I can feel Kinsley’s eyes on me as she asks, “So you came with Tristan, right? You two are close?”
I shrug, trying to conceal a guilty smile. Close doesn’t even begin to describe the history between Tristan and me, but nobody else knows that. “I’ve known him since I was seven years old. And we went to high school together. We used to be good friends.” I pick up a paper plate from the food table next to us and start to fill it. I’m not hungry, but I need something to keep my hands busy.
Kinsley nods and busies herself with rearranging some yellow frosted cupcakes on the same table. When she doesn’t follow up, I take the opportunity to fish for information. Tristan wasn’t exactly forthcoming on our ride over, and since Lucas and Logan are business partners at their venture capital firm, GS Ventures, I assume Kinsley hears a lot about what goes on between the boys.
I add a few carrot sticks and two mini quiches to my plate. “You’ve been with Lucas for a while now, so you must know all the guys pretty well, too, right?”
Kinsley chuckles and licks some frosting off her thumb. “Yeah, you could say that. They’re quite the bunch.”
Not exactly the juicy tell-all I was hoping for. Maybe if I try a different approach? I don’t exactly have many close girlfriends . . . or any friends, really, so I’m new to this whole gossip thing. “Tristan seems to adore you. Dare I say there might be a bit of history there?”
I go for nonchalant and playful, but I don’t think it works. Kinsley looks shocked before her frown turns into a knowing smile. “You totally hooked up with him, didn’t you?”
“Wh-what?” I stutter. “Of course not.” My instinct is to deny this vehemently as I pile more vegetables, a handful of chips, and a big scoop of salsa on my plate.
Kinsley looks embarrassed and says, “Oh, my mistake. Sorry about that. I thought I caught a vibe, but I guess not.”
I feel guilty for lying. It may be tempting to have another girl to talk to about this, but I don’t think I’m ready to admit all the crazy feelings I still have for Tristan.
“Oh, please don’t feel bad. Like I said, we used to be close, but really, we’re just friends. If you can even call us that.” I mutter that last part, but Kinsley hears it and looks confused. I quickly follow up, “I was just curious to know what Tristan has been up to since we don’t see each other much now, that’s all. He’s hard to read.”
Kinsey smiles. “Don’t worry, I completely understand.”
She doesn’t press me to divulge any more information, which I’m grateful for. I look down at my paper plate, which is about ready to break under the weight of all the food piled on it. Good thing I’m not actually an emotional eater or I’d be as big as a beluga whale by now.
Feeling like I’ve already made a complete mess of this situation and of this entire day, I ask Kinsley where the ladies’ room is. She points down the hall. I don’t want her to see me throw away the giant plate of food I just made, so I take it with me as I shuffle to the bathroom and close the door, letting my head fall back against it.
After a few deep breaths I place the plate on the sink counter. I rest my hands next to it and bow my head.
What the hell are you doing, Hazel?
That is a very good question.
I feel the smooth ceramic tile under my fingertips and cringe when I picture myself doing lines off it. There would have been a time in my life when I would have come to a party to do just that. The feeling of complete, numbing ecstasy that allows you to forget anything exists is an experience that I hate to love.
I look at myself in the oval mirror above the faucet. The emerald shower curtain reflects behind me, making my green eyes glow. In rehab we were encouraged to explore why we turned to drugs in the first place, so I often think about how to describe it.
Have you ever had a dream where it felt so real you find yourself feeling sick that it’s happening but you can’t make it stop? And even though after you wake up it seems completely ridiculous and you want to cry in relief, in the dream it made complete sense? Well I guess that’s how I felt growing up—like I was in some sort of bad dream where I knew I was making bad choices, but I couldn’t stop myself. Except I never got to wake up, and it just kept getting worse. My father walked out when I was eight and my mother basically ignored Ryan and me after that—when she wasn’t criticizing us, that is. We grew up with money and what would appear to be every advantage, but my life always felt empty. I just remember feeling depressed, anxious and alone. I was a no one who nobody cared about. As I got older, that feeling became overwhelming. In high school I became friends with some people who seemed to get that, and when they told me doing coke was easier than doing life, I believed them. I used to think not feeling anything was the only way to survive. Being high was the only time I felt both numb enough to deal with the pain and alive enough to continue living, and it became an addiction I didn’t want to let go of for fear I would go back to being nothing.
