At No Time || Bruno Mars

43

Peter had held in his suspicions of Trystan for nearly three days before he felt he was about to burst at the seams with the secret. It was not that he felt indebted to tell anyone what he was suspecting, but he wanted reassurance that what he planned to do was not absolutely crazy.

He asked Neal and Roger to meet him on his lunch break at a men's club where he was a member. He knew the owner well and had even invested a small portion of his money into the establishment, so he was free to bring whomever he pleased. His friend's were ecstatic to have received the invitation. Both had the social status to be apart of the club, but they left that objectification to Peter, constantly jesting about how he fit right in with "uppity, frat boys." Nevertheless, they were always up for free meals, drinks, pool, and enough sport games that made one feel as if they were an athlete themselves from watching so many.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hernandez. I've been informed you will be joined with some guests today?" A young man, Peter could only assume he was a college student, welcomed him as he entered the large space, quality air-conditioning warding off the hot, still air of the late Californian summer.

Peter nodded at the appropriately dressed greeter, affirming, "That's right," before removing his sunglasses and placing them inside of his suit jacket. "They should be arriving shortly."

"Okay, sir. I'll bring them to you when they arrive," Johnny—his assumed name from the tag on his vest—assured, and Peter patted his shoulder before giving him a twenty-dollar tip.

"Thank you–thank you, sir!" the younger man appreciated graciously as Peter walked away to his usual table. Peter knew well enough that the employees within the establishment were not all sons of millionaires; hell, they would not have been working if they were. He knew most were only working at the "uppity, frat-boy" club as his friends had so eloquently put it, to pay for college. Peter himself had not gone so never knew the life of debt, and he knew that with every new year, school got more and more expensive, so he did little things like large tipping to help some of the young men out. It was least he could do knowing they had to kiss butt to some of Los Angeles' biggest assholes.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hernandez," a second man, a waiter this time, greeted him. "Can I get you anything while we wait on your guests to arrive?"

"A glass of scotch would do me fine right now. Thanks, Al."

The server ambled away and then returned just as briskly, pouring a small amount of the strong ember liquid into a rock glass, diluted it with a little water, and left Peter to his lonesome, which inevitably, led him to his thoughts.

As he swirled the scotch around in the cup and took an uninterested sip, his mind reeled to the very thing he wanted to talk to his friends about: Trystan and seeing her.

He had not seen the woman and wondered how much she had changed. Was she still the same bubbly woman who was prone to playful teasing? Was she still anxious, clicking pens to ease nervousness but was quick to stand her ground if need be? Was she still looking out for everyone's best interest even at times where she should have been looking out for herself? Was she still loving? Was she still Trystan?

The hypothetical interrogation Peter had involved himself in was so loud that he had not known his friend's had approached until Neal poked him roughly in the shoulder.

"You with us, P?" he chuckled as he sat in one of the chairs adjacent to his spaced-out friend. Peter blinked and then glanced at them both as if surprised to him there.

"Oh, sorry. Hey, man." He looked at his other dark-haired friend who was donned in a t-shirt and basketball shorts. "Roger, did you know where you were coming today?"