubbing up against me."
"Rubbing up against you?" Tristan asked with one eye raised. "Like a dog?"
"You know what I mean," I wasn't going to get baited by him. "I may have sex with you, but I'm not your girlfriend."
Tristan seemed very laid back about it. "I agree. I don't expect anything like that from you. Its your body and I wont touch it at all."
"The same goes for my room," I wanted at least one safe space to retreat to. "If I'm not in there, I'd like it to be empty."
Tristan nodded. "I'd like that to be the same for my room as well, please."
That took me up short. How was I supposed to snoop? "You don't want me going in your room?" I asked, trying to play innocent and a little confused. "How will I clean?"
Tristan appeared to consider that for a moment. "Okay, you can go in to get laundry and clean and stuff, but please don't touch anything else. I get that you're organizing stuff, but leave my room the way it is, please."
It was a sensible request and one that I couldn't really argue with. "Deal," I said instead. "I'll stay out of your room unless it's to clean."
"Or if you're coming in to have sex with me. I won't mind that at all," he said with a grin.
Pig!
"Whatever. Okay look, the next point. After we're done having sex, no repeat of this morning. Don't expect me to stay next to you laying there or that you can just lay there next to me," I wanted to stress this point. "And absolutely no sleeping over in my bed or expecting me to sleep in yours."
Tristan nodded. "If you say so, then sure. But I'd just like to say that you're welcome to sleep in my bed if that's what you want. I actually enjoy cuddling and having someone to sleep next to."
"Tristan," I said, trying to make a point for him. "I am not that person."
There was silence. "I will never be that person that you're looking for. We don't have that here."
"What do we have?" he asked, curious.
"You have physical release. I have a roof over my head. We do not, and I want to stress this, we do not have any intimacy."
There was a pause as he considered. I needed him to realize this was a cold and hard transaction we were going through. Nothing more.
Finally he nodded and looked at me. "Deal. I wont expect anything more than a hole."
I winced at his terminology, even more so knowing that while crude, that's the point I was making.
"Great. Thank you."
We talked about a few more items - dealing with the entire situation almost administratively. We went through where I could pick up the birth control pills (Walgreens on Madison and 81st), when he would get me my MetroCards (1st of each month), and the like.
All of a sudden, as if just remembering something, Tristan looked at me.
"There's one other thing I want to bring up then, if we're clarifying," he started. "No more names."
"What?" I asked, a bit puzzled.
Tristan took a deep breath. "I can tell you've been calling me all sorts of names in your head or to people you talk to."
I shuddered. How did he know?
As if sensing my thoughts, he held up the note that I had written to him last night. "You began your note by writing 'Dear Creep'," he said without a hint of sarcasm.
I looked down. I hadn't even realized. He continued, "Listen, I get it, okay? You're probably calling me all manner of names in your head - Creep, Psycho, Asshole..."
"Pervert," I added. Just so he would have a complete list.
He looked at me funny, and then continued, "...Pervert. The fact of the matter is that you have a list of insulting things to call me. It's not nice. It's actually very demeaning and mean."
"Oh, I'm sorry," I said, my voice dripping sarcasm and anger. "Did I insult you by my names? Gee, I wonder why I would go ahead and call you a creep. Here's a thought. Maybe this entire situation you have me in is fucked up."
Tristan never lost his cool. "Maybe," he relented. "But calling me names is demeaning in and of itself..."
I didn't let him finish. "And what you're doing to me isn't demeaning?" I demanded harshly,
standing up.
He stood up as well, agitated. "No!" he began. "Because I don't 'have you in' anything that you can't get out of. Whatever this is," he gestured to our surroundings, "You came here of your own free will. I didn't force you. I'm not keeping you here. I gave you terms and I never made you do anything against your will."
I was silent, unable to figure out what to reply. He was saying everything that I had been thinking.
"You will not pin this on me when I ask you to just call me by my motherfucking name!" he shot out.
There was silence and he brought his hands to clasp behind his head - in an effort to reduce the level of stress he was feeling.
