by Natasha Boyd
"Yeah, well, I changed my mind."
Annie and Armand glanced at each other.
"What?" I asked them.
"Can I see?" asked Annie, looking at my phone.
I handed it to her. "Be my guest. I thought we were getting together to celebrate your return to work and my promotion. Now it feels like an intervention."
She opened up the Whirl app I'd downloaded. I'd seen it on Trystan's phone but never tried it myself. It seemed like the least obscene of all the dating apps though. At Annie's insistence, I'd gone ahead and put my profile up over my lunch break.
"You have a notification," she said.
"Already?" I asked, surprised.
"She does?" Armand came around from the kitchen area.
I frowned. "That was quick. God, don't open it," I squeaked and leaned across to try and grab my phone.
Annie held it out of reach. "Why?"
I swallowed. "I don't know. Just—I'm not ready."
"Aye, Madre. You will never be ready," Armand grumbled.
"Too late," Annie sang. "Oh, he's close by too."
"Wait, how do you know that? I thought this wasn't supposed to be like Tinder?"
She shrugged. "Oh, there's a location setting you can turn on. I turned it on."
"Oh my God," I moaned. "If I get kidnapped or killed, it's on your hands."
"Oh. Wow." Annie's mouth dropped open.
"What?" I lunged for the phone. Annie stood, abruptly moving it out of reach as Armand joined her.
"Yes," Armand said and smiled at me. "It is just as I hoped."
Annie pressed her hand to her cheek. "Holy shit, he's hot." Then she looked to Armand, who nodded and pursed his lips as if to say, "See?"
"Dammit," I said loudly. "Can I at least look at my own phone?"
Annie grinned at me. "So you want to see him now, huh?"
"No. Fine. Yes."
"Let . . . me . . . just . . ." She did something on the screen. "Confirm the match. There." She handed me my phone.
"Wait. What did you do?" I looked down and my heart stopped.
Trystan Montgomery? He filled my screen.
Forget stopped, my heart hurt.
Why would they do this to me? "What the hell is this?" I asked. "Is this a joke?" God, he looked good. He was in a suit, holding . . . wait. Was that a cat? Was that Tuna? "He's holding my cat!" I looked up at my two friends’ smug faces.
"I took the picture," Armand said, looking pleased, then seeing my face sobered somewhat. "Sorry. I thought it was funny."
"Just read his profile," Annie begged. "Please?"
My skin throbbed with heat and betrayal. I felt like I was in some elaborate joke. I stood. "No."
"No?"
"What is this?" I asked, my voice beginning to shake. "Do you think it's some kind of joke to put me in this position with him?"
"He asked us to. He asked for help." Annie chewed her lip, her eyes large as she realized how upset I was.
"He did? Why?"
Armand came and put his arm around me. "Emmy. He likes you. He really likes you."
"But . . . I can't be with him."
"Why not?" Annie touched the top of my hand.
"Because Trystan doesn't do relationships."
"He wants one with you," she said.
I swallowed, my tongue feeling like it might slip down and choke me. I was lightheaded. Probably from shock at being railroaded by my supposed two best friends.
"Yeah, well why is he putting himself on a dating app, then? And to do it Charleston and right under my nose? What the hell? How is that supposed to make me see him as relationship material?"
"Could you just look at his profile, already?" Annie whined.
I squeezed my eyes closed. "I don't want to. I thought we were going to hang out here, then I was going to get an early night because I have to get to the airport and meet D'Andre and David tomorrow morning. It's a big day for me. I can't do this right now. I love you guys. I'm sure Trystan made it sound like a great idea. And I'm sure you didn't mean to hurt me." My eyes stung with unshed tears. "But I can't do this."
Armand looked stricken, Annie confused.
I stood up.
I double clicked the home button on my phone and swiped up, effectively closing the app and closing the door on Trystan. "Bye," I managed to my two friends and grabbed my purse.
