Auctioned to Him 2: His for a Week

by Charlotte Byrd

  “My cards!” I scream. “They’re going everywhere!”

  “I’ll get them!” he yells.

  “I’ll be right down!” I yell back, pulling on my Uggs and grabbing my coat.

  With just my luck, the elevator stops at practically every single floor. People are done with finals. They’re happily chatting away. On two occasions, I have to tell them that I’m in a hurry as they hold the elevator open saying their goodbyes. I should’ve taken the stairs, but it’s too late now. I tap my foot anxiously. My cards are probably all over Manhattan now. Ten minutes later, I finally get onto Broadway. Tristan stands at the corner with a thick stack of cards, reading one. I look around the street. Don’t see a single one.

  “Hey, that’s private!” I say loudly, so that he could hear me over the sound of afternoon traffic. An ambulance rushes by, deafening me to the point where I can’t even hear my own thoughts.

  Tristan doesn’t look up. It’s like he can’t hear me.

  “That’s private,” I say, walking up to him. He looks up.

  “It’s addressed to me,” he says.

  From the cover, I can tell that he’s reading the last card I wrote. Why did it have to be that one? I wish more than anything that he were reading any other card.

  “It’s still private. I didn’t mean for you to read it. I was never going to send it.”

  “Dear Tristan.” He ignores me and starts reading. I try to get the card out of his hand, but he lifts it above his head, continues to read out loud. “Dear Tristan, I’m just writing to say thank you. Thank you for coming back into my life as a friend. Thank you for saying all those things you said. I’ve been waiting for you to say them for a very long time. I love you too. And I’m going to love you for as long as I live. You were the best first boyfriend that a girl could dream of. I don’t think I’m ever going to be ready to say goodbye. But that’s what I’m doing now. I know you said that you want me back. But I’m afraid. Afraid of going through all of this again. The thing is, Tristan, I need a sign. I need a sign that getting back together is the right thing to do. And until then, I’m going to say thank you and good-bye. Love, Alice.”

  “That was private,” I say.

  “I know,” Tristan says.

  He hands me the stack of thank you cards and walks away. Slowly, the rest of the world comes into focus. Cars are honking. An ambulance is blaring. People are darting around me. The whole world that was nothing but background noise a minute ago, floods in. There’s no room in it for me.

  I ride the elevator back to the dorm completely numb. Doors open and close. People get in and out. They laugh and embrace and say goodbye. I see everything happening, but I don’t understand any of it. They look like two-dimensional people. Characters. I wonder if they’re real. And how anyone would know for sure.

  49

  Juliet, Dylan, and I go out for drinks with a few other people from our floor. Apparently, Tristan texted Dylan and said that he’ll be by later. I don’t want to go, but I don’t want to explain why I’m not going either.

  The numbness finally starts to wear off after my second martini. And just at that precise moment, Tristan reappears. I see him standing in the doorway of the crowded bar full of celebrating college students. He’s looking for someone. I turn to Juliet, trying to hide in my seat.

  “Tristan’s here!” Juliet and Dylan say almost simultaneously. Everyone cheers.

  “Come join us, man,” Dylan says. “You’re about two drinks behind.”

  “Hey everyone,” he smiles. “But I’m actually here to steal Alice away for a few minutes.”

  “No!” everyone replies jokingly. “Boo!”

  “Alice.” He comes closer to me, touching my back lightly. “Can I talk to you?”

  I shake my head. Every time we’ve talked, things got worse and worse. Now, I’m not sure that our frail friendship will survive another one of our talks.

  “Please, I have to talk to you,” he whispers.

  I sigh, take a sip of my martini, and eat an olive.

  “You okay?” Juliet mouths to me silently. I shrug and follow Tristan out of the bar.

  “Tristan, I want to apologize to you,” I say, wrapping my scarf around my neck and zipping my coat. The air smells fresh and new, the cold’s nipping at my nose. Every tree on the street is lit up in yellow lights. The city is screaming that Christmas is just around the corner.

