I had no trouble believing him; it certainly worked for Chelly. But me? I swallowed, not sure what to say but smart enough to know not to tell him every shred of my confidence was fake or my stupidity taken out of context. “You don’t even know my name.”
“I don’t need to know your name to know who you are. I can see you, even without my eyes.”
I reached for his glasses and then stopped, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. “Can I see them?”
“They’re useless,” he said, stroking his thumb across my cheekbone.
“I don’t care,” I said.
He shrugged, which I took as his assent, but he didn’t move, so I gently slid the glasses off his face. His eyes were brown, not the blue I’d expected, but they were still beautiful, framed by long, dark lashes. They were unfocused but seemed to look right through me.
“Can you see anything at all?” I asked.
“If the light is just right, I can sometimes see a bit of shape out of the one. The other is prosthetic.”
That took me by surprise and I was glad he couldn’t see my face. “Wow, I never would have known,” I said, my gaze darting back and forth, comparing, wishing there was more light to see him by. Though the last thing I wanted to do was make him think I was studying him.
“Well?” he said, sounding almost shy.
I took a breath. “Hi,” I said, glad he couldn’t see my hands shaking.
“Hi,” he said back, his smile making the corners of his eyes crinkle.
“That’s what I wanted to see,” I said.
“My useless eyes?”
“Your expressive eyes,” I said. “Just because you can’t see out doesn’t mean I can’t see in.”
“So now you know all my secrets?” he said, his lips twisting up into a smile.
“No,” I said. “Just some tiny clues about what you’re thinking.”
He chuckled. “If that was true, you’d have run away screaming by now.” His smile disappeared as his hand moved over my cheek and into the hair at my nape. His eyes were trained forward, but I could tell he was intent, like he was focusing all his senses on touching me “For some reason I thought you would have long hair,” he said.
“Is short hair bad?” I asked, suddenly worried about his answer. So much for that confidence.
He shook his head. “No. Just different.” He pulled me forward until I felt his breath on my lips. His eyes fluttered closed. “I don’t want to head-butt you. If you want to do this, you’ll need to come the rest of the way.”
It was more than about him not wanting to head-butt me, it was a question of sorts. I looked down at his full lips for a half second and then closed the gap between us.
~ ♥ ~
In the big scheme of things, kissing Tristan was very complicated: he didn’t know my name, he thought I was twenty-three, and there was no way anything could really happen between us.
But right now, in the darkness of his flat, on his couch, with his big hands holding me and his full lips on my mouth, it was very, very uncomplicated. Me and him, lips and hands. Nothing could be less complicated when taken at face-value. And there was nothing else I wanted to think about than the slant of his lips over mine.
His mouth was soft yet perfectly firm as he kissed me. As he exhaled, I felt the brush of his tongue against my lips, urging me to open for him. I did, my stomach twisting at how amazing he was making me feel: beautiful, confident.
He tasted good—a little like beer—which made it feel even more thrilling. My heart pounded against my ribs and I reached for him, my fingers wrapping around his hard biceps through his sweater, pulling him closer, wanting to feel his heart thumping against my chest.
He groaned, but instead of deepening the kiss even more, he pulled back from me, his chest rising and falling as he breathed heavily. His eyes stayed closed, his long lashes like fans on his cheeks, his lips wet from my mouth, which was about the sexiest thing I’d ever seen in my life.
His eye was still closed as he took a deep breath before he spoke, “I...it’s been a long time for me... And I would really like to...but is this what you want?” he asked. His warm hand was still on the nape of my neck, his thumb stroking my jaw, just about killing any chance of me thinking straight.
“Sorry,” he said with a curse before I could even begin to put a sentence together. “What I mean is, do you want this to go further? Because if you do, I want to know who you are. I’m not going to make this a one-night stand. I don’t do that anymore and that’s not what I want from you.”
His words made me realize I was on the cusp of getting in deep. This wasn’t a high school guy who I had stolen behind the stables with for a quick make-out session, this was a man, thinking I was a grown woman. An experienced woman who had been down this road before and wasn’t sitting here contemplating tossing away her virginity to a practical stranger.
Pushing that thought away for a moment, I thought about his question: what did I want? I took a deep breath as I absorbed exactly what he was asking me. Yes, he was talking about sex, but so much more than that.
My brain was so muddled with hormones I could barely remember my real name, let alone one of the fake ones I could give him.
But what I did know was that I had nothing to offer him. Coming up here, or at least, coming into his flat, had been a mistake. A swoony, really awesome make-my-knees-weak kind of mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. I forced my brain back online and began to answer him, “Tristan...I...” and then I stalled out, because what could I possibly say?
He shook his head, before I could go on. “That tells me what I need to know.” He leaned into me and gave me one last scorching kiss before he completely backed off, taking his hand away, leaving a cold spot on my neck. “If you’re not one hundred percent sure, this isn’t happening.”
As ridiculous as it seems, I was both disappointed and relieved. I didn’t want to stop, at least, my amped up body didn’t want to, but my brain knew continuing down this road was a bad idea for so many reasons.
