Tristan moved in close for a moment to bring his mouth to her ear. “Relax, girlfriend, we’re doing fine.”
Zoey looked back up and this time was able to recognize the elation in his eyes. It was like he had given her an engraved invitation to cut loose. She accepted.
They swayed and grooved in unison, their gazes now locked on each other. They didn’t touch, didn’t bump or grind. But it was sensual, oh, so sensual, and Zoey felt all the other dancers fade off into the background until it was the two of them alone on the dance floor. His arms didn’t freakishly flail. His feet didn’t look like he was stomping grapes. All the energy and motion generated from his hips. Music was putting him at ease, and Zoey was eager to follow him there. It ended much too soon. When the song was over and the spell was broken, he extended an arm for her to walk ahead of him back to the table, and she did so on legs that threatened to wobble.
Tristan had danced himself into a sweat and abandoned his jacket, tossing it into the booth. Zoey noted that his shirt had a strategic amount of shirttail not tucked into his pants. She found it unlikely that he came upon the carelessly casual look by accident.
Zoey sat back down and fanned her face, blaming her glistening forehead on the excursion on the dance floor. Ruth and her friends were well into the festivities and there was little room left at the table. College guy had called over his wingman, and the table was littered with glasses as the server tried in vain to keep up with clearing the empties. Zoey didn’t dare look directly at Tristan for fear he would be able to read her thoughts, but she could feel him watching her. She reached for a random champagne glass she hoped was hers and took a sip, peering at him momentarily from above the rim. Tristan’s attention was diverted when Abbie grabbed his arm and dragged him back to the dance floor. He continued to dance with anyone who asked, and Zoey went back to watching. This time though she no longer felt any unexplained animosity as she did so. It turned out his full attention was more than she could handle. A strange role reversal, worrying about herself instead of him.
Ruth continued to dance the night away, alternating between Tristan, college guy, wingman, and several of Blake’s fellow bachelor partyers, who had joined Blake when he made his way down from the party on the second floor of the club upon spotting her.
“Come on.” Ruth literally tried to pull Blake onto the dance floor to no avail. “Loosen up that tie and let’s get this party started.”
Blake didn’t budge from where he was standing. With a slight shake of his head and a knowing look, he took a sip from the bottle of beer he was holding.
“Don’t worry, sexy lady, I got my boogie shoes on.” One of Blake’s friends, who’d been introduced as Randy, got between them. “Let’s show the man what he’s missing.”
Ruth blew Blake a little kiss and grabbed Randy’s hand. He lifted his arm, gave Ruth a twirl, and they went off to the dance floor.
Zoey liked Blake well enough, even if he was, at times, too serious. The girls often teased him about his RBF—Resting Brood Face. He was an odd addition to Ruth’s circle of zaniness. Zoey had never seen him out of a suit and tie, no matter the weather, and tonight was no exception. He was the observe-and-analyze type, with iron self-control. The same could not be said for his friends. They were older and boisterous, openly evaluating the women in the bar, blatantly looking them up and down, going so far as to point out their attributes and flaws. Unsurprisingly, all their ring fingers were bare. Zoey wondered if they had slipped off the wedding rings to get a little side action. Ruth wasn’t particular about who joined the party. Once again, Zoey’s sister was holding court.
“Nice to see you, Zoey,” Blake said when the music died down. She got up from where she was sitting to join him. “It’s been a while since you’ve come out on a Saturday night.”
“About as long as it’s been since you’ve seen a dance floor?” she teased. She didn’t want to tell the tale of Tristan. The way Tristan was acting, dancing, smiling, and carrying on, no one would believe he was a shy computer nerd.
“A crowded dance floor is no place for a guy with two left feet,” he replied with his own brand of humor. “Not with everyone having a cell phone set to record.”
His excuse was a valid one. Zoey had seen Blake dance before, in the early days when he was eager to fit in, and he was not in Tristan’s league.