  “I do, too,” he says. “But before we do any of that, I want to show you something. Will you come with me?”

  Begrudgingly, I agree.

  We walk back to our dorm, ride the elevator all the way to the top. I’ve never been this high before. He opens a small passageway with stairs leading even higher.

  “Where are we going?” I finally ask.

  “The roof.”

  “I didn’t even know this place existed. Or that we could go here,” I say.

  “We can’t. Not really. But I know one of the janitors and he let me up here before.”

  We walk out onto the roof.

  “What do you do up here?” I ask.

  “Think, mostly. It’s a nice place for that. Quiet. Peaceful,” he says.

  Darkness falls with a vengeance in New York, quickly and without apologies. It doesn’t dilly-dally. One minute it’s daytime and the next it’s nighttime and the world is lit up by lights.

  “It looks like Christmas all the time here doesn’t it?” Tristan asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The lights. There are so many lights here. It’s like it’s Christmas all the time.”

  I’ve never thought of it that way before. But he’s right. Every night, when the lights come on, the city seems to celebrate. Rejoice.

  “Alice, I brought you up here because I wanted to show you something.”

  He takes a moment to collect his thoughts. I wait.

  “I’m tired of simply telling you how I feel. I think I’ve used up all the words I have. So, I wanted to show you, instead.”

  He pauses again. Looks straight into my eyes and continues.

  “Ever since I read that thank you card, I’ve been going over all the ways that I’ve disappointed you. All the times that I’ve acted like a jerk. And I think it all started that day, about a week after we broke up. When we were first trying to be friends. We were supposed to see a movie together, remember?”

  I nod. Of course, I remember.

  “They were having a special showing of Titanic and I had promised to take you to see it. And then I didn’t show up.”

  I had waited for half an hour. Then went inside and cried through the whole movie.

  “It’s fine,” I say. “Ancient history.”

  “No, it’s not fine. I was an inconsiderate dick. And I’m sorry.”

  I nod. Tristan never really apologized for that. Not in a way that let me believe him.

  “Thank you,” I say. “I really appreciate it.”

  “So, I wanted to do something to make up for that,” he says.

  Tristan takes my hand, turns me around. There’s a projector pointed at a big white screen and two lounge chairs in front of it. Large, warm blankets cover the chairs and a small table in the front with a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a plate of cheese and crackers.

  “What is this?” I turn to Tristan.

  “It’s my apology. For everything,” he says. “For ever hurting your feelings. And for letting you go.”

  My chest tightens up. For a second, I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me.

  “Alice, I don’t want to just be your first boyfriend,” he says. “I want to be your boyfriend again.”

  I sit down on the chair. He wraps the blanket around me, pours me a glass of wine. Tristan pulls his chair close to mine. I look up at him. I watch the way his breath moves in the cold air. He starts the movie. We watch in silence for a little while. When Rose gets out of the car in her fabulous hat and heads towards the ship, I turn to Tristan.

  “Okay,” I whispe
r.

  He smiles at me, shaking his head. Like he doesn’t believe me.

  I lean over. He takes my hand, wrapping his fingers around mine. His fingers are hot to the touch; mine are as cold as ice. Tristan brings my fingers to his lips and lightly blows on them. His mouth spreads warmth throughout my entire body.

  He moves even closer. We breathe the same air. I close my eyes and feel his lips on mine. A spark of electricity courses through me.

  “I love you,” he whispers through the kiss.

  “I love you, too.”

  Epilogue

  Dear Alice,

  Thank you.

  Thank you for opening up yourself to love again. You don’t know what’s going to happen in the future. But you have taken a leap of faith. You were afraid, but you didn’t let that stop you from doing what you felt was right. I’ve always thought that to show courage was to run into a burning building to save a life. Well, by opening myself up to love again, I’ve run into a burning building and saved a life. My own.

