“You’re not…” I press my lips together, keep my eyes focused on the road before me. I’m so damn uncomfortable I feel like squirming in my seat but I keep myself contained. Worse, I don’t know exactly what to say, how to approach Alexandria without sounding like a complete wuss.
So I decide to not say anything at all.
“I’m not what?” she asks.
Damn it. Guess she heard that.
I glance in her direction quickly, not wanting to lose focus as I drive. The weather yet again is shit—all that talk of an El Nino weather system coming through the west coast for the season is proving to be correct. A torrential downpour had unloaded while we were in the restaurant with Lucy and Gabe. Now the rain fell in a slow but steady rhythm, just enough to screw with my vision and make the streets slick and extra dangerous.
She’s been quiet since we left the restaurant and it’s making me anxious. Oh, she was nice to Gabe and Lucy as we said our goodbyes, giving them both hugs and thanking them for inviting her to dinner. I’d been the one to invite her but I get it. She’s polite. Trying to make a good impression on my friends. Hoping she’ll stick around and see them again—which she will, considering she’s friends with Kelli and Jade.
This sort of thing should send me into a panic. First, I don’t want to lead a woman on and make her think she has a chance. No one has ever had a chance with me before.
Hell, I’m not even sure if Alexandria has a chance. I’m still in the exploring stages.
Second, the fact that I’m giving her this particular chance, when it could all go to shit and I still have to face her later on down the line? Insane. Again, not like me. I keep girls at a distance. I can fuck around all I want but the minute they want to see me again, want to call me, text me, hang out with their friends, meet them at a bar, get together for dinner—that’s a big fat no.
So why is Alexandria different? What makes her rise above the rest? And why the hell haven’t I fucked her yet? I haven’t put my hand down her panties. She hasn’t given me a blowjob, a hand job, nothing. Hell, I’ve barely kissed her. This is freaking unheard of.
Worse, is how worried I am right now. The minute we got into my car she went silent. I feel like I might’ve done something wrong. Somehow, I fucked this up. Girls give the silent treatment when they’re mad, when they don’t get their way, whatever. I think I did something bad and I’m at a loss as how to fix it.
Normally I don’t care enough to want to fix it. This entire situation is foreign and uncomfortable and I don’t fucking like it.
“So you’re really going to Steven’s house for Thanksgiving?” I ask.
She doesn’t even look at me, just keeps her head averted as she stares out the window. “He invited me. I had nothing else going on. So yeah. I am.”
I’m dying to know exactly why she doesn’t have anything else going on. Where are her parents? Do they live far away? I don’t even know where she’s from. I never cared enough to ask before and I’m treating Alexandria like I treat every other girl who walks into my life.
Meaning, I’m a callous asshole. And I hate that. It never bothered me before but…shit.
“Do you still like him?” I sound like an insecure jackass.
She sends me a withering look. “Only as a friend.”
“Really?” Stop, dude. Stop while you’re ahead.
“I’m here with you, aren’t I?”
We both go silent. She resumes staring out the window. I resume overthinking every little word and gesture she makes. A little sigh escapes her, the sound downright melancholy and that’s it. I can’t take it.
“Are you mad at me or something?” I blurt out. My lips go tight again and I inwardly curse at how fucking lame I sound. I have never been the type to ask a girl if she’s angry with me. I could care less. I usually hope they are mad because that means I don’t have to deal with them anymore.
She sighs again, another soft, sad sound that makes my chest ache. “I’m not mad. I’m just…it’s hard to explain.”
Hell, now I feel worse. What does she mean? “Did I—do something?”
“No, not at all. It wasn’t you.” I look at her to find she’s looking at me too, offering up a weak smile. “It’s all me.”
And that’s all she says.
She gives nothing. Not an inch. More tight-lipped than I am and I thought that was impossible. I’m afraid to dig for more information because I know how that feels.
I hate it.
We’re quiet for a few minutes as I drive, the only sound the swish of the windshield wipers whipping against the glass, the patter of rain hitting the car, the radio playing low in the background. The air isn’t tense. I don’t feel as uncomfortable anymore, but I have another question I’d like to ask her. I need to know…
“Do you want to come back to my place?” I ask, my voice perfectly even. Inside I’m a nervous wreck. I don’t want her to say no.
