by Khan, Jen
I nod to a helmet that is dangling from the handlebars. “That your helmet?”
“It sure is.”
“You do realize how small it is, right?”
He looks at me skeptically. “Yeah.”
I shrug. “Wasn’t sure that you could squeeze your big-ass head into it is all.”
Tristan’s head hangs low as he chuckles. Then he grins up at me, orders me to put the helmet on, and says, “Climb the fuck on.”
I give in and do what he said.
He slips his helmet on and I am shocked that he can fit his big-ass head into the damn thing. He starts the bike, which comes to life with a fierce rumble, turns to me over his shoulder, and waits while I secure the helmet and straddle the seat behind him.
I’m not sure what to do with my hands now that I’ve taken the leap and actually hopped on. I rearrange my purse so that it is strapped across my chest and place my hands on my thighs, rubbing them nervously.
“Cupcake, I’m gonna need you to wrap your arms around my waist and hold on!” he yells over the loud purr of the engine.
I do what I’ve been told, but I do so lightly, gripping his shirt at the sides.
“Tighter!”
I tighten my arms around him, clasping my hands at his abdomen, and hold on for dear life while I rest my feet up on the pegs that are so generously provided for me. The bike jerks forward, and before I know it, we’re veering onto Main Street. I feel my body relax after a few minutes. This is amazing. It’s a gorgeous summer evening. The adrenaline rush kicks in as the wind hits my face. This is what being free is like? I could get used to this.
I’m lost in the beauty of the experience when I notice that we’re coming to a stop. Tristan turns the bike off and kicks the stand, taking off his helmet and placing it on the handlebars. I take mine off, handing it to him. Then I remove myself from the seat and run my fingers through my hair, trying to bring it back to life.
He leans over, kisses my forehead, and throws an arm around my shoulders. “Don’t worry about your hair. You look great.”
He motions to the door of Caro Mi, a restaurant nestled in the foothills and right on the banks of the Pacoulet River, which makes for a beautiful, rustic setting. It is a small place owned by one of the local families. This is hands down one of the best places to get a bite in Tryon if you want something with a little more class.
I’m still riding my high from being on the back of the bike. I hope that Tristan plans on taking me out on it more often, but I don’t dare tell him that yet.
He removes his arm from my shoulders, opens the door, and places a hand at the small of my back, guiding me into the restaurant. I feel a bolt of electricity sail through my spine at that one simple touch. My body is humming and craving more of him. After a few moments of waiting, we are seated in the far back by a window that gives a stunning view of the foothills. No matter how long I’ve lived here, I can never get over its beauty.
I shift my gaze from the outdoor scenery to Tristan, who I am shocked to see is watching me intently. “What is it?” I ask.
“You are stunning. Never seen anyone look as beautiful as you do right now. Fresh off the back of my bike and you look like you’ve never experienced anything better in all your life.”
I ponder this for a moment. He is absolutely right. I have never experienced anything more exhilarating than being wrapped around this strong man’s body while he navigated us through the streets on his Harley.
“You’re right.” I nod. “I don’t think I have experienced anything like it.”
He rewards me with a boyish grin and, yes…the dimple. God, he is hot and that smile could easily do me in.
When the salads arrive, I stab some lettuce with my fork. “So, what got you into MMA?”
Something flashes in his eyes, and I’m not quite sure what to make of it, but then it’s gone as quickly as it came. “I got into a little bit of trouble growing up that sent me to juvenile hall for a brief stint.”
This surprises me. He seems so straight-edge—minus the occasional beer I have seen him drink, but even that is rare.
“When I got back home, Pop gave me an ultimatum. Get my shit together and lay off the drugs or I was heading to military school. He’d already made the calls and was just waiting to see what he was going to have to do with me. I decided to get my shit together. So I wandered into the Y one day and met a couple of guys who were training. They took me in, showed me the ropes, and before I knew it, I was training myself.”
“So you decided to open the studio and the rest is history?”