I burst out of the café into the muggy evening. It was still light. Taking a deep breath, I secured my purse on my shoulder, turned for home, and stopped dead.
Trystan stood outside the gate to my cottage, leaning against the wall in sneakers, dark jeans, and a light gray T-shirt that molded to his upper body. He pushed up when he saw me. His face was open, hopeful. His eyes in the evening light caught the color of his shirt and almost took my breath away.
Great. I had been set up completely and then caught in mid run by the very guy I was running from.
Whatever he saw on my face made his expression turn serious. He raked the fingers of one hand through his brown hair and grabbed the back of his neck.
"It didn't go well in there." I nodded behind me to indicate the café. My tone was somewhat accusing. I wasn't good at being blindsided.
"I'm gathering that." He grimaced. "I'm sorry, Emmy."
We stared at each other. It felt like the first time when we stared at each other over the phone screen, finally getting to see the person we'd imagined in our minds from our brief meeting and through pictures.
"Please, can we talk?" he asked.
I walked closer and dug in my purse for my keys. "Why didn't you come and talk to me if you needed to. Why did you enlist my friends? I hate feeling manipulated. You know that."
"I wasn't manipulating. I wanted to show you something. To tell you something."
"And that was?" I asked as I unlocked the gate. A cool breeze blew, making me feel underdressed in my blue and white sundress.
"Can we talk inside?"
I exhaled, my shoulders lowering. "Trystan—"
"Please, Emmy."
"Fine." I pushed open the gate, and he held it over my shoulder as I went in then followed me. Dammit, the smell of him like pine trees and waterfalls made me feel high.
I unlocked my front door, my heart pounding with nerves, entered, and dumped my purse on a kitchen chair. "So you talked to my friends and came up with some stupid idea of meeting me on a dating app? I can't think of what else it was. What in the hell kind of idea is that?" I turned with my arms crossed over my chest.
Trystan closed the door and looked around. Then he stuffed his fingers in his jeans. "Apparently not the best one. I wanted you to know something before I came and tried to talk to you in person. So Annie suggested it."
"And what was it you needed me to know? That you're thirty-one?" I started counting on my fingers. "You no longer go by Jeff? Good job not lying. That you love cats now instead of dogs? That you look sexy as shit in a suit? I already know that. That you may be open to hooking up with someone in Charleston too, instead of just in Manhattan?" Ugh. "Lucky me," I added with a sarcastic tone.
"No. That I'm all in, Emmy. Whatever this is between you and me, I'm all in. That's what I wanted you to know."
I closed my eyes, too afraid to let myself believe his words. My palms felt sweaty.
"And you thought I'd get that from a dating profile?" I stalked over to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of white wine I'd opened a few days ago. Pulling the cork out, I took down a wine glass from the upper cabinet and poured a hefty serving. Then I left it sitting on the counter as I turned to face him.
"Well, you didn't read it, so I guess not."
"You know what?" I asked.
"What?"
"We did better when we were separated by eight hundred fifty miles and just had a cell phone connection."
Trystan folded his arms across his chest, his T-shirt stretched around his biceps, the muscles in his forearms flexed. He set his jaw. "Is that right?"
The way he wore th
ose broken-in jeans, the soft T-shirt, and stood there all hot and annoyed was . . .
I grabbed the glass of wine and took a swig. "That's right."
Trystan approached slowly until he was a few feet away. "Because the way you sobbed my name in ecstasy upstairs the last time I was here would say otherwise."
Heat flashed through me, and I caught my breath. "That's not fair," I whispered.
"Not fair? What's not fair is you not even giving me a chance."
"A chance to break me?"
"A chance to love you."
I swallowed. Hard. With a shaking hand, I set down my glass before I spilled it all over myself. "Why would you even say that? You don't."
His mouth opened. Closed. His jaw ticked and his eyes flickered.
Then his lips hardened. "I could," he said.
"You . . . could? Wow. I'm flattered."
"Emmy."