I’m worried she’s definitely going to say no.
More silence as I can only assume she contemplates my question and holy shit, I seriously can’t take this. She’s going to turn me down and yes, I sound like a complete asshole, but no girl has ever turned me down. What did I do to fuck this up anyway? She’ll hang out with Steven and all of his lame ass friends—fine she lives with those lame ass friends but damn it, she spends quality time with them—but she won’t hang with me.
That hurts. Hurts bad.
“Yes,” she finally says, her voice this low, sweet murmur that I feel whisper straight through me. “I’d like that.”
Relief hits me hard, along with a heady lick of anticipation. I speed up, grip the steering wheel tight, and practically race home.
“I’ve never been upstairs before,” she tells me as I follow her up the staircase. My gaze is zeroed in on her perfect ass, especially since it’s eye level. The sweater she’s wearing covers it but those jeans are damn tight. They hug her slender thighs…the entire length of her legs, which seem to go on forever.
All I can ever imagine when I look at those sexy legs are them wrapping around my waist as I plunge deep inside her wet, hot body. Swallowing hard, I glance up to find her sending me a questioning glance over her shoulder. That’s probably my cue to answer her.
“Welcome to my lair,” I tell her with a leering sneer, hoping she’ll laugh.
She doesn’t. Damn it.
At the top of the stairs, I take her by the arm and escort her to my bedroom door, which is closed. Reaching out, I turn the knob and push the door open, waving a hand that she should enter first.
Without a word, not even a smile, she does as I ask, her arm slipping out of my grasp. I watch as she walks into my room, stopping in the center as she slowly turns in a circle, her wide-eyed gaze seeming to try and take in everything all at once before those pretty eyes meet mine. “It’s huge,” she breathes.
The urge to make a “that’s what she said” joke is strong but I keep it in. She doesn’t act like she’s much in the mood to joke right now.
Unfortunately.
“It works.” I shrug. I’m being modest. I know the room is huge. Shep’s is just as huge. This house is massive for two guys who only use it to sleep, fuck, shower and party. “I’m tired of sharing the house with Shep. Jade’s always here and when I come home they glare at me like they can’t believe I have the nerve to interrupt their domestic bliss. It’s annoying.”
“Sounds like it,” she says softly as she approaches my dresser, running her fingers over the items sitting there. A bottle of cologne, a shallow dish that I throw extra change in, a Big Ben replica that I got in London when I was twelve that’s also a bank. “Big Ben?” she asks.
“It’s one of those things I can’t seem to let go,” I admit. Does that make me sentimental? Probably.
Alexandria turns to face me, leaning against the dresser. “Have you ever been? To London?”
“Yeah.” I stuff my hands into my pockets. “A few times.”
“Me too,” she admits, as she drops her head and seems to study her boots for an inordinate amount of time. “There are a lot of things I used to do.”
I go to her. The cloud of sadness that seems to cling to her depresses the fuck out of me and I don’t like it. I don’t want her sad. I prefer her snappy and full of quick comebacks, challenging me, smiling at me like she thinks I’ve been put on this earth just for her amusement.
Stopping just in front of her, I gently grab her shoulders, causing her to glance up and meet my gaze. “Tell me what’s bothering you,” I say, my voice soft but firm. I can’t take this anymore.
She takes a deep breath and starts, “It’s noth—”
It’s my turn to press my index finger against her plush, warm lips. Christ, she feels good. One simple touch and I want more. “Don’t lie to me. I want to—be here for you. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Those big eyes blink up at me, her body tense. I trace her bottom lip before I drop my hand back to her shoulder, smoothing my fingers down her upper arms with both hands. Wishing I was touching her bare skin. Trying my best to be satisfied with the soft fabric of her sweater instead. Swear to God every time she gets close my heart starts to beat a different rhythm, one I only recognize when I’m in Alexandria’s presence.
Want, want, want, want.
Yeah. That’s the rhythm. It’s how I feel when I’m with her. I’m always left wanting more.
“Family problems,” she finally says, her voice low, reluctant. “My parents. They’re…gone.”
Oh shit. “As in—they passed away?”
