by Nikki Castle
I glance nervously at Tristan's window, but I can see even from here that the lights are off and the house is quiet. I can't decide if I'm relieved or dejected that I won't see him tonight.
With a tired sigh, I walk into the house.
I was right about the workout being horrendous. I drank so much trying to distract myself from my Tristan-addled thoughts that I might still be drunk even several hours later.
I haven't seen Tristan yet. I know he's here somewhere because Saturday is the day our training always overlaps, but he's not the one teaching our cardio bagwork class this morning and I haven't exactly found the courage to go looking for him.
Thank goodness it's not one of the pro fighters teaching the class because an hour at their intensity definitely would have made me puke. Even now, I'm struggling to keep the nausea at bay.
But a hard workout is exactly what my body needs. Not only do I sweat out the alcohol, but the physical exertion seems to immediately clear my foggy brain and sober me up. By the time the class is over, I feel great—though very eager for a nice, fat burger.
I leave the bag room and step into the mat room where the jiu-jitsu class is starting. My eyes lock with Tristan's immediately.
My blood warms just from his stare. The images of him fucking me into the bathroom door yesterday tumble through my brain until I'm squirming on the sidelines, my teeth latched onto my lower lip.
Based on the inferno blazing in his eyes that I now know to be his sign that he's turned on, I can tell he's thinking the exact same thing.
"Remy, you coming to do a few rounds?"
The question snaps me out of my lust-drunk haze. I turn toward the person who called out to me.
"Only if you don't mind the tequila leaking out of my pores, Coach," I grin.
He shakes his head with a chuckle. "Do a few rounds. I want you to do that tournament next month."
At that reminder the smile slips from my face, to be replaced with nervous energy. I nod and drop my bag. I'm completely distracted by thoughts of the tournament as I switch my soaking wet T-shirt for a skintight rashguard.
The nerves end up fucking with my flow. I do a round with Coach, and then three more with other students, but I'm so distracted by the memories of my mistakes from the last tournament that I end up second-guessing my every move. I huff my frustration at the end of the third round.
"Remy," Tristan calls. "Let's do a round."
I look at him in surprise but give a hesitant nod. Now that we're training and actually moving around on the mats, all memories of last night are gone. He slips easily back into a coaching role and I’m too focused on thoughts of the tournament to even be distracted by the feeling of his body against mine. We both love this sport too much to treat it with anything other than our complete dedication.
If I wasn’t so fixated on my own inner turmoil, I might actually be pleasantly surprised at how easily we set our tension aside to focus on something serious.
I'm still slow and awkward in my movements, still thinking too much about how badly I fucked up the last time I competed. Tristan's letting me work a little bit and not capitalizing on it yet, but I can tell he notices my lack of focus.
"Just relax," he murmurs. "You're thinking too much. Just do what your body wants you to do."
"Easier said than done," I grumble. "You're not the one that fucked up at the last tournament."
"You did fine at that tournament," he says from his spot beneath me. He's on his back with his legs wrapped around me, holding me in his guard. I have my body angled low against his, my head pressed to his chest. "You were just nervous. You had that sweep lined up that you love so much but you second guessed it and missed the opportunity. You could've beat that girl easy."
My head pops up in surprise. "You saw my match?"
He doesn't break our eye contact. "I’ve seen all your matches."
Shocked, I can only stare down at him for a few moments. I had no idea he even noticed me.
Seemingly tired of the lull in action, Tristan takes advantage of my pause by flipping us over until he's on top. I land on my back with a grunt.
"You're too nice," he continues. "Too hesitant. You need to be cocky as fuck when you step on the mat."
I raise an eyebrow in question. "Is that your excuse? You're arrogant so you can win?"
A huge grin splits his face. "My winning record speaks for me. Clearly, the arrogance is doing something."
I focus back on what we're doing and try to grab one of his arms. "It's doing something, all right," I grumble under my breath.