But thankfully, after I denied I had a problem for far too long, my mom forced me into rehab and it changed my life. I’ve been clean and sober for three years now, although it’s still a struggle every day.
“If you want to move beyond the past, you have to stop living in it,” my counselor’s voice echoes in my head.
Yeah, easier said than done, pal.
Between my cold reunion with Tristan and being here with so many former friends, I can’t stop thinking about all the stupid crap I did in the past and how my life is somehow still a mess. And trying to cover it all up by lying makes me feel like an immature high schooler again, not a twenty-seven-year-old woman who is finally getting her shit together.
I grab a mini quiche from my plate and shove it in my mouth to distract myself. Not helping.
I scrape the rest of my plate into the toilet and flush.
At this point, I’m wishing I hadn’t left my bag and phone in the other room. I could really use some music to blast right about now.
I sit on the edge of the tub and take a few more deep breaths: five seconds in, five seconds out. I focus on the present, on all the good in my life (something else my counselor would advise me to do). Finally I’m calm enough to realize that I’m lucky to be here, celebrating the new life my brother and Kelley are about to bring into this world. I may not have my life . . . or things with Tristan . . . figured out, but that’s OK.
I just need to relax and take things as they come. I can’t dwell on the past, but I can accept it.
I take another full breath before heading back out to the party.
You’ve got this, Hazel.
. . . Don’t you?
Tristan
I try to focus on the story Logan is telling, but I can’t seem to ignore the sick feeling in my stomach when I see Hazel bolt to the bathroom. It’s a feeling I get only around her. I hate that my mind goes there.
I heard she went to rehab a few years back and I hope for her sake she’s stayed clean, but I should no longer have any vested interest in whether it’s true. She could be having a fucking party in the bathroom for all I care—which seems more than likely, judging from the mountain of food she brought with her.
Except I do care, which is why I never should have agreed to give her a damn ride. Out of sight, out of mind only works when the thing you’re trying to forget is in fact out of sight, and not sitting in your fucking truck, right next to you, talking about things that you don’t want to care about.
But I’ll always care about Hazel Blake.
It’s the thing I hate most about myself.
It’s the thing that makes me hate her.
When the party’s over a couple hours later I’m left in the living room with Ryan, Kelley, Lucas, Kinsley, my brother, and, of course, Hazel. When she finally came out of the bathroom earlier she looked noticeably calmer. Don’t think about why, T. Other than that she seemed fine, smiling and laughing with some of the guests. She even took a camera out of her bag at one point, and thankfully became preoccupied with taking
pictures.
I wouldn’t say I’m avoiding her, but I’m not not avoiding her, either.
Now everyone is helping to clean up while Kelley and Ryan relax on the couch. It’s obvious Kelley shouldn’t be doing anything since she’s eight months pregnant. Last I checked, Ryan isn’t the knocked-up one. But still, he’s stretched out, resting with his arms behind his head and his ankles crossed like a smug bastard. I saw the shitty look he gave me when I walked in with Hazel, and that makes me want to bust his balls.
As I continue to gather up assorted empty cups and plates from around the room I direct my glare to him. “Care to help, or are you just going to sit there like an asshole?” It’s not unusual for me to give him crap, but even I’ll admit that came out harsher than I intended. I guess I’m harboring some resentment that he continues to hate me for shit that happened years ago. I’m usually the first to play it cool, but everything with Hazel has me on edge.
Acting completely unfazed, he replies, “Nah, I’m good. But you missed some trash over there.” He nods at the side table.