At precisely one forty-five, Tristan began to make his good nights and good-byes. Through the chorus of urging him to stay, he merely smiled and politely declined. He told Ruth and her friends to enjoy the rest of the night—the tab was already taken care of. He turned to Zoey and asked, “Are you ready to go?”
He could’ve ended the question with anything. Get a tattoo, have something to eat, jump off the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge, her answer would be the same. She would go with him anywhere. With a nod of her head and a wave to the table, she picked up her handbag, and together they made for the exit.
The cold air when they took their first step out the front door was welcome and invigorating. Wall-to-wall people working up a sweat made for the kind of stifling heat that the air-conditioning couldn’t keep up with. Zoey noticed there was still a line of people waiting to get inside. She leaned her head back and took a deep inhale.
“The car is supposed to be here at two,” Tristan said with a glance at the row of cars in front of the building. “We may be a few minutes early.”
“Enjoy the rest of your weekend, kids.”
Zoey turned around to the voice behind her and saw Blake approaching them. She was surprised. He had followed them out.
“You’re leaving already?” Zoey asked. “The night is still young in there.”
“I’ve been on and off a party bus since three o’clock this afternoon. It may be selfish, but I wanted to make my getaway before the puking started. Scraping the groom off the floor is the best man’s job. I’m not even in the wedding party.”
“Can we give you a lift?” Tristan offered. “I have a car coming.”
“No thanks,” Blake said. “I’m not going that far.”
They watched Blake’s back as he walked off into the shadows.
“You looked like you had fun tonight,” she said to Tristan, still refraining from looking at him straight on or for too long.
“I did!” was his cheerful response. Then he turned deadly serious. “Now I have to ask you. Abbie told me to look her up on Tinder after I got rid of you. She said something about ‘totally swiping me right.’ Do you have any idea what she’s talking about?”
Zoey had no desire to hold a grudge against Abbie. By all rights, Tristan was fair game. She had less of a desire to explain the ins and outs of Tinder to him. And while she had no problem being magnanimous, she wasn’t batshit crazy.
“It means she’s a free Veronica.”
“Oh.” His eyebrows arched in alarm. “I don’t want any part of that.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Your sister is completely different from you.”
A bubble of laughter escaped. “She certainly is her own woman. Derek calls her Ruthless.”
With one sentence, Zoey had managed to ruin the night herself. Without thinking, she had brought up her husband. She was able to refrain from literally slamming her palm into her forehead, but mentally she gave herself quite a whack.
Tristan looked back at the bar and made a face. His concern returned. “Those guys were moving in pretty close to your sister. Do you think we did the right thing leaving her?”
“I have always been worried about Ruth and her shenanigans. But she always lands on her feet. You should be way more concerned that she’s going to use your generosity to buy drinks for the entire bar.”
“They don’t have my credit card. If she can manage to spend all the cash I gave them, more power to her. But some of those guys she was dancing with looked creepy. The way one of them was staring at her backside made me want to punch him square in the nose.”
Zoey laughed again, a little
relieved. Tristan had been too preoccupied with chivalrous distraction to pick up on her slip of bringing up Derek. “You would’ve only robbed her of the pleasure of clobbering him herself. That is one woman who has no problem making it known she can take on all opponents. She once stabbed a guy with her car key. He needed seven stitches and still asked her out again.”
The car pulled up, ending the conversation. And though she was loath to say the words, Zoey gave the driver her address to drop her off first, since her apartment was closer. This time, instead of looking out at the city during the silent drive, she snuck peeks at Tristan’s profile as he watched the scenery through the windshield. His head was slightly swaying to the music the driver was playing. A delighted grin tugged at Tristan’s lips, the evidence he had indeed enjoyed himself. He started to turn toward Zoey and she snapped her head forward just in time to keep from being caught watching him.
“I had a wonderful time tonight,” he said softly. “I couldn’t have done this without you. Thanks, Zoey.”
