Sick Pleasure (Crazy Beautiful Book 3)

by Jessica Huizenga

  I relax against the car, leaning on the bumper. “I’m surprised you still live here. I thought you couldn’t wait to escape this . . . what did you call it? The gilded birdcage from hell?” I crane my neck to look up at the enormous brick house, hating that I still know exactly which rain gutters to climb to get to Hazel’s window.

  Hazel shrugs. “My mom likes having someone else around and I kind of owe it to her. Plus it’s not like I really have any place else to go.” She points to the side building, which is the size of a small house. “But I live in the pool house apartment, so at least I have some sort of privacy.”

  I cross my arms and whistle. “All this and Mrs. B won’t spring for a set of wheels, too?” I half-joke.

  Hazel readjusts a bag slung over her shoulder. “Not for lack of trying, that’s for sure. But it’s bad enough I have to rely on her money to live here. I drew the line at her buying me a car, too. Some things I want to fix on my own, you know?” She smiles, but I can tell she’s embarrassed.

  I’m actually impressed by her seemingly sincere desire for independence, but since I’m trying not to think about things like that I simply opt to nod in agreement.

  Hazel looks at me and I think she’s going to say more, but she instead glances down the driveway before motioning toward my truck. “My mom should be back soon. We better get going.”

  We both get inside the truck and once we’re seated Hazel turns to me. “Thanks for the ride, Tristan.”

  “I bet it won’t be the last time I hear you say that.” I grin suggestively and wink. A sick part of me can’t resist being a dick, but an even sicker part of me hopes maybe it will scare her off, so we won’t have to pretend with this whole “still friends” bullshit. I wasn’t lying when I told her there’s a lot I wish I could forget. The sooner she figures that out, the better. Right now I’m just giving her a ride to her brother’s party, and that’s it.

  She just laughs, and the way it makes her face look like she’s sixteen again makes my stomach sink. What in the actual fuck was I thinking, agreeing to this? We’ve barely spoken in five years and now we’re going to be trapped alone in a car for thirty minutes?

  Suddenly my oversized truck feels more like a cramped Smart Car.

  Hazel

  Contrary to popular belief, being locked alone in a car with the (former) love of your life for the first time in five years isn’t as bad as it might seem. I really thought it would be completely awkward, but Tristan seems to be fine with it, so I am, too.

  I’ll be the first to admit it was weird to call him after so long. I mean, I’m well aware of the fact that I screwed things up, but that was a long time ago and it was a horrible time in my life . . . for many reasons. But I’ve been clean for over three years now and the more I try to get my life back on track, the more I haven’t been able to get Tristan out of my head. I probably should have apologized for (or at least acknowledged) what I put him through, but as soon as I heard his voice on the other end of the phone it somehow felt easier to be us again. It’s nice to pretend I have at least some piece of the only good thing I ever had in my life back, even if I don’t deserve it.

  As he makes his crude joke, I’m relieved to know Tristan hasn’t lost his sense of humor. He was always a big flirt, and I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t still give me some sort of thrill to hear his overtly sexual innuendos. If an average guy said the kinds of things Tristan Sharp gets away with, he would have a permanent handprint across his cheek from all the bitch slaps he’d no doubt be on the receiving end of.

  But damn, there’s something about Tristan that defies all logic.

  Tristan concentrates on backing out of the driveway so I take the opportunity to study his face. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him this close.

  He still has the same mess of short, dark hair that matches the sexy stubble covering his square jaw. And don’t get me started on his smile . . . the one he gets when he’s teasing you and bluntly says whatever the hell he thinks and you want to believe he’s a moronic asshole but you actually find the fact he’s so cocksure and unreserved impressive and amusing . . . ugh. I hate myself for loving it. How he manages to look adorable, smug, sexy, charming, and arrogant all at the same time I’ll never truly understand, but it’s infuriating how it makes my insides tingle with excitement.

  I eye him curiously from my side of the car. While he physically looks the same as I remember, something is different about him. I can’t quite put my finger on it.

