by Lila Price
“Hi to you, too, Tristan.”
I think he grunts. That makes me even more annoyed. It’s as if last night and this morning have been wiped out of the historical record.
“I got a job,” I say.
“Good,” he mutters, as if this is the perfect solution to getting me out of the house and out of his line of vision.
“At Shady’s.”
He sits up, and satisfaction gives me a thrill.
“I’ll be bartending,” I add. “I’ll be shadowing Brent tonight while he shows me the ropes. It’s too bad they didn’t give me a uniform before I report for my shift, because it would’ve been such fun to take some First Day on the Job pictures for our family album before I go.”
He knows well and good that the uniform for females consists of black go-go boots, hot pants, and a vest that shows plenty of tummy and cleavage, and he slowly turns to me, his gaze dark. Oh, it is so wonderfully, awesomely dark with anger.
“Under no circumstances,” he says, “will you be working at that sex pit.”
“Hmm, but I think I will.” I flit off toward the kitchen, where I happily open the fridge and grab a carton of lemonade. Ah, bitter and sweet lemonade. It’ll taste like Tristan’s mood. I talk while I close the door. “I need the money, and it’s a good job.”
He’s quiet for a few seconds, and when I turn around toward a cabinet to get a glass, I startle when I see him standing in the entry. He has a way of moving stealthily, and I’m suddenly off balance in his presence again.
“You don’t need the money that bad,” he says.
I reach for the glass, trying not to let my hands shake. His gaze is unnerving me, or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s so close, and it’s the first time I’ve been near him since…
Since he rocked me and made me come for him.
“Sosie.” His tone has turned compromising, and that makes me even warier. “If you don’t take the job, I’ll make it worth your while.”
I swallow. He will?
Tristan sets down his beer on the counter. “I’ll give you five hundred dollars if you call your boss to tell him you quit.”
What? Five hundred…? He has that kind of money to throw around? Then again, since he’s taking some vacation time away from being a stockbroker, maybe he does.
“I’m not taking your bribe,” I say, grabbing my lemonade and marching out of the kitchen toward my room.
I shut the door behind me and wait, wondering if he’s going to come after me.
But he doesn’t, leaving me more frustrated—and confused—than ever.
The doors at Shady’s have been open for an hour, and I’ve just finished making my first official mojito when I spot Tristan at the end of the bar, hunkered down to watch over me. He’s got a swarm of girls trying to get his attention and a few buddies who’re working on redirecting the female focus so they can get laid. Does Tristan care, though?
Not when he has me to be a control freak with.
I could’ve predicted that he’d come here to bug me, especially after I marched out of my bedroom this afternoon and confronted him on the sofa where he’d taken a casual seat again, as if he’d had the last word with that offer of five hundred dollars. I’d repeated to him that I wasn’t about to take his damned bribe and I would be showing up for my shift tonight.
I hadn’t given him any time to answer, because I’d scooted out the door and driven to Julia’s, where I hung out with her then ate dinner with her family. I can be just as good at avoiding Tristan as he is at avoiding me.
A sassy Selena Gomez song is warming up the crowd, which is scattered around the three different bars in the club. The patrons have only starting to hit the dance floor, taking their drinks with them. As the girl who ordered the mojito pays me and leaves an okay tip, Brent rests a hand on my arm and leans over to speak into my ear over the music.
“You do catch on quick,” he says.
I smile. Besides taking a crash course from him this afternoon, I’ve been shadowing him. Whenever there’s an order for a drink that I do know how to make, I jump in and take care of it, but he’s been working at my side, giving me space more often than not.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tristan simmering at the end of the bar, white-knuckling his glass of whiskey. He’s measuring Brent up.
Brent jerks his chin Tristan’s way in a carefree hello, and my stepbrother tightly returns the gesture before throwing down what’s left of his booze.
A blond with a buzz cut and muscles under his button down steps up to order a gin and tonic. Easy, and as I grab a glass and fill it with ice cubes, gin, tonic water, and lime juice, Brent puts his hand in the small of my back in acknowledgement. He winks at me, and I wish I felt something for a good guy like him. I really do. But, down the way, Tristan is leveling a possessive gaze at me, and God help me, I eat it up. I feel like the most desirable woman in the room for him to be so jealous over such a small thing like Brent touching me.
I only hope he doesn’t go ape shit like he did at the club last night when that perv went too far with me.
After I stir the drink, garnish it with a lime wedge, and set it on a cocktail napkin, the blond slides me enough money to cover the cocktail and then some. A lot some.
“I’ll get your change,” I say.
“No, that’s all for you.” He’s got a dazzling white smile that reminds me of luxury cars and football trophies.
When Brent passes by, he greets my customer, who has settled his hand over the back of mine as I keep it over the money.
The customer leans forward, and I smell piney cologne. “You’re new here?”
“Sort of. I grew up in Dunlop Heights but I’m home from school for the summer.”
“Where do you go?”
“Syracuse.”
“You must have family here then. No one ends up in Dunlop Heights unless they’re visiting. I should know.”
I’m all too aware of Tristan seething from his corner. My heart dances to a crazy beat.