She should’ve been proud, even if he was exaggerating. He didn’t look like it took too much effort to get him relaxed. She had done what she set out to do, help him conquer another hurdle in his wish to really appreciate all the best things in life. But the only thought that was drumming in her head was that another magical night was over. Another night with a perfect gentleman. A needle in a haystack. A needle she unfortunately had found a little too late.
In too short a ride, the car pulled up in front of her building. Tristan stopped the driver from getting out to open her door and asked him to wait. He got out and ran around to her side to do it himself and walked her to the door.
“I’d like to walk you to your apartment,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Just in case some vagrant is hanging around the halls.”
They got to the door of her apartment, and it was an awkward moment. The kind of moment that, if they weren’t on different paths that somehow collided, would end in a kiss. She looked at his lips, watching them move.
“Thanks again, Zoey. Have a good night.”
Unable to stop herself, she reached out her arms and wrapped them around his neck, giving him a tight squeeze. “You’re welcome, Tristan. Good night.”
At first his arms remained stiffly at his sides, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull back and away. Then she felt first his arm then his hands draw lightly over her hips to settle around her waist as he awkwardly hugged her back.
Chapter 11
The last time Zoey was so restless was before she’d left Ohio for New York. She tossed and turned for hours in bed as the entire evening rewound in her memory. From the intimate discussion over the dinner Tristan had cooked for her, to the open looks of hunger from other women in the club, to his smoldering eyes on the dance floor and the hug he was too considerate to rebuff. She had only wanted to help him. Now she wished they could just hook up and get it out of the way. Break the tension so she could go back to grinding away at work instead of checking her phone a hundred times a day, in the hopes that he’d texted. The single silver lining of the night was that she couldn’t recall having smiled once. There were sultry looks and pouting, but her secret neon gums were effectively concealed from Ruth and her crowd.
As soon as Zoey was done admonishing herself, a little voice inside her head would speak up. It would tell her how in just a few months, if all went according to plan, she’d be divorced. But then her logical side would counter that Tristan had never actually expressed an interest in her. There was no way of knowing where he stood without flat out asking him. When she got to questioning whether it would be worth the risk of ruining the friendship, the debate would start all over again.
It felt like she had just fallen asleep when Ruth shook her awake.
She didn’t need to ask Ruth if she was just getting in. Ruth usually stayed out all night on Saturday, sometimes bringing the party back home. Letting Zoey have the bedroom on the weekends was mutually beneficial. Ruth was still wearing the same clothes, but her silky hair was now flat, her makeup all but gone, and her smoky eyeliner looked smeared. Her voice sounded giddy and a little buzzed. Ruth was always able to hold her liquor without stumbling. She had likely danced most of it off.
“What are you doing home?” Ruth asked.
Zoey sat up in bed and rubbed her face. “Where am I supposed to be?”
“I figured you went home with Mr. Good-boy.” Ruth gave a smug snort. “I told Abbie he was never going to get in touch.”
Zoey’s jaw tightened with the reminder of Abbie’s invitation for Tristan to join her on Tinder. After last night, all her good will toward other women had come to a screeching halt.
“I told you he wasn’t that kind of guy,” she said irritably.
“Yeah,” Ruth continued to scoff. “You also told me he was a nerd and looked like a baby duck. That was a boldface lie. That man is scrumptious.”
“He’s not for you.” Zoey issued the warning.
“Of course he’s not!” This time Ruth added a laugh. “He’s way too square and noble for me. I’m more the bad-boy-aching-to-be-tamed type.”
“What’s the matter, none of those available last night?” Zoey wanted to talk about Tristan. Ask if Ruth noticed him staring at her with longing or displaying some sudden outburst of jealousy. Anything to suggest that he was harboring feelings for her. But Zoey knew her sister. Ruth was all about Ruth. If it didn’t concern her, or you didn’t specifically send out an SOS, it didn’t hold her interest.
