Page 9 of Learning to Trust

Tristan was the furthest person from my mind when I climbed between the sheets.

The afternoon spent with my sister, Steve, and Andrew, making up stories about the quirky things Tristan owned before shoving them into a box, served to lighten my mood and ease the pain.

I was taping the lid on the final box when the rental van pulled into my driveway. The timing was perfect. We all pitched in to get the boxes loaded, and I watched as the truck was driven away with half of the past five years of my life. Having Andrew's arm wrapped around my waist, offering his support, had a lot to do with my total lack of regret. Maybe I hadn't been as in love with Tristan as I'd thought.

After Janice and Steve left to pick up their son, Andrew invited me back to his place for dinner. I hadn't hesitated to accept and insisted on treating him to pizza. When we arrived, we found his friends had left, and the place was clean and tidy. As we ate, we learned about each other's likes and dislikes.

Andrew loved books and reading, swimming, and tennis. They were things we had in common. Andrew hated being cooped up in an office. He admitted it was almost torture when he was forced to spend one day each month checking the company books with Fiona and approving payroll.

Like Andrew, I wasn't fond of being confined to an office all day, but my dislike had more to do with the job I had to perform and the staff.

The blue numbers of the clock on the nightstand showed it was almost midnight, and although weary, I doubted sleep would find me anytime soon. After switching off the bedside lamp, I slid further under the covers, and when I closed my eyes, visions of my neighbor were clear in my mind.

Andrew was one hell of a good-looking man, and it intrigued me how he had gone out of his way to help a stranger. There was no doubt he had a good heart. He was trouble. I couldn't deny I was falling for the man.

The mystery remained—why was such a gorgeous man single? And what was Leon talking about when he said they had a wicked lifestyle? I hoped that over the coming weeks, I would get to know the man better, and maybe his 'wicked' lifestyle would prove to be what I needed to move forward.

***

The work week had passed in a blur. I'd been gone from home before the sun rose and returned in time to fall into bed, exhausted, a little before the clock ticked over to the following day. Needless to say, I hadn't seen any movement next door, as the house had been in darkness.

Tristan had rung the office at least a dozen times, but I hadn't taken his call after the first time when I told him there was not a hope in hell that I would allow him back into my life. My personal assistant, Marisa, had been tasked with telling him I was out or busy, and after three days of trying to talk his way past her, he'd turned up in person. I'd had security toss his ass out with a warning if he came back or called again, my next call would be to the police. Thankfully, I haven't heard from him since.

Bright sunshine streamed through the window and heated my face; I'd forgotten to close the curtains the previous night. I groaned and rolled over. Even though it was 10 AM, I wanted a few more hours in bed to forget about my week from hell. Senior board members and staff, loyal to my father, who insisted I was too young and inexperienced for such a position, had questioned my every decision regarding a new game I wanted to release. I'd spent over a year developing Monti, which involved knights, maidens, witches, and dragons. Most of it had been during my own time at home. Our company’s team of test technicians had been testing the final product for three months. Bugs and glitches found by the team had been resolved and being confident in my own and the team's abilities, we were ready to push it onto the market. Janice had her end planned and costed, so we were set to launch in two weeks with saturation marketing.

Enter the pricks on the board, who the senior executives had managed to get onside. Most of them were dinosaurs who didn't know one end of computer technology from the other. I had no fucking idea why my father had staff who had next to no grasp of electronic innovation. I'd spent hours during the week explaining how Monti operated and they still didn't have a fucking clue. The board and senior executives agreed on shelving the game because they didn't think it was a 'good fit.' At 9 PM the previous night, I'd finally lost any patience I'd had and sent out a memo telling the bastards, all members of Dad's old boys' club, that as CEO with the final say, the release would be going ahead as I'd planned. I'd then switched off my phone because I knew what would be forthcoming. None of them would accept my decision and it was likely at least two or three of them would have contacted my father.

Despite wanting to drop back to sleep, my mind was running a million miles an hour. I was going to take the time during my weekend off to make some decisions about my life. Decisions I should have made a few years earlier. Some would not be well received by my father, but I was past giving a fuck.

A loud banging on the front door had me thinking someone on the board had already gotten in touch with Dad, but when the fuzz in my brain cleared, I remembered Dad had moved to Florida after retiring, hours away. Even if someone had contacted him late last night, I doubt even he would have been able to organize the family jet fast enough to get here so quickly.

When the banging started again, loud enough to wake everyone within three blocks, I dragged myself out of bed and padded downstairs wearing only a pair of boxer briefs I'd pulled on in a hurry.

“Open this fucking door, David.”

Why did Andrew sound so frantic?

I swung the door open, and Andrew pushed me back into the foyer and kicked the door shut with his foot. His hands gripped my arms tight enough to leave bruises.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

A muscle ticked in Andrew's jaw, and genuine fear was in his eyes. But fear of what?

"I've been working; it was a busy week. What's going on with you?"

Andrew's shoulders slumped in relief, and I asked, "Coffee?"

“Thanks.” Andrew released his hold and dragged both hands over his head.

We crossed to the kitchen, where I readied the coffee machine before excusing myself to go upstairs and pull on a pair of sweats.

***

When I returned downstairs, Andrew had poured coffee for both of us and was seated at the table. I sat opposite, wrapped my hands around one of the mugs, lifted it to my mouth, and sipped. After the hot brew burned its way down my throat, I set the mug back on the table.

"Are you going to tell me what that was all about?"

I had no doubt that Andrew knew I was referring to the frantic banging on the door.