"It's fine, Trystan. Lovely. But it's not certain. We've known each other for less than two weeks. And I . . . I . . ."
"Nothing is certain, Emmy. God knows I learned that the hard way too." He unfolded his arms and caged me in against the counter, looking down at me.
I lowered my face and closed my eyes. God, he smelled good.
"Emmy, look at us. We're both products of really fucked up upbringings. You clung to family. I shoved it away. But now when it comes to us, to the chance of us being something, you're the one shoving it away, and I'm the one hanging on and hoping like hell. How is that sane, or fair?"
I shook my head. "How we met was crazy. Accidental. It was a twist of fate. We were caught up in it. But it's not real."
Trystan grabbed my face in his hands, tilting me to look at him. His hands were hot. His eyes were ice and fire, angry and hungry all at the same time. They roamed my face and settled on my mouth.
Before I could even process that I wanted him to kiss me, his lips were on me.
He crushed his mouth to mine, sending a missile of arousal through me like a lightning bolt.
Whereas the first time he'd kissed me had been slow and searching, building to a fever, this started on the edge of desperation.
I was instantly overwhelmed with the feel and taste of him. His hard body against mine, pinning me to the counter, and the heat of his tongue as it swept into my mouth. Fire raced along my skin, and my hands were wrapped around his head before I could even think.
Anger and fear had my lips and tongue working to punish him. To take what I wanted while I had it. But it pierced my awareness I was kissing him like I wanted to consume him, like I never, ever wanted to stop. I couldn't stop. God, it was so good. Why couldn't I stop? He tasted like summer and rain, cold beer and hot sex.
Trystan's hands swept down my sides, up my back, fisted in my hair, and then I was lifted onto the counter and my body closed around his—legs and arms gripping tightly, his body in my embrace, and it felt incredible.
He pulled back, and I made some sound of desperation to get him back.
"God, Emmy." His words were an aching whisper against my mouth before his lips were on mine again.
My hands left his hair and roamed over his T-shirt-covered muscled shoulders then down his back, and I had to feel his hot skin once. Our desperation had slowed slightly, but every movement seemed deeper, harder, more deliberate.
He grunted against my mouth as my fingers met skin. His hips rocked slow and hard against me, his own hand hauling my lower body tight and close. His tongue dipped deeply against mine before retreating. God, he was making love to my mouth. He was making love to me fully clothed. His lips left mine and slid toward my ear, his hot breath searing goosebumps over my skin like a blowtorch. "We're not imagining this. Please don't push me away."
"This feels good."
"So good."
"But this isn't enough." I set my hands on his chest and pushed gently.
He let up.
My body throbbed with need. With unexpended passion. Trystan . . ." my voice wobbled. "Chemistry is great. Yes, I admit it. But—"
"You think I'm shallow? Is that it? That I can't or won't take us seriously? You're not just a hookup, Emmy. What do I need to do to prove to you I'm willing to give this a shot?"
"I don't know." I blew out a breath and pushed at him so I could hop off the counter.
He didn't budge, one hand was on my bare knee, the other scorching a brand on my thigh. "Let me just stand here. I won't kiss you, I promise."
I didn’t want that promise. I ached and throbbed between my thighs. I wanted to flick open his jeans and pull him out, and . . . Emmy, keep your wits.
"Fine." I leaned back on two hands, working hard not to show how much I wanted him inside me. His eyes dropped to my chest that my position had thrust forward, then returned to mine.
He swallowed heavily. "You think you're the only one afraid of this?"
I sighed. "Trystan. I know I was wrong. I labeled you wrong from the start. You aren't a shallow, serial dater. At least, you don't mean to be. You were afraid of being rejected. So you stayed in control the only way you knew how—by never getting close."
"You know I'm afraid of being rejected. Yet here I fucking stand."
I winced. "But I labeled myself wrong too," I continued, trying to say my piece while I had the courage. "I never realized how afraid I was of being vulnerable again. And I was with you. I am with you. So vulnerable. You've blown through layers of me to a core I've spent since childhood protecting. And it happened before I even realized you did it."