Tristan chuckles. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
“Well, I never understood why people turn to drugs. There are better ways to work through your shit.” Oh. My. God. Did I just freakin’ say that? “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so insensitive.”
He watches me for a beat. “You’re right. It was a few years after my mother died and I wasn’t handling it all that well. I got mixed in with the wrong crowd. At the time, it numbed the pain.”
I am such a bitch. “I’m sorry about your mother. I heard through Emma that you all had lost her.”
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. Time heals wounds—“
“But leaves scars,” I interrupt.
“That it does indeed.” He nods affirmatively.
“Holly?” I hear a very familiar voice call out and immediately want to crawl under our table and hide.
Oh no! No, no, no, no, no! My eyes slam shut.
It’s bad enough that this evening is going so well. I was letting him get to me, wearing me down—now this? Maybe, if I keep my eyes closed, she won’t see me.
Yeah, that’s a logical way of thinking.
My eyes betray me in time to see Mom and her best friend Kitty sauntering up to our table. Earlier, When I told her over the phone that Tristan was taking me out to dinner, she remained silent until I prompted her to speak. I was afraid she had passed out with me still on the phone. Then, all I got was an, “Oh my. Just wait until I tell Kitty.” Well, it looks like that was the first thing she did when we hung up with each other.
They are two peas in a pod. Always together. Always arguing over silly things, yet never mad enough to end their relationship. Now that I think about it, they’re more like an old married couple, and they keep me entertained for the most part.
Tonight, not so much.
“Look who is here, Kitty! Can you believe our luck running into these two on their date?” That was Mom in all her glory, showing me off to her friend. Well, showing her friend that her daughter has a bona fide date with one of the town’s hotties.
“Hi, Mom.” Someone smother me.
“Oh my! You were right, Lizzie. He is a hunk.” That was Kitty. Not a subtle bone in her body.
“Hi, Kitty.” Someone shoot me.
“I know. Look at him,” Mom responds. And then, just when I think it can’t get any worse, it does. “He’s a big, strong fella, isn’t he? If the two of them stick together, can you imagine how good-looking my grandbabies are going to be?”
Kitty shakes her head in approval, lowers her voice, and utters, “Even an old gal my age could show him a thing or two.”
My forehead hits the table, the silverware and plates clink, my mother gasps, and Tristan roars with laughter.
May lightning strike me dead.
“Well, our food just got here, so we should eat,” I announce to the three of them like I am in the middle of the room on a soapbox. I’m fairly sure that the entire restaurant heard me and is now staring.
I look at Tristan, whose eyes have turned a lazy, funny, amused sort of way. His eyelids droop, the corners of his mouth turns up in a smirk, and his dimple shines in all of its glory.
Oh my. That is the one thing all of the Holt men share. The killer dimple—in Jake’s case, two killer dimples. Melting panties since they learned how to use it to their advantage.
“Oh my,” Kitty gasps. “Did you see that dim
ple, Lizzie?”
My life—end it now. Someone? Anyone?
Mom shook her head vehemently. “We should leave them to their supper. Don’t want their food to get cold.”
Hallelujah! There must be a god.
“Holly, child.” Kitty flips her thumb over her shoulder in Tristan’s direction. “He’s the hottest one I’ve seen you with yet. Don’t screw this up.”
Nope. I was wrong.
“Kitty!” my mother shouts. “My daughter is so pretty that George Clooney would settle down and beg her to marry him. Beg. Her!”
If I were lucky, a great white shark would lunge out of the river and swallow me whole. I know they don’t swim in rivers, but a girl can dream, can’t she?
“Honey”—my mother again—“you look absolutely gorgeous.” She bends to give me a kiss on the cheek.
“Thanks, Mom.” I extend my hand across the table. “Since a proper introduction clearly wasn’t in the cards where you two are involved—Mom, Kitty, this is Tristan.”
My mother drops my hand to shake his, Kitty giggles, and Tristan smiles. Full on and dimple ablazing.
