Page 8 of Finding Michael

“More like the Michael’s ass section,” Barry grumbled. He finished his soup, then stood. “I’ve already had that ass and it’s not…whatever.” He stomped out of the room.

Molly closed her eyes. “Well, that was awkward. I’ll be right back.” She opened her eyes, then abandoned her food. She darted through the door and left Tristan alone with Michael.

“Wow. Who knew it would be so exciting here?” Michael chuckled. “I just wanted supper.”

“Do you eat here often?” Tristan stirred the remnants of his soup. “Molly makes good food.”

“She does and I do.” Michael folded his hands and sighed. “I never learned to cook all that well and since we both live alone, we hang out together.” He paused, then waggled his fingers. “There’s nothing romantic involved. She was one of the first people to speak to me when I moved here to Sullavan. She’s been so nice and I’m grateful to have her as a friend.”

“Good to know.” He finished his soup, then snatched a roll from the basket. “What about…that?” He nodded to the seat where Barry had been. “He’s interesting.”

“If you know what’s good for you, you won’t get involved with him. It’s a roller coaster. One minute he’s Dr. Jekyll and the next he’s Mr. Hyde. He’s full of himself and thinks only about how he looks. I can’t say he was entirely not worth the time when we were together. I learned a lot about myself. I’m good at being alone and not at being with someone who doesn’t care about me.”

“I’ve known a few of those in my time.” He pushed the bowl away. He’d been the narcissistic one far too often in his life. “Maybe he sees something in you that he can’t let go.”

“Who knows?” Michael sat back in his seat. A slow smile curled on his lips. “So, what really brings you to Sullavan? Besides me rambling on about my ex-boyfriend. There has to be something. Is Al really your uncle?”

“He is.” He might as well be honest. He couldn’t deny the attraction between them. “Al is my uncle. He’s my mother’s brother. I wasn’t close to him in the last few years. I have my career and he lived here. We didn’t intersect. But I’m here because I’m supposed to meet with a lawyer about his estate. I’m also working on a book. I like to write about small-town situations and unique characters. I remembered Sullavan and thought it would be nice to turn the somewhat morose vacation into something memorable.”

Michael nodded once. “I commend you. When my father passed, I couldn’t bring myself to go home. I didn’t want it to be real. I waited until long after the funeral before I returned. I’m sure my mother hated me, but she never said anything. My cousin told me I was spoiled.”

“Death is hard to deal with. I’m not looking forward to finding out what’s involved with the estate.” He had no idea what to expect. The note from the attorney hadn’t said much.

“I’m sorry for your loss. Like I said, I liked your uncle. He was a good man.” Michael stood. “I should go. Good luck with the meeting about the estate and your story. If you need any suggestions or info about Sullavan, come to the library. I’ll do my best to help.”

“I will. Thanks.” He stood and shook hands with Michael. “Night.” He waited in the dining room until Michael left. His fingers tingled from Michael’s touch. He shook his head. The electricity between him and Michael had to be a result of him wanting anyone since he hadn’t had sex in what seemed like forever. Any guy touching him would cause a reaction.Right?

He carried the empty bowls and used silver to the kitchen. When he glanced out of the window, he noticed Barry and Molly on the back porch. He couldn’t hear what they were saying to each other, but she didn’t look happy. Tristan abandoned the dirty dishes in the sink. He refused to get involved.

Tristan went up to his room and locked the door. A hundred thoughts bombarded him now that he was alone. He couldn’t get Michael out of his head. The way he spoke, laughed and those eyes… He wanted to kiss the librarian. He flopped onto the bed and rubbed the growing bulge in his pants. Wouldn’t his ex be shocked? He hadn’t lost his sex drive. It’d just gone into hibernation. He chuckled. He hadn’t come to Sullavan for a date, much less a one-night stand. He needed characters and a story. Would Barry be one of the players in Tristan’s story? Absolutely. Every tale needed a few foils. What about Michael?

He groaned. His stories tended to feature at least one sexy, brooding man. Michael fit that bill. He wanted to feel the softness of Michael’s skin, to kiss him and find out if Michael moaned during sex.

Jesus, he needed help. Tristan rolled over, then snagged his phone from the nightstand. The LED light blinked.Shit.He had messages or missed calls. He scrolled through the list. The emails could be handled later and the texts weren’t important. Still, he owed his publisher an update.

He typed out a message.I’ve got the outline started and am working on character sheets. Should have a draft in six weeks at the earliest. I’m neck-deep in research.

He hit send and swiped back to the main screen, but a blank message bubble appeared.

Hi.

What the hell?He frowned. No name, no idea who wanted to talk to him. Should he answer?Nah.He swiped the bubble away, switched his chat settings to invisible and cleared the open apps, but the bubble came back.

I know you’re there.

So?He closed the bubble again, but it popped up a third time.

Stop pushing me away.

He’d had enough.Who is this?

:)

What in the hell was going on?Who are you?

Stop playing coy. You know.

No, he didn’t and he wasn’t in the mood for games.Good night.

Don’t try to hide. I see you. I always see you.

He turned his phone off. He’d had enough creepy for the night. Tristan left the phone on the nightstand again, then switched off the light. At one point, he thought he’d had an email stalker in New York, but the guy had been arrested. Could he be back? Or was this a new one?Fuck.If he kept worrying about whoever was messaging him, he’d never get anything done. Ignoring the person wouldn’t help, either, but he had little choice. He had to move on with his life.

He buried his face in the pillow and breathed in the scent of the detergent used on the sheets. He needed a plan for the next day. Something beyond the morning meeting with the attorney. If he took his pens and a notebook along, he could work on the character sketches while he waited. Maybe he could walk around town. There had to be at least three or four old Victorian houses that might work for the story. He should stop at the library, too, and figure out if the attraction to Michael was nothing more than a fluke.

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