“Fuck you, princess. It’s not like you’re the pregnant one,” I shoot back, picking up the dirty cup and crushing it in my hand before tossing it roughly into a trash bag.
“No, but he’s half my kid, which means it’s my party, too.” Ryan stretches out further to make himself more comfortable, purposely egging me on, so I decide not to hold back with my thoughts on the whole subject. I know Ryan like I know my own brother, and ever since he told us he was engaged I’ve felt a weird vibe. While he is never one to openly talk about who he fucks, it’s a well-known fact he’s not the monogamous type. My current frustration and anger make me want to call him on it.
“Yeah, about that.” I motion between Ryan and Kelley. “I still don’t get it. Are you sure this isn’t all a joke? Be honest with us, bro—you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants and knocked her up by accident, didn’t you.”
“What the fuck, T?” Lucas jumps in.
I shrug. “What? I’m just saying, if you’re not going to sack it, go home and whack it.”
Everyone glares at me now, like I’m being the unreasonable asshole. I may be an asshole, but I’m not unreasonable. I do, however, see the scared look on Kelley’s face, which I do feel bad about. I really don’t have anything against her. This is meant to be between Ryan and me, so I attempt an explanation. “Come on, you have to admit this whole settling down thing is shady as shit. We all know Ry is a use ’em and lose ’em kind of guy, and then all of a sudden he’s playing house with some random chick out of the blue?”
Shit, that didn’t come out right either. Kelley looks even more humiliated. Fuck!
Before I have time to apologize Ryan is up, hands fisted at his sides. He gets in my face. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, so I suggest you shut your goddamn mouth. It’s none of your fucking business what I do or who I do it with, but if I ever hear you refer to Kelley as some random chick ever again I’ll kick your fucking teeth in, like I should have done years ago.”
Lucas and Logan move to separate us. I study Ryan’s threatening glare before finally backing off. As much as it annoys the fucking shit out of me that he gets to blame me for what happened with Hazel, it’s my choice. I know it would just upset him more to know the truth. I’d rather have him think I’m an asshole than know what really happened with his sister.
Ryan holds his hands up in surrender, indicating he’s cool. He reaches for Kelley’s hand and grinds out, “We’re going.” He pulls her to the front door, slamming it behind them.
“Really, Tristan? You had to bust his balls today of all days?” Lucas shakes his head then resumes stuffing a garbage bag.
“Whatever, man. He had it coming.” I tie up my own full bag and toss it to the side while trying not to make eye contact with Hazel, who I know is staring at me.
The ride back to Hazel’s has been quiet so far, which is unusual since she typically can’t stand the silence. When we were younger she even needed music to fall asleep, and I find myself wondering if she still does. I almost ask, but stop myself. Taking a trip down memory lane won’t do either of us any good. Thankfully, Hazel finally interjects.
“I’m sorry for what Ryan said to you . . . the part about how he should have kicked your ass years ago. I know that’s my fault . . .”
Her voice trails off and my hands tense on the steering wheel. I know exactly what she’s referring to. Anytime I think about what happened it makes me want to either puke or punch something. Sometimes both.
I shrug it off, hoping my voice sounds more relaxed than I feel. “I made a promise, didn’t I?”
As I pull onto Hazel’s street she adds, “And now I realize how selfish it was for me to have asked you to do that. Maybe it’s time—”
I bring the truck to a quick stop on the side of the secluded road and throw it in park. I know what she’s going to say, but there is no way in hell that telling Ryan the truth right now is going to make things better. It’s not going to change the past and I have no interest in opening old wounds. “I’m going to stop you right there. What happened, happened. It’s in the past and that’s where it’s going to stay. Trust me, Hazel, nothing good will come from rehashing things.” I cut the ignition. We planned for me to drop her off a few doors down from her house in case her mother is home, and I’m relieved we don’t have the whole car ride home to talk about this.
“I just want you to know how much your help means to me, Tristan. How much you mean to me.”