“Well, our food’s going to get cold.” I try to usher them away, but that isn’t in the cards for the time being either.
“Holly tells me that you’re running that gym in town. The one where all of those big, strong fellas go to whoop ass,” my mom says as I start to jab my fork with the food on my plate. That is until it hits the plate with a clank as I stare down at it in dread, bracing for whatever the hell is about to come out of their mouths next.
God must be on vacation.
Clearly, my mother has already forgotten that her daughter is on a date and her food is getting cold.
“Yes, ma’am,” Tristan replies, taking a fork to his food, scooping it into his mouth, and turning a closed-mouth smile to me.
“Have you ever been in a fight like those men on TV in that ring where they pummel each other to a bloody death?” Kitty excitedly asks, passing Tristan the basket of bread in an offering, which he gladly accepts.
“Once or twice.”
Kitty’s eyes go round as she clutches her purse. “Did anyone die?”
“No, ma’am.”
A look of disappointment flashes across her features. “Ever beat someone near death?”
Tristan spreads butter on his bread, his eyes sliding to me and then to Kitty and Mom. “No, but I’ve broken bones, knocked a few out, and given a few concussions in my day.”
“Whoa.” That was Mom and Kitty together.
My heart skips a few beats at the thought of Tristan being in that ring and getting hit by someone as big as he is, if not bigger.
“Ever had any broken bones or a concussion?” Kitty carries on, even more thrilled than she was previously.
I hold my breath when Tristan’s eyes slice to me again.
“Yeah,” he answers. “But not from a fight.”
My body tenses.
Kitty’s lips purse when she realizes that she isn’t going to get any further information. My breath is still stuck at the thought of him having broken bones and concussions from something other than fighting. Hell, from something at all. I’ve always had a sense that he was a badass growing up, but something or someone hurting him like that would have brought me to my knees had I been standing at the moment when he said, “Yeah.”
Kitty opens her mouth to say something else, but Mom interrupts her. “Kitty, sweetie, maybe we should leave the two of them to their date.”
Her mouth snaps shut. I smile up at Mom in a silent thank-you while sending another silent thank-you to the Lord above. He must’ve come off break at exactly the right time.
“Lizzie! Kitty!” another familiar voice rings out from across the restaurant.
Sweet baby Jesus.
“Carol?” Mom and Kitty shriek.
“Ladies, can you please take this to another table? We’re trying to enjoy our dinner.”
They weren’t listening to me. They were giggling and hugging and then beaming at Tristan.
“Tristan, how’s the family?”
“Doing great ,Mrs. Schwartz. How is Mr. Schwartz?”
“A mean son of a bitch as always. But I love him. He keeps me ornery.”
“That’s great!” Tristan replies.
“Carol? Kitty?” Mom interjects. “We really should leave these two to their supper. Tristan is spending a pretty penny on this meal. Let’s go.” She spins, takes a good, hard look at me, and grins before saying, “Love you, beautiful.” Then, with a wink, she’s herding the ladies away from our table and out the door.
Tristan’s hand slides across the table and grabs mine. I look at him and see that he’s having the time of his life.
“That was the woman who raised me. That was her friend Kitty, who has been around since I can remember. That was also her friend Carol, who has been around since we moved to the area when I was in high school. I love them, but I could strangle them at the same time.”
Dimple.
He releases my hand and we dive back into our food.
As we finish our dinner, our conversation is light and funny, and it flows naturally for the rest of the evening. He teases me about my right hook, and I tell him that I am more than willing to work on that with him by using his face as a punching bag. He doesn’t find that all too funny.
We laugh—or he laughs. I snort. Apparently, Tristan finds it cute. I, however, do not. Before I know it, the evening is coming to an end. Way too soon. He leads me back out to his bike and I squeal a little.