He ignores my comment. "Just try it," he says, easily shifting to a more advantageous position beside me. "The next time you step on that tournament mat, pick a weapon and act like there's no way someone could stop you from using it against them." His face is no longer in my line of sight, but I can practically hear the grin as it stretches across his lips. "I'm sure you can find something you're good at."
I glare at his ribs that are currently in my face. With a sudden angry burst of strength, I push myself to a slightly better position. "You are such an ass," I hiss. "Is that part of your strategy too? Along with the ego?"
I was right, he's grinning from ear to ear. He looks incredibly pleased with himself. "Nope, that's just because it's fun to piss you off."
I shake my head, fighting the smile that wants to break free. Just then, the bell rings and our round ends.
Tristan gives me a little shove toward another student for the next round. "Cocky as fuck," he mutters so only I can hear.
I sigh and turn to my next partner.
The last few rounds fly by. And as much as I hate to admit it, Tristan is right. Being arrogant—even if I'm faking it—immediately causes my nerves to dissipate and stops my tendency to overthink. It allows me to freely move as I want, since I no longer think about what if every move is wrong. I just… roll.
I allow myself a quick glance at Tristan as that realization once again reminds me that Tristan was made for this sport. Not just because of his talent, but also because of his coaching ability. He was born to be a leader. He knows exactly what to say to any given athlete to help them in their training because he pays attention and he gives a shit. I shouldn’t have been surprised that he admitted to watching me in the last tournament because that’s the most Tristan admission there is—he’s the guy you want in your corner because he always has your back.
I should’ve realized it sooner. I should’ve known when I watched him corner fighters and coach kids at tournaments.
I should’ve given him more credit a long time ago.
I’m starving by the time the hour ends. I turn toward Aiden and Lucy with hopeful eyes. "Burger House? I might eat my shirt if I don't get some food in me soon."
They laugh but nod in agreement. Aiden looks over my shoulder at Tristan.
"What do you say, big dog, wanna get lunch?"
I stifle a giggle as I hear Tristan choke on his water. "Big dog?" he splutters.
Aiden grins but shrugs, unashamed. "Just trying it out. No go?"
Tristan glares at him, every ounce the stoic fighter that you shouldn't fuck with. "No," he says firmly. "No go. And if you come up with any others, I'm putting you on bag drills for a week straight. One thousand kicks before you can leave, every night. On each side."
At that, Aiden winces. "Okay, okay, no nicknames. Jeez. I thought we were all friendly after last night." Tristan only glares at him again. "No burger then?"
Tristan glances at me before answering. "No burger. I have a kid coming in for a private lesson in a few minutes. Rain check."
I hide my frown that automatically wants to appear on my face when I miss an opportunity to spend time with Tristan.
And then internally shake the hell out of myself for acting like a teenage girl.
We shower quickly and then head out the front door, the gym already empty of students. But just as I'm about to follow Lucy out, I see a flash of movement in the mat room. I peek aroun
d the corner to see who's still working out.
Tristan is showing a little boy how to fall. It's the first lesson everyone in jiu-jitsu learns, since you will undoubtedly fall in this sport—a lot—and there is definitely a right way and a wrong way to do it. Tristan's showing him how to slap the mat with his palms when he falls.
The little boy, no more than five or six, is giggling as he topples over. He's not listening to a word Tristan's saying, he’s just happy to be throwing himself on the mats.
But Tristan isn't forcing him. He just lets the boy fall again—still the wrong way—before telling him, "Here, let me show you what you look like." And then he makes a funny face and exaggerates falling down, this time looking more like a fainting damsel than a well-trained athlete. The boy's giggles intensify into loud belly laughs at the sight.
With a grin, Tristan stands back up. "That looked silly, right?" he asks him. The little boy nods. "Let's do it the right way this time. Do you want to try?" Another nod. "Good. I want you to try doing it like this: fall on your butt and then slap the mat with your hands. Ready?"