“It was an off night.” Ruth yawned and kicked off her shoes. Zoey lay back down and Ruth curled up beside her, just as she had when they were kids. “Once Blake left, his bachelor party friends all became animals. One of them grabbed a handful of my ass near the end of the night. I kneed him in the nuts before the bouncers tossed him out. They didn’t show me the door, since I was the offended party, but they did make it clear it was time for us to call it a night. We all went out for breakfast. I think Erin and Abbie took those young guys home.”
Zoey giggled. Nothing sends a message that this girl isn’t worth it quite like watching a fellow comrade falling to his knees with his hands covering his groin. For all her faults, Ruth was true to her own code of conduct. Look all you want, but don’t touch her unless invited. Thank goodness they had already left. Tristan might’ve thought he’d landed on a reality show.
“It was nice of Tristan to pick up the tab,” Ruth murmured drowsily. “Please thank him for us. Did you have fun?”
Before Zoey could make up her mind how best to answer, she heard Ruth’s breathing change to deep and nasal. In typical Ruth fashion, she had fallen asleep before Zoey could respond. She should’ve known the question was rhetorical, Zoey mused, closing her eyes again as well.
* * *
The next time Zoey woke up, it was four hours later and she was still tired. She eased herself out of bed, careful not to disturb Ruth, threw on some clothes, and went down to the corner. Sundays when she didn’t have a job were spent with coffee and bagels from the local café followed by being lazy and binge-watching Netflix or playing on iPads. If Ruth was feeling up to snuff, they might have dinner at one of the hundred restaurants within walking distance. If Ruth was feeling wrecked, they called for takeout.
Zoey’s body may have gotten the lazy message, but her mind was having no part of it. It swirled in a storm of indecision. It was the same sort of pattern that she had adopted when things got rough with Derek, when she went to bed every night with a lump in her throat and a twist in her gut. She didn’t like it, and she was the only one who could make it stop. It was time to start making her own needs paramount again. The problem with her line of thinking was, she wasn’t sure what her needs were anymore.
She had accomplished breaking Tristan out of his shell. He didn’t have a disability and he wasn’t a child that needed to be babysat. She didn’t need to hold his hand through every step of his journey. The only flaw in that logic was that she very muc
h wanted to hold his hand. And kiss his full, sometimes pouty lips. And rip off all the fancy new clothes she helped him acquire. She could also call Derek and tell him that she was sorry, but she didn’t want to wait the extra time and she had decided to act now. If she was thinking about another man, the marriage was surely over regardless. But going back on her word left her with a rotten taste in her mouth. And a two-month chaste courtship would be right up Tristan’s alley anyway.
Ruth dragged herself out of bed around noon. She came down the hall on autopilot, microwaved her cold coffee, and covered a bagel with cream cheese, making intermittent groans. She collapsed on the futon, next to Zoey.
“I need to talk to you,” Zoey tentatively began. “About Tristan.”
“I knew it!” Ruth’s sluggishness evaporated and she perked right up. Apparently Zoey’s crisis of confidence was better than a cup of coffee. “Did you let him down easy?”
“Wait. What are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about? You did tell him about Derek, right?”
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. In her jumbled state, Zoey had forgotten Ruth’s fondness for Derek.
“I’m the one who has feelings for Tristan. Not the other way around. I can’t tell if he finds me desirable, and I’m scared to tell him.”
“But you did tell him that you’re married?” Ruth repeated.
“Yes, not long after we met. It’s the main reason I’m in this quandary now. You and Derek talking me into this stupid agreement. Tristan is too proper to make any sort of move with me while I’m still attached to someone else. But if I wait, I’m going to miss my chance. And if I’m wrong altogether, I’m setting myself up for heartbreak.”
Ruth chewed her bagel and Zoey waited with growing impatience for her to weigh in.
“I think the first thing you should do is wait for him to make contact. Do not contact him, for any reason. He’s not the kind to play hard to get, so if he’s interested, he’ll reach out sooner rather than later.”
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