“It’s okay,” he reassures me. “She died in a car accident when I was seventeen.” His gaze flicks to the window. “Quinton was actually driving.”
“What?” I whisper in shock. Quinton was responsible for an accident that killed someone? “Quinton is your cousin, right? I think I remember Nova mentioning that the first time we met.”
“Yeah. And the car accident was just that—an accident.” His eyes lands back on me. “He was sober and everything, just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“But you’re friends now?”
“Yeah, we’ve been through some tough shit together.”
“And you forgave him?” I’m baffled and completely intrigued by the idea—intrigued by Tristan.
“It was an accident,” he states again with a modest shrug. “And what good would it have done for me to stay mad at him? Trust me, he paid his penance.”
His words remind me of my own penance, something I’m not sure I’ve paid for yet, since I’m not sure I’m really helping anyone. What am I doing exactly?
“Jeez, you’re like a good person.” I eye him over, feeling as though I’m seeing him for the first time. “Most people wouldn’t forgive like that.”
“My parents didn’t—still don’t. And maybe that’s why I did forgive him so easily, because I saw what their hatred did to them.” He shakes his head then places his hands on the counter, one on each side of me near my hips. It’s not a movement to get close to me, though, more to hold himself up. “My mom’s practically lost her mind over it and hates me for forgiving him.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you.”
“Well, she doesn’t like me.”
“Neither does mine,” I say sadly. “She wasn’t a very good person.”
“It’s hard to believe the woman who brought you into the word could be a bad person.” His lips quirk.
And just like that, the mood shifts. It happens so rapidly, as if we can’t remain depressed for too long when we’re around each other.
“Aw, and Pretty Boy is back.” I grin at him.
“I guess you bring it out in me.” When he smiles at me, I feel all squishy inside that I put the happiness on his face.
“Speaking of which…” He pushes back, and I frown at the distance between us. He rounds the counter, going to the sink and opening the cupboard below, then he crouches down to read the note scrawled on the wood.
“I used to fall asleep reading it,” I admit. When he peers up at me in astonishment, I shyly add, “It reminds me of that night you stepped in when Conner tried to hit me.” I hop off the counter and amble over to him. “I don’t get to feel safe a lot.”
He stares up at me in bewilderment. “So you thought about me a lot while I was gone for those three months?”
I nod, feeling anxious and jittery, though not in a negative manner. In fact, if anything, it makes me feel alive, like I’m finally breathing for the first time in years. “Did you think about me at all?”
He hesitates and then nods. “Every day… all the damn time.”
We stare at each other, breathing ravenously. Then he slowly places a hand on each of my legs, his fingers splaying across my flesh just above my knees. As he stands up, his palms glide up my legs and all the way up my dress, slipping just under the hem and resting near my ass, the entire time his eyes never wavering from me.
It’s been ages since I’ve allowed someone to touch me like this. The last time it happened, I forced my soul to die so I wouldn’t have to feel what was happening to me. What I did.
This time, I feel it, though.
Good God, do I feel it.
A deep, throbbing heat coils up my legs and between my thighs. I bite down on my lip hard as I concentrate on breathing. I have to angle my head to look up into his hungry eyes and he looks down at me, urging me closer as he shuts his eyes, ready to kiss me. My lips part, ready for the kiss. Maybe more ready than I should be.
Then I hear Mason laughing from outside, and it reminds me of my life. I pull back, worried Mason will run inside and catch me kissing my “friend,” which is who I told him Tristan is when I introduced him.
“Wait,” I breathe out with confliction.
Tristan’s eyelids lift open, self-doubt written all over his face as he withdraws his hands from beneath my dress.
I start to panic.
Get confused.
What to do?
Hide behind my walls again?
Go back to being lonely?
Before I can sink too deep into my worries, I lace my fingers through his and make a choice as I guide him across the kitchen, telling myself I can have one fucking day to enjoy myself. It’s my birthday and I’m so tired.
Tired of fighting what I want.
“Not out here,” I say in a raspy voice.
My heartbeat is erratic as I lead him down the hallway, figuring out where to go. The bedroom seems too intimate and the closet seems too weird. The only choice left is the bathroom, which isn’t ideal but is better than the last option, which is to not go through with this.
I pull Tristan inside and kick the door behind us, relieved to see that the bathroom is somewhat cleaned up. “I don’t want Mason seeing us kissing or anything… I don’t think he’s ready for that.” I slump against the door, biting my lip when his gaze drifts to my heaving chest. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that, either.”
His eyes trail up my neckline, to my lips, finally coming to rest on my eyes. Hunger burns in his expression. He grips the counter to the side of him, like he’s afraid he’s going to fall.
“Ready for what?” he asks huskily, causing my stomach to flutter.
“For anyone to see me kissing you,” I admit, grasping the doorknob to hold myself up.
“Avery, if you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to. I know you have your rules, and I promised you I’d follow them.”
“I know, but it’s my birthday and I… I don’t know. I just want to do what I want to do for once.”
“And what exactly do you want?” His voice is low, deep, his gaze blazing with desire. “Because sometimes I get mixed signals from you.”
He’s right. I have told him countless times I just want to be friends. I’m sure it’s confusing. I bite down on my lip even harder, still unsure what exactly I want, but I guess he takes it as a sign to attack me. And boy, oh, boy does he attack me. One minute, he’s halfway across the bathroom near the sink, and the next thing I know, his lips are crushing mine.