She shakes her head. “They’re not dead. It’s just—it’s complicated.”
I pull her in close, slipping my arms around her so I can hold her tight. She melts into me, her head on my shoulder, her hair in my face, her arms loose about my waist. It’s weird, how well she fits. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s cool. I’m not big on family discussions either,” I tell her.
“Thank you,” she whispers against my neck and I close my eyes, savoring the feel of her in my arms, her breath a warm blast of air on my skin.
I run my hand down the elegant curve of her back, my fingers catching her sweater’s fabric as they sweep back up. I’m trying to be the supportive guy and instead all I can think about is getting her naked. Because I do. Want to get Alexandria naked.
I’m desperate for it.
She lifts her head to look up at me and I think about taking advantage. It would be so easy. I’ve done it before. A girl looks up at you like Alexandria is staring at me, and you just…make it happen. They’re open, they’re a little vulnerable, but they want it.
They always want it. Want me.
There’s trust shining in her eyes. Hell, just seeing her like this makes my heart feel like it’s going to pop out of my chest, grow legs and run away. The emotions running through me are foreign. I don’t know what to do, don’t know how to handle myself. I can’t bail. It’s not fair to Alexandria and I’m not giving myself a chance.
Life isn’t so bad when you fall in love, right? Not that I’m in love with this girl. Hell, no. I do want her. I like her. Fine, I’m fucking falling for her. But not in a love way.
Definitely not in a love way.
Talk of family holidays and where I’ll be spending my Thanksgiving was the most soul crushing conversation I’ve had in a long time. Lucy’s question was completely harmless. Totally normal. Yet all I could think about was my parents stuck in prison and me, alone without a house to go home to.
I appreciate Steven’s offer that we spend Thanksgiving at his parents’ place. Kelli and I already said yes to his invitation. Tristan didn’t seem to like the idea when I mentioned it, but did he make any offers when the spotlight shone on him thanks to Lucy?
That would be a no.
Not that I expect him to feel sorry for me and take me with him to meet his parents. We’re not that serious. Flirting and a few kissing sessions does not a relationship make.
But still. That entire conversation turned into Awkward City. And I’ve been wallowing in it since we left the restaurant.
What I appreciate about Tristan is he doesn’t push. I’m evasive. Not comfortable talking about my family and what happened to them. It’s embarrassing. He’s curious. I know he wants to help—and find out the scoop. When I throw up a few blocks, he doesn’t dig any further. And I love that. He just offers comfort, holds me close and treats me so tenderly I almost want to cry.
Worse? I almost want to confess everything. My parents are convicted felons who are doing prison time. That they embezzled money from my father’s company—stole the very money so many people trusted them to invest. They robbed so many people of their future and all we had left to show for it was a gorgeous house full of beautiful furniture and designer things.
Nothing substantial. Nothing meaningful. Nothing good. My parents aren’t good people.
Sometimes it worries me that I’ll turn out to be a bad person too.
Tristan slowly lets go of me and I step away, watching as he walks over to his desk and pulls his phone out of his pocket, setting it on top of a docking system I hadn’t noticed before. Within seconds music is playing, some sort of mellow rock stuff that again, I recognize as from the 90s.
“Do you have a grunge thing?” I ask when he turns around. I’m trying to lighten the mood and I hope he plays along.
“We all have a grunge thing. Me, Shep and Gabe.” He ticks their names off of his long fingers. “There’s no quality music anymore. It’s all pop shit.”
“I’ll have you know I’m a huge fan of Demi Lovato,” I tell him with as straight a face as possible. Fine, I am a fan. I almost felt too old watching that Camp Rock movie on Disney years ago but I loved it. Sonny with a Chance, starring Demi? Loved that show too. I’ve always loved her.
“Ugh. Next you’ll tell me you’re a Bieber fan,” he says, looking like he just sucked on a lemon.
“Ick, no way. I prefer Nick Jonas.” Yeah, of course I do. That boy grew up fine as hell. Why wouldn’t I be a fan?
Tristan groans and holds his head like it’s going to explode. “You’re killing me here.”