Another customer calls to me, waving his money. “Hey, sweetheart—how about a Heineken?”
I flash a smile at the blond and slip out from beneath his touch, grabbing the money as I go. He doesn’t leave as I put the cash in the till and the tip jar, fetch the bottled beer, and thank the guy who called me “sweetheart” for his own tip. I love this job already, and not just because it’s helping me to show Tristan that I can be appreciated by other men.
I take a peek at him to see that he’s now gauging the blond, who’s watching me with just as much interest as my stepbrother—except his interest is light where Tristan’s is dark.
And once I remember how much my customer has given me for a tip—twenty freakin’ dollars!—I decide he deserves a little return on his investment. It doesn’t hurt that I’m keen on making Tristan pay for this morning, too.
“Speaking of family,” I say, nodding toward Tristan, whose expression remains blank except for the rigid set of his jaw, “that’s my stepbrother.”
“I’d say he’s more of a pit bull.”
I shrug. “He’s been coming here long before I started this job.”
The blond looks harder at Tristan, then laughs. “Well, I’ll be damned. Tristan Walker, the rival quarterback across town.”
His tone surprises me: it’s full of admiration. But why should I be surprised when Tristan grew up as a golden boy in so many ways? His teachers loved him for his charm and brains, even though he breezed through his classes without working very hard. His coaches adored him and believed he’d be a success, even after he dropped out of college.
And there I go, dwelling on him again. I blow out a breath and wait on two girls who want cosmos. After I help them, the blond has forgotten Tristan and laid more money out on the bar. I blink at the fan of green.
“Looks like I’ve got your attention again.” At my gaping expression, he shrugs. “Work hard, play hard, I say.”
If I were to guess, I’d bet he works in t
he city, maybe for a hedge fund. Whatever he does, it’s made him overconfident, and he cocks his finger at me, drawing me closer.
Dumb me, I lean forward to hear what he’s going to order—maybe a nice bottle of wine or fine spirits?—but once I see his gaze on my cleavage, I get it. I pull back and assume my friendly bartender face.
I’ll learn.
Brent has his eye on me, so nothing’s going to get out of control here—unless Tristan decides to blow up. I glance at his spot down the bar.
Empty.
Shit.
Wouldn’t you know it, that’s when Brent decides it’s time for my break, and he tweaks me under the chin.
“So far so good,” he says. “Get out of here for a few.”
I figure out what he’s up to when he takes my place in front of the blond. Looks like Tristan isn’t the only one who’s playing bodyguard tonight with me.
I’m not used to so much male attention, and flustered, I get out from behind the bar as fast as I can. But there’s a guy built like a brick wall in front of me, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Tristan,” I say. “Move it.”
The lights are beating over him, red, orange, blue, just like his changing moods. Even in the colored dimness, I see him drag his gaze over me with a famished edge that twists in my belly. As he checks out my high boots, my hot pants, then my revealing vest, his gaze gets darker and darker.
Then he’s taking me by the arm away from the crowds. The next thing I know, we’re in a back room with shelves of booze, glasses, and supplies. He shuts the door, and there’s no lock, thank goodness.
If I need to leave, I will.
But when he roughly pulls me to him and stops my breathing with a furious kiss, the only place I want to be is here, in his strong arms, hoping no one walks in and finds us.
8
We’re all over each other: hungry kisses, me fumbling with his shirt and trying to pull it up so I can grope the skin and muscles of his stomach. But then he lifts me, backing me up until I feel a table under me. Folders smack to the ground as he pushes me over the surface.
His mouth is hard and demanding, and he’s wedging my thighs apart with his fingers. I open my legs, asking him to go on without even saying a word.
Touch me again, I think as tiny, insistent taps of lust pelt against me. My need for him is heightened by the thought that, if someone walks in, this is over. My reputation will be assassinated all over social media, my shame gone viral.
I urge him on with a moan.
He toys with me, stroking the inside of my bare thigh, inching toward my pussy then drawing away. It’s as if he’s dishing some revenge right back at me for how I allowed that blond customer to ogle me at the bar, how I let Brent put his hand on my back, and how I hoped Tristan was dying a little during every single bit of it. Maybe he’s thinking the same thing, because he bunches my hair in his fingers, stopping the kiss and bringing me away from him so I can look into his blazing gaze.
“You’ve been playing with fire ever since you got back,” he whispers.
“You’re the one who can’t keep his hands off me.”
He grins, and it isn’t a nice one. “Didn’t you dream last night of having your hands on me, Cherry? After you creamed for me?”
Why lie about it?
We’ve gone too far to keep on with these games, and at the same time, not nearly far enough.
As his fingers once again get closer to the spot between my legs that’s throbbing for him, I make myself slow everything down. I want whatever happens between Tristan and me to be special, so I calm my breathing, and my pulse follows. I comb my fingernails up one of his arms toward his yin and yang tattoo.
As I trace the circular black-and-white symbol, he lets go of my hair. “Tell me what your tattoo means, Tristan, and maybe I’ll let you touch me like you did last night.”
“Looks like I’m already doing just that.”