Giggles subsiding, the little boy looks at Tristan with newfound determination. With his nose scrunched in deep concentration, he falls backwards, slapping the mats exactly the way Tristan showed him.
Tristan lets out a loud whoop. He grabs the little boy and throws him up in the air, offering them both a quick moment of celebration. Giggles once again sound through the gym.
Tristan sets him back down on his feet. "All right, show me one more time. Let me see if you can do it even better the second time."
"Remy!" someone yells from behind me.
I jump so hard I'm surprised my feet don't actually leave the ground. "What?" I hiss.
Lucy is staring at me with one eyebrow raised in question. "What're you doing?" she finally asks. "We're waiting for you."
I fight the urge to glance back at the mat room. "I, um, thought I forgot my phone," I stammer. "But I found it. So… I'm good to go."
Lucy's eyes narrow suspiciously but she doesn't say anything else. Just jerks her head for me to get moving.
Once her back is turned, I chance a quick look back at the remaining people in the gym. Tristan is grinning, looking completely at ease and happy. There’s no tension in his shoulders, no cold mask on his face, no arrogance on his lips. He's just… happy.
A feeling of genuine happiness fills me at the sight. My heart swells with the emotion and it feels like it'll take over my entire body, filling every crack and crevice of my soul until nothing but my happiness at his joy remains. It completely overwhelms me.
The door slams behind Lucy, shaking me out of my daze. I hurry after her, so she doesn't come back in again.
Fuck, I am so far gone.
Lunch turns into drinks, which turns into a late afternoon and eventually more food. It's almost 7:00 when I finally get home.
Tristan's passed out on the couch when I open the front door. It looks like he had some fights on but fell asleep at some point. I don't want to wake him, so I tiptoe silently up the steps.
It's still quiet downstairs after I get out of the shower. I decide to take a catnap, the food and drinks after a hard workout making me practically sway on my feet.
Twenty minutes and a Red Bull later, I hear movement downstairs and decide to finally put my big girl pants on and stop putting off seeing Tristan. The last time it was just the two of us, he immediately fucked me into the nearest surface. Surely after that I shouldn't be too nervous to make small talk.
He's finishing his dinner and putting his dishes in the sink when I finally walk into the kitchen. He doesn't quite smile but he turns to give me his full attention.
"I’m going to head over to my new apartment to make sure the key works and to drop a few things off," I tell him nervously. "I'll take a few boxes now but move the rest of it tomorrow. I should be back in an hour or so."
"Want some help?" he asks me.
I glance at him, startled. I'm always surprised when Nice Tristan makes an appearance. Even with everything going on between us, I still don't quite expect him to go out of his way to be helpful.
Sensing my hesitation, he jokes, "The sooner I get you out of here, the sooner I can go back to making my Brussels sprouts." He grins as my nose crinkles in disgust. He knows exactly how much I hate the smell of his favorite vegetable.
"Fine," I concede. "Grab some boxes and let's fit them in my car."
The drive over to my apartment only takes ten minutes and we spend the entire time lost in our own thoughts. I still can't figure out where his head is.
When we reach my new building, I park the car and we each grab a box. I swing my front door open and take in the dark, now seemingly lonely, one bedroom apartment. I turn on the lights in the hallway and make my way to the bedroom. All of the boxes I brought are clothes and bedding, so we make quick work of unloading everything into one room before wandering into the main living area.
We haven't said a word to each other since we left the house. Between the silence surrounding us and the darkness of the apartment, I feel my nerves start to buzz. It doesn't help when I realize that there is no light in the living room.
"Shit, I guess I didn't notice there's no lighting in here," I mumble as I wander into the room. I make a mental note to buy a lamp tomorrow. It's almost 10:00 and dark outside. The only reason the room isn't just as dark is because of the wall of oversized windows. The lights from the city illuminate the room, casting a comfortable glow around me.