  Love,

  Alice

  * * *

  THE END

  After I Met You (Second Chance Book 2)

  After a tumultuous first semester at Columbia University, things are finally looking up for Alice and Tristan. They are in love and it seems like nothing can break them up. But then Tristan starts his internship at a Wall Street investment bank and his busy schedule pushes them apart. Eventually, Tristan asks to take a break, shattering Alice's heart and leaving her devastated. A trip to Atlantic City with friends seems like the perfect way to let off some steam. But what Alice doesn't know is that one weekend can change her life forever. After a few too many drinks, Alice accidentally marries Dylan, her friend and Tristan's roommate!

  Can Tristan ever forgive her? Can Alice ever forgive herself?

  NO Cheating, HEA, Steamy Scenes!

  Prologue

  Let’s recap.

  Last semester, I came to college and discovered that my ex-boyfriend was going to be my roommate. Tristan Hilton and I dated for 2 years in high school and we were best friends for many years before that. That break up was the most difficult thing I’d ever experienced. And it took a while before I stopped freaking out about being his roommate.

  My first semester at Columbia was a whirlwind. I made new friends – Juliet and Dylan, my other roommates, and Tea, a girl who Tristan dated for a bit. As time passed, Tristan and I slowly became friends and then more than friends. I didn’t want to take him back at first, but then I did and we had our happily ever after. I love him and he loves me. Yes, really. If you don’t believe me, go and read One Semester; it’ll have all the details.

  We got back together after finals, right before Christmas break. But now that his parents no longer live in Calabasas, California, where we both grew up, we didn’t see each other until New Year’s Eve, when we went skiing in Mammoth. He met me at the airport with a bouquet of flowers. He said he loved me. And we spent the weekend making love and skiing. And eating a few s’mores here and there.

  1

  As I get into the cab, I’m excited at the prospect of coming back to my new home here in the city. For one thing, my roommates were no longer strangers, but friends. Old friends. And like that old Dolly Parton song goes, “you can’t make old friends.” Unlike my first semester here, this time around, no introductions are needed. We’re going to start off right where we had left off. Laughing. Talking. Reminiscing. I can’t wait.

  From what I heard, Dylan Waterhouse, my roommate who grew up in Connecticut and whose father owns a posh apartment overlooking Central Park, is back with Peyton, his high school girlfriend. Dylan and Peyton, who goes to Yale, had broken up and got back together numerous times last semester. According to Juliet, my roommate from Staten Island whose father owns a string of dry cleaners, they had got back together and broke up twice over Christmas break. But I guess they’re going through an on period. All this drama gives Juliet an insane amount of delight despite the fact that she and Dylan had a thing for close to a month last semester and I was expecting her to be a little bitter over the whole thing.

  And the thing that’s even better than old friends is an old love. My old love, to be precise. I hadn’t seen Tristan since we had gone skiing on New Year’s.

  “Alice!” Tristan yells as I get out of the cab in front of our building. He wraps his arms around me as I try to fish out a $10 bill to tip the cab driver.

  He has recently shaved. His skin feels smooth and smells of coconut oil, his DIY aftershave. I wrap my arms around him and hug him as tightly as I can. And then…my heart jumps into my throat. I take a breath. My chest hurts and no air comes in. My heart starts to beat faster and faster. One more second and it’ll pop out of my chest.

  “What’s wrong? You okay?” Tristan asks.

  He pulls away from me.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just…” I mumble. “I can’t breathe.”

  “Oh my God, Alice. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I shake my head. “I just need a minute.”

  I double over and put my head in between my knees. I’ve never had a panic attack, but that’s what I heard Dr. Drew say to do in situations like these. Tristan patiently pats my back and waits.

  I take one deep breath. And then another. Slowly, my heartbeat returns to normal. It hits me. It’s love. I’m actually overwhelmed by love.

  “Okay, I’m good.” I stand up straight. I’m no longer sweating, but I’m suddenly keenly aware of how sweaty I am. My shirt is soaked and I’m getting colder with every second. Tristan stares at me with his brows furrowed and his face as serious as I’ve ever seen it. He’s concerned.