He slid his hand down my arm and grasped my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay. I really like you. If it’s not the right time or too soon, I would just rather know now before it goes too far.”
He was acting like there was still a chance for something more, but I wasn’t going to correct him. I squeezed his fingers back and was about to suggest that maybe it was time for me to leave, before it got awkward(er), when we heard the countdown begin through the walls of the flat. I glanced over through the window to the other side of the courtyard and saw people in my own flat standing around, holding up their glasses as they all chanted the countdown, too.
“We don’t have a toast,” Tristan said.
“It’s okay,” I said. “We can toast without a drink.”
We joined the countdown at three, two, one.
“Happy New Year, Tristan,” I said at the end.
“Happy New Year, Cinderella,” he said back. “I hope all your wishes come true this year.”
And then, because there was nothing else I could think to do, I kissed him one more time.
Adieu
Four minutes later, we backed away from each other, both breathing heavy again, and I wondered if he was going to ask me to stay. I also wondered what I would say.
But he swallowed and said, “I think you should leave before we do something we’re going to regret.”
I sighed. “Does it count if I say that a lot of me really doesn’t want to?”
“It counts for a lot,” he said and then stood up, holding his hand out for me. I slid my hand into his and rose. “I mean it. I wasn’t lying when I said it’s been a long time. I...I’m not the good-looking guy I used to be.”
“Please,” I said as we walked toward the door. “I told you, scars are in.”
He gave me a weak smile.
We got to the front door and I stopped, lifting my palm to his scarred cheek, knowing he needed a bit of reassurance. “Joking aside�
�although it’s no joke that girls dig scars, believe me—you are very handsome and charming and it is taking everything in me not to stick around. You underestimate your game, Tristan. You have it. Lots of it.”
Then, somehow, we were kissing again, but after a moment, I pulled away, realizing my parents were probably about to send out a search party.
“Seriously, I should go. This is getting dangerous,” I said, breathless.
“Thank you for the best night I’ve had in a long time,” he said as I opened the door.
“Same here,” I said, grabbing my coat off the hook.
“See you in the courtyard,” he said, smiling.
“Until then,” I said. “Adieu.”
~ ♥ ~
I jogged from Tristan’s flat around the building and down the stairs to ours on the second floor. I ducked inside, worried my parents were going to give me an earful, but as I did a sweep of the room with my eyes, they seemed to be engaged with their friends, laughing and enjoying themselves. Huh. Probably a good thing I didn’t know they weren’t going to freak out or I would have stayed at Tristan’s much longer.
I snuck down the hall and tossed my coat into my room before going back to the living room to find my dad.
“Hi,” I said, placing my hand on his arm to get his attention. “Tristan is fine. He was overwhelmed and just needed some air.”
Dad frowned at the clock on the wall, probably trying to figure out what time I’d left. “You’ve been gone a while...”
I nodded, trying to not look like I’d just been kissed senseless. “He was feeling a bit wobbly after the beers and I helped him get up to his flat. By then it was almost midnight, so I sat with him for a few minutes so he wouldn’t have to spend the countdown alone.”
Dad squeezed my shoulder. “That was nice of you. I was worried about him. Thanks for looking after him.”
If only you knew... But I shut that thought away, not wanting to think about how else I’d looked after Tristan in front of my father.
I nodded. “No problem. I’m off to bed, if that’s okay.” I glanced toward the kitchen but was suddenly hit with a wave of exhaustion and didn’t want to face the mountain of dishes.
He caught my glance and shook his head before leaning in to kiss me on the cheek. “You did plenty tonight. We’ll handle it. Thanks for everything.”
I nodded and said goodnight to him and then my mom before I said a group goodnight to all the guests.
Once in my room, I locked my door and turned toward my window, looking through to Tristan’s flat across the way. I couldn’t see much other than the ceiling, since it was a floor above us. It was dark, as expected, but there were flashes of light: TV. I wondered what he had on and thought about what it must be like to watch TV if you couldn’t actually see it. Crappy, I figured, like everything else. Though, thinking back on our conversations from tonight and before, I realized that while he had lost such a fundamental sense, he didn’t seem to feel sorry for himself or overly depressed about it. Not that I knew him all that well... it was entirely possible that he’d already dealt with the reality of his disabilities and was now dealing with the aftereffects of the torture.
Torture. I shivered as I contemplated what that could mean. I’d seen the news, had heard snippets of conversations Dad had had with people on the phone about captured agents and what could happen to them. I considered asking Dad about Tristan and what had happened to him, but then thought better of it: I really didn’t want to know. He’d practically begged me to not feel sorry for him, and the less I knew, the better chance of that happening.
I tore my eyes away from the window and got out my cell phone. There were texts from Kaylee: an amazing photo of her in the dress that I guessed (from the coy look on her face) Declan had taken, a few one-liners about the party and then a Happy New Year wish. I sent her one back and saw her typing almost immediately.
Hey! Hold on. Bthrm.
I pulled off my jeans as I waited for her next text.
It wasn’t long before she sent: Where’ve you been?
My parents had a party. Sorry!