When I see the way Hazel looks gratefully at me with those big, sexy green eyes my relief turns to panic and I suddenly wish I had something else to focus on. I silently curse the fact we’re just sitting here. Not moving. Alone. In my truck. On a quiet, secluded street with Hazel looking all sorts of vulnerable and tempting in her form-fitting red T-shirt and tight jeans.
I equally curse my dick, who, judging from the fact that he’s chosen this moment to wake up, has also noticed the way Hazel’s shirt stretches across her perfectly rounded breasts.
In this moment I wonder if the past really can be the past and we can start over. If there is even the slightest chance of us ever being us again. I want to know if her body would still feel like fire under my fingertips. If her lips would still taste as earthy and sweet. If she would still lock her eyes on mine the moment I bury myself inside her.
I slowly lean in, trying to breathe in her light, citrusy scent. It’s hard to put what she smells like into words except for what I can only describe as sunshine and fucking rainbows. She licks her lips and inhales, lifting her head ever so slightly to meet mine.
I’m so close I’d barely have to move to taste her. I move my eyes from her full, pink lips to her deep, dangerous eyes and suddenly my desire is replaced with something I can’t identify. Resentment? Mistrust?
Rather than let myself get sucked into what could only be a very bad fucking idea, I instead whisper, “Goodnight, Hazel,” before pulling back.
I smile casually to mask how affected I am by this girl. I knew it was a mistake to let her back into my life. The sooner I shut this down, the better.
I try to read Hazel’s reaction, but she simply smiles back and lets herself out of the car. Before she closes it she leans in, giving me the most perfectly frustrating view right down the front of her shirt. “Goodnight, Tristan. Remember, I owe you a ride.” She winks and slams the door, leaving me to watch her walk away.
As soon as she disappears around the corner I bang my hands against the steering wheel, needing to vent some of this unexpected pent-up tension. I’m both pissed I was tempted to give in and pissed I stopped myself. I take a minute to compose myself before turning the key in the ignition. Right before I put the truck in drive, I dial Logan’s number on my cell.
As soon as I hear the call pick up I don’t even let him speak before commanding, “Dude, get your ass over to my place—we’re going out. I need to get laid ASAP.” I end the call, toss my p
hone into the passenger seat, and peel out as fast as I can. The farther I can get away from Hazel Blake, the better.
Tristan
An hour later I’m at Chaser’s with Logan, already knocking back my second beer. This bar is our usual place when we just want to chill and unwind, maybe have a little fun. It’s a dive bar with low lighting, an old-school jukebox, and a pool table in the back. It may not be the classiest of places, but it’s not a dump, either. Right on the outskirts of the main downtown strip, it’s the kind of bar you come to after a long day of work, knock back a cold beer, and find someone to take your mind off of whatever shit you might be going through.
Speaking of, a busty brunette appears at my right elbow. She surveys me with a predatory look and nods to my bottle. “Care to buy a girl a drink?” She licks her lips and pushes her tits closer to my arm, staring me down like a piece of meat. Normally I’d find this behavior ballsy enough to interest me, but tonight I just find it lame.
“I’m good.” I barely make eye contact and focus my attention in the opposite direction as she walks away. Part of me feels bad for being such an asshole about it, but then I see she’s already fixated on her next victim, so fuck feeling guilty.
Logan eyes me as he takes a swig from his own bottle of Sam Adams and laughs to himself.
“What?” I ask, irritated.
“Nothing. Lucas owes me a hundred bucks is all.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
He takes another drink from his beer before tilting it toward the brunette who’s hitting on some other poor bastard across the room. “I’ve never seen you turn down an easy opportunity like that, and I assume it’s because of a certain someone you escorted to the party earlier.” He shakes his head and grabs a handful of peanuts from the small bowl on the bar. “That girl has always fucked with your head, so I made a little wager.”
Sick Pleasure (Crazy Beautiful Book 3) Page 3