A Touch of Rain

Chapter 2-2

Sipping on his second glass of scotch and soda, Tristan sat on the first step of his front porch, soaking in the last of the afternoon’s rays. Still clad in his stiff navy-blue suit, he’d unfastened his tie and tossed his shoes off into the grass. He never drank alcohol during the day anymore, and because he’d skipped lunch, the booze was hitting him hard already. He shouldn’t have had the second drink. He decided he’d take a long nap before his will weakened even more and he returned Markus’s many phone calls. No, he wasn’t going to give in and go out with Markus tonight. Markus had just been fired. Going out to get hammered was probably not the best idea.

But it was tough to resist.

Though he still had a job, Tristan had been put on what Jeff had called a “realignment plan.” Basically, probation. They were giving him three months to bring his sales back up again. He thought that was fair of them and hadn’t argued. But he was now facing weeks of grueling work. He’d have to find that hunger again. Would have to push himself over his limits. No more sleeping in on weekday mornings and cramming all his appointments into the afternoon. How was he going to do this?

Tristan saw Rain and his son crossing the street, and the sight of Rain quickened Tristan’s pulse. The man was so damn cute. Tristan set his glass down, hoping Rain would stop a minute to talk with him again. “Hello there,” he said, greeting Rain with a lazy smile. He’d have to be careful not to let the booze talk. The sun was in his eyes and Tristan shaded them with his hand. “And you must be Pip.” The kid was his father’s spitting image. Same green eyes, too.

Pip walked up the three steps leading to his porch and entered the house, mumbling a quick “Hello.” He was probably too shy, like his dad.

Rain slipped the schoolbag off his shoulders. Dressed in weathered red jeans, white Vans, and a lavender hooded sweater, Rain looked like an artistically-bent teenager off to the skate park. He stood on his side of the short wrought-iron fence dividing their lawns, clearly not quite sure of what to say.

Tristan raised his glass. “TGIF, right?”

“Oh, are we Friday already?”

Tristan drained the last of the scotch. He could feel Rain’s nervous energy from where he sat and it made him even bolder. “Yes, we’re Friday,” he said, leaning his elbows on his knees, sustaining Rain’s stare. “It’s been a long week and an even longer day. Thus, the early drink.”

“I’m so lost this week. I thought we were Thursday.” Rain stuck his hands inside the pouch of his sweater. “So, then no homework tonight. Cool.”

“That’s right.” Something about Rain’s quirky way made Tristan feel good. That and the scotch. “Care to join me?” He showed Rain the empty glass. “I fix a good Bloody Caesar.” Grabbing the railing, he slowly stood and realized that the alcohol had gone straight to his head. Here he was, acting like an arrogant flirt again. Would he never learn?

Rain looked up at his front door. “Uh, no, thanks. I need to start on dinner.”

“So, you’ll take a rain check on it. Well, suit yourself.” Tristan leaned on the bannister, glass in hand, knowing it would be best to go back inside before he crossed the line. “If you change your mind,” he said anyway, “and wanna have a good time, just knock on my door.”

Had he said that? Had he really f*****g said that?

Knock on my door for a good time?

What was he, an invitation written on a bathroom stall wall? Rain wasn’t some dude he was picking up at a bar near closing time.

“Okay, thanks,” Rain muttered and turned away without saying another word, hurrying inside.

“Way-to-go,” Tristan said, after Rain had shut his door. “Smooth, Holt. Real smooth.” He grabbed his shoes and locked himself up in his apartment, before he did any more damage.