It only took two minutes to get out of the car and find Tristan in the back of the restaurant. He was unmistakable, already swarmed by female servers leaning against the booths beside him. Without saying a word, Samantha slid into the bench across from him and remained quiet. She waited there a moment, until all eyes were focused on her, then leaned across the table and whispered, “You’re wrong, my boyfriend trusts me. That’s why he doesn’t care I’m with you.”

Two servers raised their brows, as if making the assumption she intended, then took the carafe of coffee and headed for the back room.

Tristan only shrugged, as though slightly amused by her response. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, grinning.

“That’s all you have to say for yourself?”

He laughed, not in a humorous way, but in a way that was cocky and irritating. “I’m glad he trusts you, Samantha, that’s great. But he’s a fool.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t trust me?”

“Not as far as I could throw you.”

“Why?” She’d never had anyone say that before, so blatantly and matter-of-factly. She would have screamed had no one else been around to hear.

He opened the menu, dismissing her, then changed his mind and looked up again. “You’re only one bad decision away from climbing into my bed. You, and everyone else.”

She choked. “You’re full of yourself.”

“I’m honest.”

She grabbed his glass of water and downed it by half, even though what she really wanted to do was throw it in his face. “Maybe that’s what you’re used to,” she said, around large gulps of water. “But that’s not me.”

He leaned back in his seat and smiled. The one that wrinkled his eyes at the corners, and made her stomach twist with nervousness. “It only takes one moment, Samantha. One twinge of doubt. One single disagreement for someone to cheat.” He leaned forward again, bracing his forearms on the table. “He shouldn’t trust you. You, or anyone. That’s what I’m saying. It’s nothing personal.”

She leaned in, not intimidated. “You say my boyfriend shouldn’t trust me, yet in the same breath say it’s nothing personal? Who does that? Who says things like that, expecting someone to not take offense? It is personal Tristan. Very personal, and I take great offense to it.”

He leaned back in his seat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

But he didn’t look sincere. Not sincere in the slightest, and she began to shake her head. She picked up the menu to cover her face, needing to get away from him in any way she could. Her blood was heating throughout her entire body. She was so angry she couldn’t see straight—and that was something she didn’t want him to see. For him to know how much his words had affected her.

This conversation was completely ironic, too. Because not so long ago, this man had taken her first kiss. Not only taken it, but ripped it out from under her like a magic trick. Then not even twenty-four hours later was shoving another girl in her face. Yes, he had made no promises, no verbal commitment that anything would come from it, but no words were needed after a kiss like that. No promise could replace what their bodies had told her.

“I feel bad for you,” she said quietly, unable to resist.

“Why?” he answered, amused.

“Because you have no faith.”

“It makes things easier.”

“How so?” She lowered her menu, having expected him to disagree. But he didn’t. He answered in such a nonchalant way that she needed to see him.

He was leaning back in his seat, his arms braced on either side booth. “Because—when you don’t care, they can’t hurt you.” He set his napkin on the table, then stood and looked down to the hall. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to make a phone call.”

She watched him walk away, unable to form a response because bile had begun to climb up her throat. The way he said the words was so heartbreaking. As if he knew all too well what hurt felt like. As if he’d experienced it more than once.

He pulled open the back door, took his cell from his back pocket, and began talking. He was still in her line of vision, and she couldn’t look away. His expression became angry and intense as he walked around the corner, and then she couldn’t see him any longer.

She remembered what Renee said about him having a hard couple of years, and for the first time, she wondered what happened. What could have been so terrible to cause such a jaded view on life? Wondered if the person he was talking to now was the cause of it?

The server came back at that moment, pulling Samantha’s attention as she set two plates on the table. Both the same order. A cheese burger and french fries.

“What’s this?” Samantha asked, without looking up.

“A burger,” the woman replied. “Is that not what you wanted? He said—”

“He ordered me food?” She looked up, slightly out of breath from shock.

“Yes,” the server answered, confused.

“Why?” Samantha searched the server’s stressed face, then took pity on her and shook her head. “You know what—” She placed her napkin on her lap and decided not to over think it. “It doesn’t matter. Thank you, it looks delicious.”

The woman nodded, still flustered, then turned to the nearby table and began clearing it.

Samantha had barely touched her fries when Tristan came back inside and immediately started eating. She glanced up at him, a weird feeling tightening in the bottom of her stomach. “Why did you order me food?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

His eyes met hers, bright blue but distant. “Do you always ask so many questions?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “How did you know I’d come inside?”

He lifted his burger to his mouth and took a bite. “Because,” he began, “I could tell you were hungry.”

She tilted her head to the side, clearly confused.

“Either that or—” But he shook his head, as though deciding not to answer.

“What?” she asked.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“No. You can’t do that. You can’t just say something like that and not finish.”