  Realizing I’m staring like a total creep, I instead look out my window. The sun is shining bright between the big white, fluffy clouds set against a clear blue sky. It’s a perfect New England spring day.

  We drive down the familiar streets of the neighborhood I’ve lived in my entire life, and as we pass our old high school I can’t help but think about the past. A lot of bad has happened here, but some good was mixed in there, too. Wasn’t there?

  I’m suddenly all too aware of the silence in the car and I have to remind myself to breathe. I’ve never been one for silence; it’s always felt . . . overwhelming. It allows for too many things to flood my mind: thoughts, doubts, fears, truths. It might seem crazy, but for as long as I can remember I’ve found the quiet too loud; I often need noise to drown it out. At Greenside I learned to embrace the meditative quality of silence, but when I’m nervous the anxiety starts to kick in and I need something outside myself to focus on. It’s either that or think about how much easier this would be if I were high right now.

  I muse, “Can you believe my brother is getting married and having a kid?” As we drive down a few residential streets, colonial houses whiz by. Soon we’ll cross into the commercial downtown area before getting on the highway.

  “Pretty fucked up, if you ask me.” Tristan shakes his head. “I never would have pegged him as a family man.”

  “Me neither.” Another silence falls between us. “Speaking of relationships, was that your girlfriend I heard in the background when we talked last week?” The question comes out before I have time to think about it.

  He chuckles and takes a right turn. “Not exactly.”

  I can’t explain the feeling of relief that washes over me. I also can’t help but be extremely interested to know everything that’s been going on in Tristan’s life. My questions become just as much a guilty pleasure as they are a distraction. “So, what have you been up to lately? Whenever I ask Ryan about you, he changes the subject.”

  “You ask about me, do you?” Keeping his eyes trained on the road, he gets a shit-eating grin on his face. Way to play it cool, Hazel.

  I nonchalantly continue, “I heard you still work the same construction job you started in high school?”

  Tristan drapes one hand lazily over the steering wheel and takes a second before responding with a simple, “Yup.”

  I press on, hoping he will open up. “You must be good at your job if they kept you around this long.”

  “I guess.”

  Jesus, this is like pulling teeth. “Is Mr. Turner still running things?” I remember Tristan’s boss from when we were in high school and I would meet Tristan at the construction site to hang out when he got off work.

  “He’s still around,” Tristan says, glancing in the rearview mirror before switching lanes.

  He clearly doesn’t want to talk about himself, so I suppose I can be the first to share. “Well, right now I’m working as a waitress at the Crown Diner across town.”

  Tristan raises an eyebrow. “The one near the highway, between a motel and a strip club?”

  I smirk. “It’s a gentleman’s club, but yup, that’s the one.”

  “I’m surprised your mother would let you within five miles of that place, let alone work there.” He sounds amused.

  “She wouldn’t, which is why she doesn’t know. She’d rather remain oblivious than face something potentially embarrassing, so I figured it wasn’t worth the argument to bring it up. Besides, I mostly work the late shift that star
ts at ten. It coordinates with the bus schedule so she probably doesn’t even realize I’m gone, let alone wonder where I am.”

  Tristan’s voice hardens and I notice his fingers grip the steering wheel a little tighter. “So you take the bus to some crappy, creepy-as-fuck diner in the middle of the night—all by yourself—and nobody even knows you’re there?” He shakes his head incredulously.

  When he puts it like that it makes me feel kind of stupid, but it really isn’t a big deal. “I just told you, didn’t I? Now somebody knows.” I smile, trying to lighten the mood. Tristan looks only half amused so I shrug. “Hey, I’ll take what I can get. It might not be the ideal place to work, but at least I’m good at it. I’m not exactly qualified to do much else, and it gives me some money to save until I can figure out what I really want to do with my life.”

  “You mean serving assholes pie at midnight isn’t your dream job?”

  I match his comical tone. “As fulfilling as it may be, eventually I think I’ll want to branch out.”

  “Maybe take on the breakfast crowd, too?”