"Fine," I said quietly. "No more calling you insulting names. You have my word....Tristan."
He turned around to look at me with his beautiful face and I just couldn't resist. "But don't go calling me 'honey' or 'girlfriend' or 'baby' or whatever either."
"I'm sure that would just as insulting to you as you calling me Pervert is to me," he said snidely, taking his coffee cup and walking over to the counter where he placed the cup. "But thank you for acceding to my request."
Then, turning to me, he asked in very formal tones, "This has been helpful and I'm glad we sorted this out. Was there anything else?"
I looked at Tristan, who looked back at me coldly. "No," I said, trying to keep things even. "That about sums it up."
"Good," he said, grabbing his keys. "I'll be late for work if I don't leave now, but I'll see you when I see you, I guess."
"See you in a few days, dear," I said, just as angry - acid dripping from my words.
I heard the door slam as Tristan left and I ran to my room immediately, burying my head in my pillow, and let go. Tears streamed from my eyes as I let the frustrations of my situation overwhelm me.
I hated Tristan with every fiber of my being. I wanted to kill him. That smug, superior, asshole!
Let it all out girl....
What right did he have to be insulted by me? What moral high ground could he claim? I was the one that was broke. I was the one that faced the choice between trading my dignity for shelter or living on the streets.
I lay there a long time, letting the emotions wash over my body. Deep down, I knew what Tristan said was true. I had no real good reason to call him anything demeaning. I just wanted something - anything - to hold onto that made me feel like a better person in this arrangement. I needed something to justify to myself that things hadn't gotten so bad that I was doing what I was doing. My circumstances had been entirely my doing, not his. He hadn't taken my money and told me that I had to have sex with him for rent. No, I managed to dig this whole myself. Tristan just owned the plot. He wasn't to blame.
The fact of the matter was that I knew I needed someone to blame for my predicament. That someone couldn't be me. So it was Tristan. He was the closest person there was and he was who I wanted, no, who I needed to blame.
But he had just told me to stop. He had called out my actions and he was not cool with what I was doing. I began to realize that I couldn't be angry at Tristan, without being angry at myself. After two and a half decades of entitlement, that afternoon, I started to finally grow up.
Fringe Benefits
I don't know how I managed to finally drag myself out of bed that morning and into the bathroom to get ready for work. I did the best I could to erase signs of my crying, but when the girls at the coffee shop saw me, they immediately gave me hugs and asked if I was alright. I didn't tell them about the arrangement I was in or what I was going through with Tristan - namely because I felt it was too much of an explanation having to go through the entire sequence of events. Much of the story would occur before Tristan even got into the picture and I just wasn't feeling like I was in a mood to tell it.
Instead I tried to tell myself that I had learned an important lesson about myself and it was time to take whatever I could learn in this situation and move on. The key for all this was that it was a temporary arrangement. It had to be a temporary arrangement. There was no way I could keep this situation going for long without going absolutely stark raving mad. I was saving a decent amount of money from each paycheck and getting the opportunity to not have to worry about rent and food (or cable or internet by the way) and I could focus on looking for a job that would allow me to move out on my own.
I further told myself that today was Sunday. Based on the work schedules that Tristan kept and my own shifts, I wasn't going to be seeing him in the apartment till Friday morning before he went to work at the earliest. That is, unless there was some way I was awake at 7 am in the morning - which I wasn’t planning on doing.
Earplugs all the way, baby!
Somehow, the prospect of several days of freedom gave me chance to compose myself, and even begin my normal fake smile for customers. I got through the day, and sighed in relief when I got home.
The rest of the week passed rather uneventfully, with the exception of several new developments in my transition to adulthood. I managed to create a rhythm of keeping the apartment clean at all times and organized, but most importantly, I learned a few more additional recipes. As I sat there watching YouTube on how to make a baked pasta dish, I couldn't help but laugh to myself about the situation. Tristan was so ill taken care of that he had somehow bought into the notion that I was this really amazing chef in the kitchen. It was either that easy, or I was that hot.
Maybe it’s both?