Tristan takes the long way so that I can enjoy the ride. He helps me off the bike when we get back to my place, and I take off the helmet before handing it back to him. Once the helmets find their home on the back of the seat, he grabs my hand and tugs me firmly but carefully and I go flying into this chest.
“Cupcake,” he says speaking quietly, “I had an amazing evening with you tonight.”
I lean back, putting my hands flat to his chest, and my eyes slide up to his. I am about to speak but stop myself when it becomes clear that he is ready to take control of the situation.
His arms go around my waist and he walks us backwards to my building. When we stop, his arms tighten around me, bringing me closer to his body. His other hand dives into my hair, cupping the back of my head and holding me still, tipping it to one side. He slants his head to the opposite side and slams his lips to mine.
A moan leaves my chest and my body starts to hum with want when he thrusts his tongue into my mouth. He deepens the kiss, and any tension that may have been present flows from me as my knees go wobbly. Tristan supports my weight by holding me up against him with his strong arms. My hands slide up his chest, around the back of his neck, and into his hair, keeping him right where I want him.
I press my body deeper into his as our tongues go into battle with one another. He pulls me even closer—as if we could possibly get any closer with our clothes on. The passion behind this kiss is so intense that I almost can’t handle it. I need more. I melt my hips and breasts into him and devour him.
Then he stops.
He tears his mouth from mine, shuts his eyes, and rests his forehead to mine, breathing in heavily. I close my eyes to try and pull myself together. When they open and drift up to his, he is staring at me.
“You want to come up?” I ask, hoping that he has nowhere else to be for the next twelve hours because I am going to use him like an amusement park tonight.
Tristan groans as he tilts his head down and buries his face in the crook of my neck. I can feel him smiling against my skin.
“Tristan?” I call out to him. I’m not sure what his reaction to my invite means. Normally, he would jump at the chance. My body stiffens. Is he not going to take me up on my offer?
He lifts his head and bores his gaze into mine. “I like you, cupcake. I like you a lot. I am trying really hard to be what I know you need. I can’t make any promises that I can be that guy, but I am going to try damn ha
rd, because if tonight is any indication, I can see this thing between us being good. I’m working through my shit and am in no position to tell you it’s going to be exactly the way you want it. What I can tell you is I like your smile and the way your eyes light up when you are happy—and even when you’re angry. I like that you are an independent woman, and I like that you wear pencil skirts and heels to work all while being able to throw one hell of a right hook. I like the way you smell and the way your hair looks when you get off my bike. I like the way you cared for your best friend when she was going through one of the worst and most unimaginable moments a woman could ever experience. I like the way you kiss and the way you fuck. This has been the best first date I have ever had, and I hope to have more dates with you in the near future. What I can do is give you another kiss before I get on my bike, but because I want to do this right by you, what I cannot do is go up to your apartment right now.”
Wow! I am completely and utterly speechless.
He moves his head so that his mouth is so close that it is almost touching mine. Then he whispers, “Get your ass upstairs and I’ll text you when I get home.”
“Okay,” I whisper back.
“All right,” he mutters, turning me in his arms to face the building and swats me on the ass for the second time this evening. I’ll text you,” he states once more, and I nod, making my way up the steps.
“However, I hear the tap of his boots coming up behind me. I spin to him and almost barrel into his chest.
“Before you go, cupcake, I need to taste that mouth of yours one last time.”
I can feel a tremble roll through my body. I reach up onto my toes and gave him what he wants. Tristan takes it soft and sweet. Then he releases my lips and kisses me on the tip of my nose. I flash him a grin and head up to my apartment.
By the time I put my purse on the couch, I hear his Harley come to life and trail off. He kept his word and was a complete gentleman all evening. Giving him a chance may be a risk, but it’s one I just may be willing to take.
Two days after what appeared to have been a successful first date with Holly, Tristan walked into Holts for a beer. He loved this bar. Always full of good, small-town people he grew up around. His father and brother Braden ran this place. Now, more Braden and his woman Emma since his pop has taken on a somewhat retirement status these days.