Trystan touched my chin, asking me to look at him. But I had to look away from the intensity in his eyes, suddenly feeling like I'd admitted too much. "I've learned the hard way," I continued with difficulty, "that just because someone makes you feel happy, or safe and secure, or protected, doesn't mean you are." I swallowed. "I'm sorry. I—I don't think I'm ready to trust those things. It took meeting you to realize I have major issues."
"Take a chance, Emmy. Please."
I lowered my chin, refusing to look at him. With my eyes closed I could focus on his delicious woodsy smell and the feel of his hands on the skin of my legs. "I'm scared," I admitted. “Because God, I want to take a chance so badly.”
"Me too."
I sighed. "I know. And I'm sorry."
"Emmy—"
When I heard him cut himself off, I looked up automatically. He bit his teeth together and then breathed in through his nose deeply.
Eventually he squeezed his eyes closed for long moments. When they opened and found me, he seemed calm.
He cleared his throat. "Can we be scared together?"
41
Emmy
Trystan dropped his forehead to rest against mine, and I looped my arms around his tense shoulders.
“Yes,” I said finally. “Okay. Let’s be scared together.” I lifted my face.
“Thank Christ, Emmy.” He breathed the words against my lips.
“But—” I started.
“I know,” Trystan said. “Slow.”
I pulled back, bemused. “How did you know that’s what I was going to say?”
His shoulders lifted slightly. “We’ve done everything backward.”
I tap my finger on my chin. “What comes first? Kissing? Let’s do more of it. Right now, if possible.”
He chuckled. “I was thinking more of you inviting me in for a drink so we can get to know each other more.”
“You’re already in. For someone who doesn’t date, you seem to have a pretty set idea of how it’s supposed to go.”
He let go of me and slapped a hand to his forehead. “And I still got it wrong. We have to have the date first before you invite me in.”
“Good point.”
His brow furrowed. “So when can I see you?”
I glanced around the room. “Now?”
“Maybe tomorrow?” he asked.
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” I pressed my palm to his forehead.
“Hey, I can go slow. If I have to.”
> “That’s not slow, it’s glacial.” I huffed with disappointment. “And you don’t have to go that slow.”
“Actually, I was thinking I could take you to the airport to get David.”
I licked my lips. “That . . . that might be really nice. Not your typical date though.”
“But there’s nothing typical about us. And I’m thinking it’s a pretty big day. I’d like to be there for you. But also, it might be good for me to see what the transition is like and be a fly on the wall at one of the facilities I own.”
“Spy on them, you mean?” I arch an eyebrow.
His lips quirked. “Sort of.”
“How romantic.”
“Right? I thought it was the most brilliant idea I’ve ever had.”
I punched his arm softly, laughing. “Jerk.”
“I can buy you an airport coffee.”
“You just keep coming up with winners.”
Trystan’s lips settled on mine for another round of soft and slow kisses.
“They are going to be insufferable, by the way,” I muttered when we broke apart again.
“Who?”
“Armand and Annie. They’ll take full responsibility for us.”
He squeezed my knee. The soft lighting made his hair and eyes darker. “Us. I like that. And I don’t care.”
I couldn’t look away from him. I couldn’t believe I was jumping into this with him. “Me too,” I said, grinning. “And since you are already in, can I offer you a drink? I may have a couple of those beers left if you didn’t drink them all.”
“Sure. That’d be good.”
He stepped back, and I hopped off the counter and got him a cold beer. Grabbing my glass of wine, we went to sit on the couch. I curled up on one end, expecting him to go to the other.
“This is . . .”
“Weird,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“Come here.” He helped me up and settled in my spot then gently pulled me down next to him.
I melted against his warm, solid frame, and curled my legs up next to me.
“Emmy?”
“Yeah.”
“How did you crack the code to my phone?”
“Ah, so that’s what this is about. You want to know my secrets.”