  There he goes with that smile of his again. I can’t help but laugh out loud. “I’d be damn good at it, I’m sure, but there’s gotta be more to life than pancakes and eggs, right?”

  “Like what?” he asks playfully.

  “I don’t know. I could be a nurse or something. Maybe work in a rehab facility and use my story to help people.” I look out the window, suddenly uncomfortable. I’ve never admitted this idea out loud before, and I feel silly for thinking it could actually happen. When Tristan doesn’t say anything, I feel even more ridiculous. “Yeah, it’s stupid, I know.” I flick an imaginary piece of lint from my jeans.

  “I didn’t say that. I just think it’s an interesting tactic to use your life to help someone else’s.”

  “What do you mean?” I tilt my head toward Tristan, genuinely curious.

  He lifts his right shoulder lazily before letting it drop as he composes his thoughts. “I just think people spend too much time looking for some type of sympathy or validation or whatever else it is they think they gain from sharing every last detail of their lives. Focus on your own shit and don’t burden other people with it. That’s my take on it, anyway.”

  “I think most people are trying to feel connected. We all just want to be understood, right? And I’ve been through a lot, so why not share it in case someone can relate?”

  “Everyone’s been through shit—I promise we can all fucking relate to that. If you really want to help somebody, you need to make it about them, not you.”

  I open my mouth to zing him with some sassy comeback, but when I stop to think about it, Tristan makes a lot of sense. Sure, his delivery makes him sound like an inconsiderate asshole, but beneath all that he has a point. When I think back on everything we’ve been through together, I know that’s exactly what he’s always done . . . put me first. No matter what mess I got into, he never judged me or lectured me. He simply tried to save me from myself. Unfortunately, I was too selfish to see it at the time.

  For a split second I consider opening up and letting him know everything I’m feeling, but talk about being selfish. After five years I can’t dump all of my broken feelings on Tristan and expect him to pick up the pieces. Besides, I’m not here to live in the past or waste time on regrets, I just hope to gain back enough of his trust to call him a friend again. And OK, yes, that is still extremely selfish of me, but I’m only human!

  I can remember the exact day three years ago that I was finally sober enough to realize I had made the biggest mistake of my life by letting Tristan Sharp walk out of it. I was in the common room at the Greenside Rehabilitation Center with my counselor and seven other recovering drug addicts, only a few weeks away from finishing my program and being released. The counselor asked us each to close our eyes and picture our future. The idea was to imagine where we wanted to be in five, ten, twenty years and use that as motivation to stay clean. People’s dreams were all over the place, ranging from becoming a brain surgeon to having six kids, to going scuba diving in Costa Rica. When they got to me, though, no matter how hard I tried to picture anything else, the only thing I saw was Tristan’s face. That’s when I knew I was in trouble.

  And now I’m playing with fire, craving time with him again. It must be the rebel in me that needs to push limits, even when I know it’s a really bad idea. But trust me, it’s my own kind of sick torture. I know I don’t deserve anything Tristan might have to give me anymore. That ship has sailed and I basically doused it in kerosene before throwing a lit book of matches on it, only to stand there and watch it go up in flames before sinking right to the bottom of the Atlantic.

  But here I am, trying to salvage any little piece I can, searching for something I don’t even know how to name.

  I clear my throat, trying to keep my voice from sounding as faraway as my mind. “Wow, that’s pretty deep, Tristan.”

  As soon as the words are out of my mouth I realize how they sound. As expected, Tristan easily follows up with, “I bet it won’t be the last time I hear you say that.”

  The richness of his voice causes dirty thoughts to fill my mind. I try not to blush and turn on the radio, needing a whole new kind of distraction.

  Hazel

  A short while later we pull up to a big house that I know is Eli Graham’s. My brother is best friends with Eli’s son, Lucas. Last year Lucas married Kinsley, who happens to be best friends with Kelley, my brother’s baby momma. (You got all that?) Lucas and Kinsley are hosting the shower, and I’m excited to see everyone again. I was so worked up about being around Tristan I didn’t have time to think about the whole reason for today. I still think it’s nuts that my brother is going to be a dad (and that I’m going to be an aunt) but I really like Kelley. I met her a few months ago at my mother’s annual Christmas party and I can tell Ryan adores her. I can also tell she doesn’t take crap from anyone, which makes her my kind of girl.