I was in positively great spirits by the end of the week, and even agreed to go out for happy hour with some of the people from the coffee shop the day after we got paid. Everyone was surprised that I had actually said yes - I had usually declined in the past because of my financial situation, but all of a sudden I had some cash in my pocket and didn't have to worry about food, rent, or how to get around. I was rolling in the dough, comparatively speaking.
I really needed a night out and I told myself I really needed some human contact that didn't involve someone sticking their dick inside of me. We went to the Village Pourhouse off of Union Square and I found myself having an amazing time - it was absolute surprise how great it could feel to be able to relax and not have to worry about money.
I got some nice stares from guys at the bar. I had made sure to wear my extra tight skinny jeans to work that day and a cute black top that I had bought a long time ago. I got complimented once or twice, and I had the sneaking suspicion that Jon, one of the guys that I worked with, was trying to flirt with me. It had been a while where I was in a right state of mind to accept advances, and I awkwardly tried to walk the dance where I flirted back, without going forward right now.
A few of the people asked how my move had been - they had known I was getting kicked out of my old place and some were even curious how I was able to afford to be going out for drinks. I had thought of these ahead of time. I explained with a straight face that my rent was actually lower, and the fact that I was contributing housework and cooking to the mix allowed me to take some money off of the lower amounts of rent that I had to pay.
Luckily, Dawn, who had been the one to introduce me to this deal had dropped by as well, and she nodded in confirmation as I told my story. Not that I thought anyone was going to go snooping to see if my story checked out, but answering it forthrightly then and there would remove all future questions. Questions that might lead me to have to confirm or deny that I was letting Tristan fuck me for a free room and all the food I could eat.
By the time we all decided to call it a night, it was around 1 am, and I was a bit tipsy.
By tipsy, I mean I was pretty drunk. Thankfully, the 4 train took me right from Union Square to the Upper East Side, but it was a photo finish by the time I got into the apartment and made a straight beeline for the bathroom. I had to pee and pee I did, for what seemed close to ten minutes.
I smiled to myself - I had had a fun night. I had felt normal. I had felt in the company with friends.
I was also hungry, and the fact that I didn't have work tomo
rrow meant that I was not ready to call it a night.
I whistled to myself as I scooped a large helping of Chicken Parmesan onto a plate and nuked it in the microwave. I grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat down on the couch, turning on the television to old reruns of FRIENDS.
I was in heaven - very buzzed, eating food, laughing, and without a worry in the world.
I should have known that it wouldn't last.
Right around 1:30 am, Tristan got home from work.
Jesus, he works pretty late, actually…
He mumbled hello to me and went into the kitchen. I smiled as I saw him make a plate of Chicken Parmesan and grab a beer. I had just finished my food and was sitting on the far end of the sofa, when he brought his plate to sit down. I didn’t notice but he had two beers, handing me one to replace the one I had finished. I took it in a silent thank you and we watched, ate, and drank in silence - the television providing the background noise that was punctuated by our laughter at points throughout the show.
As the credits began to come on, Tristan had finished eating and took both our plates to the kitchen and put them in the sink. I let him. Hell, I’d have to wash them tomorrow anyways. He came back into the living room just as another episode of FRIENDS was about to start.
The two beers, in combination with the gin and tonics I had had earlier that night was starting to take it’s toll. I lay out on the couch, stretching my body. I realized that Tristan was standing there, staring at me.
Fuck!
All of a sudden, that top of which was so cute that had been great against my body was now causing unwanted attention. I knew that my boobs must have looked good to him - with my girls jutting out of my chest as I arched my back upwards in my stretch.
Sure enough, he came over and knelt down next to me on the couch. My shirt had ridden up my tummy and he brought his face down to start kissing me on my belly button.
What day is it??!!
“Tristan?” I asked, as gently as I could. "Can we do this tomorrow?”
“I’ll be at work before you wake up,” he said into my stomach. “Besides, Alicia, it’s been over the two days we agreed to, and it’s the…”
My Stepbrother, His Highness: A Royal Stepbrother Billionaire Bad Boy Romance Page 25