Don’t you dare apologize. Was it fun?
Fun is not the word I would use to describe my night. Intense, terrifying, exhausting, inspiring, maybe even life-changing, but fun? Not precisely. The party wasn’t really fun, I texted. Though I didn’t want her to think I had a bad night. There’s a guy, I added.
!!! Details, please!
How could I even begin to describe what had happened with Tristan or even Tristan himself? And what to say about where it was going to go from here? I mean, I would kind of love to carry on, but with the lies and my age...I couldn’t figure a way around it. Even if I came clean with him—which I was going to have to do—there was no way he would ever date me. And if I kept up the charade? No, that was unthinkable. I would be the worst kind of person if I selfishly let him believe I was twenty-three and not my father’s daughter.
Ugh. So complicated. But I was dying to tell her. He’s older. So much to tell you but not on text—kind of complicated. Maybe I can sneak a call tomorrow?
Yes. We have brunch but afternoon is free. Then one more day and home on the third.
My heart lurched at that reminder that having her here was a temporary thing. Ok. I will let you know, I sent and then realized how selfish I was being, monopolizing our conversation, Wait! Are you having a great time? What is the Queen wearing?
Funny. Yes, good time. No Queen. Declan gave me a NYE charm. Jerk!
He’s awful. Give him a hug for me.
Gladly. Good night!
You, too! xoxo
Noticing the low battery, I plugged the phone into the charger and put it in the wall outlet behind my bed. I finished undressing and realized I’d forgotten to brush my teeth, but no way was I going out to the party in my pajamas. Tired but suddenly not sleepy, I picked up my notebook and turned to a fresh page, figuring maybe I should start my story from the beginning.
Secondary Uses for Fridges
The three of us were in the kitchen the next morning, well, more like early afternoon by the time we all got up. Robert wasn't home yet—don’t even get me started on the unfairness of how I couldn’t even leave the building while he got to stay out all night—but Dad and I sat at the table each quietly eating our toast, while Mom was rummaging around in the fridge, rearranging all the platters of food. Again.
“We have too much food. What are we going to do with all this food?”
Dad put down the half-eaten triangle of toast and looked up from his iPad. “What?”
Mom gestured at the fridge. “What are we going to do with all this?”
Dad shrugged. “We can give some to the people who live in the building.”
Of course I thought of Tristan, but, “A lot of agency people live here?” I asked, because Dad normally wasn’t a get-friendly-with-your-neighbors kind of guy.
He nodded. “It’s a good building and we have security detail here all the time. There’s more now because of your threat, obviously, but it’s always secure.”
“It’s like a campus.”
My father nodded. “Sort of. There are a lot of civilians, too. It wasn’t like we planned on it, just when a few people moved in, others followed and it started making sense for people to live here. We actually have a few empty apartments on hold and in case anyone needs them.”
Like us, I imagined, since we’d only taken over our flat recently. If I’d realized so many of Dad’s people lived here, I would have guessed Tristan was ex-agency. Not that I regretted what had happened with him or would go back and change anything, but maybe it would have been good to know that going in.
Dad nodded toward the fridge. “Why don’t you put some together and Brooklyn can take a package over to Tristan after breakfast? I can take the rest around.”
Oh, Dad, that’s a bad, bad idea, I thought. But I couldn’t bring myself to do anything other than nod and finish eating, wondering how I was going to explain t
o Tristan why I was showing up with a platter of food.
~ ♥ ~
“Tristan?” I said as I knocked, my voice sounding weird to my own ears.
“Who’s there?” he said suspiciously, his voice muffled through the door.
I felt ridiculous calling myself Cinderella, but how else could I identify myself? The girl you made out with last night? The lying seventeen year old you hooked up with on the bench?
“Er...Cinderella,” I said, comforted slightly at the fact that he wouldn’t see how hot my face was.
“Hold on,” he said, the smile evident in his voice. That was a good sign, at least.
A few long moments later he opened the door, and I was disappointed to see he had his sunglasses on already but very not disappointed to see he was shirtless, wearing only a pair of jeans slung low on his hips, the top button undone. As I might have expected, there were some scars on his chest—some long pinkish lines and a few round ones that I didn’t dare think too hard about.
But what my brain really wanted to focus on was the hair that drew my eyes downward and the dents of his hipbones that made my knees weak.
“Hi,” he said, oblivious to my ogling, drawing my gaze up to his face. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Unless...wait, did you forget something here last night? If you did, you’ll have to find it yourself, sorry.” He grinned sheepishly at me. How was this man at once so sexy and yet adorable at the same time?
“No,” I said my eyes drawn to where he was shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, dragging the waistband lower... I had to clear my throat before I could continue. “I...there was a lot of food left over from the party and everyone in the building is getting a care package.”
He cocked his head as if he was looking at me sideways, his brow furrowing suspiciously. “This isn’t a pity package because of my little meltdown last night, is it?”
“Not at all. Like I said, everyone is getting something.”
“And you volunteered to deliver?”
I swallowed, remembering his comment about the confidence thing. “You would rather someone else?”
Making Ripples Page 10