Page 30 of Dad Next Door
“There it is.” I pointed to the elusive corkscrew. “Can you grab that for me?”
Tristan leaned over and scooped it up from where it was shoved into the corner of the sectional.
My eyes were drawn to his back as his hoodie lifted, showing off a strip of skin and the dimples above his ass where his jeans had slid down.
He sat up and handed me the opener. “I didn’t know if you prefer white or red, but that’s one of my favorite wines. Hopefully you like it too.”
“I’m sure I will.” I focused on popping the cork and not on why I’d just checked out his back. “I don’t know much about wine, but I generally like both. What about you? Do you have a preference?”
“Not really, but I’ll usually choose white if I have the chance because too much red wine gives me a headache.”
“Are you allergic to sulfates?” I put down the bottle and went to get glasses from one of the cupboards in my outdoor kitchen.
“I think it’s more of an intolerance than an allergy. I didn’t know you could sing,” he said when I sat next to him. “I heard you from next door. You have an incredible voice.”
“Thanks.” I poured out two glasses of wine. “It’s been an age since I’ve had a chance to sing like that. I used to spend hours jamming with my friends when we were all wannabe actors or singers. I don’t get to do that very often anymore. I miss it.”
He took the glass I offered him. “I love singing. I can’t carry a tune to save my life, but my shower walls get serenaded on the regular.”
Chuckling, I took a sip of my wine. The crisp tang danced over my tongue. I knew jack shit about wine, but this brand tasted expensive.
“My whole house gets daily performances. My dad loves to tell me stories about how I used to sing myself to sleep when I was a kid. Some of my favorite memories from when I was little are when we’d go for drives on back roads and he’d crank up his music so we could sing together at the top of our lungs.”
“Sounds like you really love it.”
“I do. I wanted to do that for a living once upon a time. Back when I was young and dumb.”
“I doubt you were ever dumb.” He picked up a slice of flatbread and took a bite. His eyes widened as he chewed. “Damn. You weren’t kidding when you said your friend can cook. But you wanted to be a singer? Like in a band?”
I shook my head. “Broadway.”
“Broadway?” He gaped at me.
“Yup.” I folded a piece of flatbread in half so I could eat it in one bite. “I was a musical theater kid. Went to a performing arts high school and everything.”
“Did you actually live in New York?”
I nodded and took a moment to swallow my food. “Spent four years in the city working crap jobs and living in squalor like every other wannabe actor.”
“Wow. That’s… That’s really cool.” He made a face. “Do people still say cool? I can’t keep track. Leo talks in code half the time. I have no idea where half the stuff he says comes from.”
“Probably YouTube.”
“Yeah, probably.” Tristan snagged another flatbread. “I swear that’s all he watches when he’s at Simon’s. But back to your adventures in the city. Were you in anything big?”
“I had a couple small parts and was an understudy for a few shows, but most of my work was off-Broadway. I love the community there, and I’ll always love the theater, but it’s not an easy life. Especially now. It was unaffordable when I left. Now it’s basically impossible to live in the city unless you have a high-paying job. Most actors barely make enough to qualify for health insurance, and it’s even worse for stage actors unless you’re a headliner.”
Tristan leaned back in his chair and finished his wine. His posture was stiff, like he still couldn’t relax.
I held out my hand for his glass, silently offering a refill.
He handed it to me. “Are you sure we’re okay? I still feel really bad about last night.”
“We’re fine.” I refilled his glass. “If I had to end a friendship every time one of my friends saw me naked, I wouldn’t have very many friends left. Hell, you’d see way more of me than that if you googled my stage name.”
Tristan chuckled. “It’s getting very hard to not ask when you say stuff like that.”
“You can ask if you want.” I handed him back his glass. “I’m impressed you’ve held out for so long.”