  As soon as I walk in with Tristan I can see that my brother is pissed. He knew we were both coming, just not together. When we were younger Ryan was always the overbearing big brother, threatening to beat up any guy that came near me. I know he thinks Tristan was somehow involved with everything that happened to me, but he refuses to ever talk about it. Since we’ve all grown up together and they’re friends I didn’t think it would still be such a sore spot. I wish I had the courage to tell Ryan the whole story, but it’s too shameful to even think about.

  It’s extra awkward since Ryan has no idea that Tristan and I are more than familiar with each other, as I know that would be the final nail in Tristan’s coffin. Talking about how his little sister lost her virginity to one of his closest friends isn’t exactly a conversation to have with Ryan at the dinner table. Not that we ever had a normal family dining experience.

  I love my brother, but he practically abandoned me as soon as he was old enough to get out of my mother’s house. Sure he comes to visit occasionally, and while I know he is always there for me if I really need him, I still wish he were around more. First my dad left us when we were kids, and then Ryan left before I even turned eighteen. I’m proud of all he’s accomplished, getting and staying sober and putting himself through school to become a successful lawyer. It all gives me hope that I, too, can break free from our messed-up past. But it also makes me sad to see everyone around me moving on while I seem to be stuck going nowhere.

  As I walk up to Ryan to give him a hug he nods to Tristan, who is saying hello to Kelley. He doesn’t even try to keep the disdain out of his voice. “What are you doing with him?”

  I pull back, remembering that this is Ryan and Kelley’s day, and try to keep the annoyance out of my own voice. “Do you know how hard it was to get out without Mom knowing where I was going? I needed a ride and called him. Don’t give me that look, Ry. I’m not a kid anymore. By the way, Grams says she’s sorry she can’t make it, but I have a big gift from her in the car.”

  He’s not thrilled,
but at least he drops the subject. I’m able to give Kelley a quick hug before more people start to arrive, at which point I escape into the living room where I find Kinsley adjusting some white peonies in a yellow vase. I hear her floral design business, Petal, is doing really well, no doubt due to her extreme perfectionism. At my mom’s last Christmas party, in between sulking because Tristan was avoiding me and watching drama unfold between Kelley and my mom, I talked to Kinsley for a bit. Once you get her started on talking flowers she really lights up.

  “Hey Kinsley. The place looks great!” I lean in for a hug.

  “Thanks, Hazel. I’m so glad you could make it.” Kinsley smiles warmly and we hear loud voices across the room when more people arrive. Tristan makes his way over to us and wraps Kinsley in a giant bear hug.

  “There’s my favorite flower lady. When are you going to leave that shitty husband of yours and let me show you what being with a real man is like?” Tristan speaks loudly, so Kinsley’s husband Lucas can hear him from the other end of the room, where he’s leaning against the wall.

  “Fuck you, Sharp,” Lucas deadpans.

  I laugh and exchange a hello nod with Luc.

  Tristan grins, looking quite pleased to be causing trouble with his friends, while Kinsley blushes and slaps him playfully on the shoulder. I feel a hand tousle the top of my head.

  “Hey, Zee.”

  I smile, instantly knowing who it is. Only one person calls me by that nickname and insists on messing up my hair every time he sees me. And he just so happens to be Tristan’s twin brother. “Hey, Logan. Still mature as ever, I see.” I try to smooth my hair back into place.

  The twins eventually wander over to greet Lucas, and Kinsley and I watch them all joke and laugh as they catch up. Boys . . . how they can insult each other one minute and joke the next always amuses me. Having known my brother’s friends most of my life, it’s funny to see them now. While I’ve felt removed from their lives for the past decade, I can remember the four of them as a raunchy group of horny high-school boys, breaking hearts and causing trouble. Not that I was any better . . .