"I love this city so much," I say quietly as I step up to the windows. "It has such an addicting energy. Even when I was a kid, I could tell how much passion the city held. I've always loved the sights, the sounds, everything about it. I don't think I'll ever be able to leave it." I close my eyes and take a deep breath, as if I'm trying to inhale the feel of the city itself. "Isn't it amazing?" I turn back to look at Tristan, nervous that he's still silent.
But he's not looking out the windows. He's looking at me.
My breath catches as our eyes meet. His smoldering gaze feels like it's looking right into my soul, like it's trying to reach the secrets in the depth of my heart. He takes a step forward to stand in front of me, his eyes never leaving mine.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he says quietly.
My heart jumps into my throat. It's beating so hard I'm scared he'll hear it, and I focus on reminding myself to breathe. I can barely catch my breath under his intense stare.
He steps closer still and rests his hand on the side of my neck, his thumb gently stroking my cheek.
He studies me for another heartbeat, then gently pulls my lips to his.
The kiss is soft, and timid. It's like he's exploring me for the first time and trying to figure out what to make of me. It only lasts for a moment before he pulls away and gazes down at me again.
"Why does it feel so different with you?"
His question is what breaks us.
This time I'm the one that pulls him to me, but now there's nothing gentle about our kiss. He’s kissing me hungrily, possessively. His hands grip me hard, one still on my neck and the other now wrapped around my lower back. I'm pressed so tightly against his body that it feels like our hearts are beating against each other.
I fist my hands in his shirt, wanting desperately to understand what he's trying to tell me. A whimper escapes my lips as he opens my mouth with his tongue and deepens our kiss. I don't think I'll ever get enough of him when he touches me like this.
He continues to grip my hips as he feathers kisses down my neck. My stomach flips every time his tongue touches my skin, and I start to pant.
I cup his face and bring his lips back to mine. My kiss is frenzied, wanting more than anything for him to feel what I feel. Wanting him to become just as lost in our connection as I am. I want him to kiss me back like he can’t stand the thought of any space between us, because that’s exactly how hopelessly I’m aching for him right now.
"Tristan," I whimper
against his lips. His hand tightens on my hips in response to my plea. He groans against my lips and hurriedly reaches for the bottom of my sundress to bring it over my head. He pulls away only long enough for the fabric to pass between us, then he's right back to kissing me like it's the last time he'll ever taste my lips.
I reach behind me to undo the clasp of my bra, the fabric sliding down the front of my body. I toss it to the side as he pulls back to look at me.
He looks… awestruck. His eyes take in my swollen lips, the tiny red marks he’s left on my neck, my bare breasts with their pebbled nipples. Only the panties I'm wearing hide any part of my body. His eyes take in every detail.
And suddenly I feel exposed—too naked. My subconscious recognizes that in the past I've always hidden my nakedness, that I would never really let my boyfriends see me this way. I would either keep my clothes on or just not give them the space or the light to pull away and really see me. It always felt too intimate—like they didn't deserve to see who I really am.
I step forward to press against Tristan so he'll stop devouring my body with his fiery gaze. But he gently grips my hips to keep me an arm's-length away.
My eyes widen, alarmed. But he's staring at me so softly, so tenderly, that my panic quickly subsides.
His hand drifts up to caress my cheek. "Don’t ever hide from me,” he whispers simply.
Everything around us, everything before and after this moment, fades away until it feels like the world is frozen and it's just him and I standing there, lost in each other. Nothing exists but this moment and his truth. His words, his gaze… I can't remember how to breathe.
He breaks the moment by stepping forward and kissing me as softly as anyone has ever been kissed. His sudden tenderness brings tears to my eyes, and I wrap my arms around his neck and will them not to fall. I’ve never experienced this level of affection from anyone, let alone someone as hard as Tristan—I’ve never felt it down to my very bones. Between his words and this kiss, I feel my heart swell with happiness.