  “Sorry about that,” I say. “I just got a little too excited about seeing you, I guess.”

  He takes me into his arms again.

  “Are you okay?” he whispers.

  “Yeah.” I nod. “I think that was a mini-panic attack or something. No worries. It’s over.”

  I look up at Tristan’s face. At the end of last semester, his tan had started to wear off. But now, it’s back again. It’s almost certainly from surfing and skiing over Christmas break. I take a moment to admire how nice his body feels next to mine. Even through all the layers of clothes, his arms feel strong and powerful. His piercing eyes sparkle under the lights of the city and alternate between hazel and green depending on the angle.

  Tristan’s light brown hair is longer than it was last semester, falling into his face. I move a few strands out of his face. My fingers brush over his lips, which are glittering and soft despite the cold weather and lack of Chapstick. He purses them and kisses my fingers lightly. Then he pulls me closer. Tilting my head upward, he kisses me. His tongue brushes across my upper lip and my knees grow weak. We start to move in unison, as if we’re dancing to the same melody. My breaths match his breaths. His shoulders drop at the same time as mine rise. It’s a game of give and take with neither of us giving or taking too much.

  A sudden gust of wind assaults us, bringing us back to reality for a moment. It’s almost 10:30 pm and 23 degrees on Broadway in January.

  “Let’s go inside,” Tristan whispers without pulling away from my lips.

  “Okay,” I mumble back. This is our special game – talking through our kisses. It’s something we have done forever and it’s one of the things that I love most about us.

  2

  We go upstairs. Juliet, Peyton and Dylan are there, hanging out in the living room. Juliet and I share one room; Dylan and Tristan share another. We all share the living room, kitchen, and bathroom. After a ton of hugs and kisses, the guys serve us all drinks and we catch up. Or rather, I catch up. Everyone else has been here for a few hours already and, from the looks of it, the drinks were already flowing.

  I haven’t seen Juliet since December, and I’m taken aback by how beautiful her hair is. Juliet is a voluptuous brunette with porcelain skin and to-die-for silky hair. I don’t know how she makes her hair so shiny, but I’m jealous. She ga
ve me all of her products to use last semester, but my hair never got that lustrous, no matter what I did.

  Dressed in high heel boots, a tight turtleneck sweater and a short black skirt, Juliet is the epitome of chic. I, on the other hand, look like the ‘90s threw up on me. I’m wearing leggings, a shabby t-shirt that’s way too thin for this weather, and a plaid button down shirt.

  Dylan hands me a beer. He’s dressed in his usual uniform – a Nautica sweater, loafers, and slacks.

  “Hey, Dylan, do you own any other clothes?” Juliet asks as if she’s reading my mind.

  “What do you mean?” He shrugs.

  “No, he doesn’t,” Peyton laughs.

  “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Dylan asks, looking down at his clothes.

  “You look like you just stepped off a sailboat in Nantucket.” Peyton smiles.

  She’s making fun of him, but it’s obvious that she loves him and his clothes. He’s an L. L. Bean cover model and she’s the Connecticut queen on his arm.

  Come to think of it, Juliet and Peyton could be sisters. They have almost identical chocolate hair, similar disapproving looks, and opinionated, know-it-all, coy smiles. Except that Juliet’s a lot curvier than Peyton. That’s really an understatement. Peyton’s so thin, she’s practically malnourished, and that’s coming from someone who lives in LA.

  Dylan and Juliet play beer pong while Peyton’s nose is stuck in her phone. The fact that Juliet and Dylan are still on good terms is shocking to me. I mean, they slept together for over a month last semester after Peyton fell in love with her Resident Advisor at Yale. And yet, here they all are – Dylan and Peyton are back together without bruised egos or hard feelings and Juliet and Dylan are friends again. Honestly, they’re the epitome of some sort of post-relationship awakening – the image of modernity.