He popped a fry into his mouth and grinned. “Why not?”

“Because it’s like dangling a carrot in front of a starving person.”

He paused with a fry halfway to his mouth, seeming amused. “And you’re the starving person?” he asked. But he said it in a hushed tone. One that sent a shiver down her spine.

She swallowed hard, trying without success to recover, but then he pushed his plate to the side, and leaned forward in his seat, as though what he was going to say held great meaning. “What I was going to say was that you looked hungry. Either that, or you haven’t been fucked well in a really long time.”

Her breath caught in her throat, because she’d never been talked to like that in her life. She looked over her shoulder, to make sure no one had heard him. “My sex life is none of your business,” she whispered back.

He leaned back in his seat and took a bite of burger. “You’re absolutely right,” he said then. “Absolutely.”

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“You told me to.”

“I never thought you’d be so crude.”

He shrugged. “I never promised to be a gentleman.”

She paused briefly, a fry halfway to her mouth.

He met her eyes, too, as though something had sparked inside him, but then he looked away.

She recovered a second later, stuffing her mouth with handful of fries to end the conversation. His words had struck a chord. One that was fresher than she thought it would be. Because once upon a time, he had promised to be a gentleman. And she had believed in him. For a moment too long.

* * *

The rest of their meal had gone on without much conversation. They ate their food quietly, not even making eye contact until the server brought the bill. Samantha insisted on paying, she didn’t have the money to spare; it was simply out of principle that she couldn’t let Tristan pay. In the end, he’d slapped down a couple of twenties in the middle of the table and walked out of the restaurant, leaving her with a choice.

A choice to either take the money and pay with her card, hoping to sneak the twenties back into Tristan’s wallet without notice. Or swallow down her long resentment for the man who’d taken her first kiss, and let him win. She chose the latter, because in the end, she knew she needed to pick her battles with Tristan. They had a long journey ahead of them, and she had an inkling this wouldn’t be the last disagreement they shared.

Back in the Mustang, she climbed into the passenger seat and fetched her ear buds out of her bag. She’d loaded a dozen audiobooks onto her iPod before she’d left, and now she started one of them. One she’d been itching to listen to for months but never had the time. It was a story about a woman returning to her best friend’s wedding. Which was ironic considering that was exactly what Samantha was doing. But it comforted her like any good story always had. Giving her the distraction she needed from the man who sat beside her.

Eventually, she took one of her pillows from the back seat and let herself fall asleep, only to wake sometime later, parked in a Motel 6 parking lot.

Tristan handed her a key, and they both went to their separate rooms, where Samantha sat now, the phone to her ear, listening to it ringing as she called her best friend.

“Sam! Thank God it’s you, I’m so freaking stressed.”

She laughed sleepily into the receiver, so happy to hear Renee’s voice, and lay back on the bed. “Now that’s a greeting. What’s up? Why are you so stressed?”

Her friend let out an audible breath. “I should have never tried to pull off a wedding so close to a show. People are calling me left and right, and there are rehearsals and performances. I feel like I don’t have any time to breathe.”

Samantha frowned, hating the fact all this was happening so close to the wedding, but at the same time felt helpless. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Nothing. Well, except get here faster.”

Samantha closed her eyes, because she wanted nothing more. “I’m working on it. Believe me.”

“How’s everything with Tristan…? Are you guys getting along?”

“Everything’s fiiiine,” Samantha said, drawing out the vowels to make the question sound needless. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. I talked to him earlier. He was weird. I thought maybe it had something to do with you.”

Samantha pulled in a deep breath and picked at her fingernail. She wished she knew what he’d said, but asking that sort of question would only make her sound guilty. So she shook her head, stuffing down the frustration for Renee’s benefit. She wouldn’t add to her best friend’s stress by complaining about Tristan. She didn’t have to share what a cocky bastard he was. Not now, anyway. She would save that for later.

“Things are fine, Renee. Better than fine. We’re making good time, and I’m mostly listening to audiobooks.” Which was true. It was all the times in between that felt like hell.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Renee took a deep breath, as though some huge weight was lifted from her chest. “Okay, good. Where are you guys? How much longer until you get here?”

Samantha’s eyes fluttered with exhaustion, but a curve pulled at her lips as she glanced around the room. “Motel 6. I have no idea where though. I fell asleep.”

“Ahh… Well, go to sleep, Sam. It sounds like you need it.”

Samantha nodded, agreeing completely. “When I get to NY, let’s have a spa day. Just me and you: massages, facials, the works.”

Renee sighed. “Sounds like heaven.”

“It will be.” Samantha let go of the phone, anchoring it in place between her face and the mattress, feeling herself start to doze again. “We should get off the phone and get some sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Sounds good.”

“Night Ren.”

“Night Sam.”