He brushes up the center of me, skimming the seam of my hot pants, and I flinch. But he doesn’t give me any more than that.
I can see a vein in his neck straining, and I know he’s fighting himself. Is it because someone might enter the room at any second and he knows we should stop and stay as far away from one another as possible? Or is it because he really does want to share one of his little secrets with me?
Does he ever show anyone the real Tristan?
“Tell me what it means,” I say softly.
He chuffs, like his tattoo is actually no big deal. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone more than halfway through college not knowing what the yin and yang signify.”
“A balance between dark and light. But why is that important enough to merit some ink on your skin?”
“Because we’re all stamped with some of both, Cherry—dark and light.”
He’s not looking into my eyes now. His gaze is feasting on my sex, as if all he wants to do is rip off my shorts and have at me again. As if he’d do anything to avoid sharing more.
I touch the broken wing on his arm that’s attached to the yin and yang symbol. “This reminds me of something fallen, something…”
He shuts me up with a slow, lazy kiss that makes me push up and off the table. I stay suspended like that for a beautiful moment, anticipating what might come next. And when he pauses, his lower lip to my lower lip, I swear I might dissipate into nothing, just like a spray of water dissolving in summer air.
“Stop talking, Sosie,” he says against me as I sink back down to the table. “I’ve got to be somewhere tonight, so if you want what I think you want, you’ll shut up.”
“Glad you could fit me into your schedule then.” I’m talking big, but I want to know where he’s off to. “Is it another woman?”
He laughs softly. “No.”
Happiness jitters through me. “Are you hanging out with your friends?”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
He brings his hands to my breasts, kneading them through the vest, but I’m not going to let him throw me off track.
“Is your vacation over and you’re going back to the city—?”
When he sweeps his tongue into my mouth, sweet intimacy enfolds me. He kisses me like that for what seems like hours, utterly obliterating our conversation. Then he gets more demanding, ravishing me with his lips until I’m dizzy and my cheeks burn from his five o’clock shadow.
It’s only when I hear loud voices outside in the hallway that I suck in a breath, whipping my gaze to the door.
But Tristan’s laughing at me again, and as the voices disappear, I smack his chest. It’s like hitting granite.
“Do you want to get caught?” I asked.
“Cherry,” he says soothingly, but there’s impatience there, too. “Don’t worry about anyone coming in here.”
“Why? Because you say they won’t?”
“Yes.” He presses his thumb to my lower lip. “And you know that I get whatever I want. I always have.”
If I just knew what Tristan really wants and what he’s really about, I might agree. But he’s not about to enlighten me.
“Maybe,” I say, ignoring his thumb and starting to slide off the table, “you’re not gonna get anything tonight.”
“Don’t bet on that.”
He sits me back on the table then coasts his thumb into my mouth. With a thrust of desire, I shut my eyes and close my lips around him. He slips his thumb out, then back in, and I think of his fingers inside me. I whirl my tongue around him, and I hear his breathing go rough.
His words are even ragged. “Did you have dreams about me last night?”
As I suck on him, I make a sound that can only be a yes.
“What did you imagine?”
I don’t want to tell him, because I’d imagined everything and anything, and if someone saw us doing even a fraction of that…
He takes my hand and presses it against his fly, where there’s a whole lot of him just waiting for me.
“Did you do this to me?” he asks.
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I open my eyes and glance at the door.
“Sosie,” he says, claiming my full attention as he slides his hand over mine, coaxing me to cup his cock.
My mind goes blank, and my only thoughts are of Tristan, of feeling the outline of a coming erection through his jeans. I begin to rub him while looking up at him through my lashes, and he grits his teeth. His gaze tells me he’s been wanting this since he saw me yesterday.
“You really have no idea how you affect men,” he says. “How did you stay like this with all the guys who want to get in your pants?”
Like this. A virgin.
I want to tell him that I haven’t gotten all that much attention until this summer, but then he closes his eyes, and I rub him harder, moving closer to him so that my inner thighs are pressing against the outside of his. I wrap an arm around his back as my strokes become faster, faster.
Now I’m feeling brave, dirty. “Are you going to come for me tonight?”
His laugh is hardly a laugh, more like a stifled groan.
I reach between his legs farther back and mildly push up. He takes in a breath between his teeth.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” he asks.
I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I answer, “Books. Cable TV.” Did I do it right?
“You sure that’s where you got it, Cherry?”
“Yes, Tristan,” I whisper.
I still can’t believe I’m here, with him. And even though my ears are tuned into any sounds from the hallway, I think, Fuck it, and urgently start undoing Tristan’s fly.
My hands tremble as I hurriedly unsnap his top button. As I take down his zipper, the sound echoes inside of me like I’m coming apart, too. Friction sparks in my core, and I clumsily get off the table, switching places with Tristan. He braces his hands back on the edge, looking down at me, obviously getting off on watching this little monster he’s created.
I half-grin up at him, pretending I’m more confident than I am—that I’m one of his cool, adult women. But I don’t really know what to do from here. I wasn’t lying about learning about sex from books and TV, but what if their lessons can only get me so far?