I laugh and he sends me a rueful grin, his hands dropping to his sides. The smile fades and then he’s just staring at me, making me hyperaware of the fact that I’m here. In his room. Just the two of us.
Alone.
“So.” My voice is artificially bright and I twirl around so my back is to him. I can’t deal with the way he’s watching me. Having him so close, all that potent energy coming at me in thick, heady waves is screwing with my brain. My gaze locks on the giant king-sized bed with its silvery blue comforter and dark brown leather headboard. It’s a luxurious bed. Simple yet masculine. Comfortable looking. A bed. And we know why I’m here. It’s not to take a nap.
My knees wobble at the mental image of Tristan and I wrapped around each other in his bed and I mentally tell myself to get my shit together.
“So…what?” he asks, his deep, slightly rough voice sending a ripple effect across my skin.
“Do you bring lots of girls to your room?” I ask, tensing in preparation for his answer. I’m sure he brings tons of girls up here. I imagine these walls have seen and heard things I couldn’t begin to comprehend.
“I don’t bring any girls to my room,” he says, so carefully I turn to face him once more, my mouth hanging open.
“Wh-what do you mean?” Oh God, I’m stuttering. This can’t be happening.
“I’ve never believed any other woman I’ve met is worthy to see my bedroom,” he says, his gaze never wavering. “Just you.”
My cheeks go warm. What is he even saying? And God, the way he’s looking at me. I can almost feel his eyes touch my skin as they wander all over me. “Tristan,” I chastise. Like a dummy I can’t come up with anything else to say.
“I fucking love it when you say my name.” His voice is fierce, so is his stride as he starts walking toward me. “Say it again.”
What in the world…
“Tristan!” I start to giggle, confused by his sudden shift in mood.
“I’m serious. It makes me crazy when you say it.” He stops in front of me, so close I could reach out and touch him. Or he could touch me—and I want him to make the first move. I’m not feeling capable enough tonight. Besides the ball is in his court.
I clear my throat, wondering if it’s best if we cut the evening short. “Maybe we should—”
He cuts me off. “I knew if I brought you up here I’d never want to let you leave. The thought of you naked, in my bed…it twists me up inside. I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of you.”
Oh. Wow. My face feels like it’s on fire. “Stop, Tristan,” I say weakly. His words are doing things to me. Making me feel…almost crazed with wanting him.
A little growl sounds from low in his throat. “From the first moment I saw you, I can’t think about anything else. I’m like—I’m fucking Romeo over here.”
Wait a minute. What he’s saying—his words sound familiar?
“I fantasize about your lips.” He touches my face, his fingertips running down my cheek, skimming across my mouth before his hand drops. “Your perfect, pink lips...”
Giddiness explodes in my chest. “Oh, my God.” I tackle him hard so he has no choice but to brace himself as he grabs hold of me around my waist so we both don’t topple to the ground. “You’re quoting fucking Harry Goldenblatt to me!” How much Sex and the City did he watch by himself?
Tristan dips his head, the smile on his face so genuinely sweet I’m breathless. “Charlotte’s my favorite.” He kisses me, the touch of his lips on mine making me immediately want more. “You remind me of her.”
“Well, you don’t remind me of Harry at all.” Charlotte’s second husband on SATC was a bald, sweating mess of a lawyer who loved Charlotte with his entire being. They were the cutest couple ever.
Tristan is a hot hunk of man flesh who uses and discards women like they’re Kleenex. Until…me? This is hard for me to wrap my head around but somehow, he likes me enough, is attracted to me enough, that he wants to reveal himself to me, bit by bit. Real bits.
Every new glimpse I get makes me like him even more.
“I feel his pain though,” Tristan murmurs, his mouth on mine once again, stealing my words, stealing my breath for the quickest second before he breaks the kiss. “I want you so bad, it’s fucking killing me.”
I set a trembling hand on his cheek, overwhelmed at his words and the gesture behind them. He watched my favorite TV show because of me. For me. That he would quote some of the sexiest dialogue I’d ever heard—I wanted to jump bald, sweaty Harry Goldenblatt the first time I watched him make that brazen, impassioned speech to Charlotte—touches me.
Such a small thing, really, but it means so much. It means he cares.
And that is the one thing that’s turning me on more than anything else.