The Man I Love (The Road Trip #2)

9. Chapter Nine

9

CHAPTER NINE

December

Eight Months Earlier

Los Angeles

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled Tristan’s nose as he walked into the kitchen the next morning. Samantha was already standing near the counter, making breakfast and swaying her hips to the sound of “Dancing Queen” playing softly on the radio. He paused at the sight of her. She had put on one of his old threadbare T-shirts, and her short blond hair fell unruly onto her neck. Some of its bits sticking out from the top like sun-bleached wheat contained by a pink scrunchy.

He’d made love to her three times in his office last night, then taken her again in his bed.

Now she was pouring milk into a blue mixing bowl, and he never wanted this moment to end.

He’d taken things like this for granted in the past. The little things. Like watching her make breakfast in their kitchen and seeing her disheveled hair in the morning after a night of their lovemaking.

He vowed to savor every second.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself from the door jamb and stepped over the pile of clothes they’d left on the floor in their wake. He wasn’t sure what time they’d made it home last night, but the evidence of their lovemaking was scattered all over the house.

He smiled as he moved toward her like a panther stalking its prey.

She yelped when he grabbed her from behind, but in a second her back melted against him—butter as soon as he touched her.

It was moments like this that he missed her most. The real moments. The unbrushed, unwashed, hopefully soon-to-be-undressed-again moments.

“Hey,” she whispered into his ear. “Did I wake you?”

Her face was clean and smelled of soap. “No,” he replied. “But you should have.”

Her head fell back to his shoulder as she laughed. “You looked too peaceful.”

“And I was.” Last night was the best sleep he’d gotten in months.

He gripped her a little tighter, knowing she was the reason for it, and peaked into her bowl on the counter. “Are you making me pancakes?” he said, forcing her departure from his thoughts.

She turned to face him again, flattening both hands on his chest as her face grew serious. “Yes. I was going to bring you breakfast in bed, but you ruined it.”

He tightened his grip on her hips and grinned. “I can go back,” he suggested, but then his cell phone pinged from the bedroom and his back stiffened.

She tilted her head to the side, eyeing him curiously. “Everything okay?”

He paused for a second, silently cursing. “Yeah.” He forced a smile. “It’s probably Penny wondering why I’m not at the office.”

Sam searched his face, as though sensing something wasn’t quite right.

His cell phone pinged again.

“You should probably answer that,” she suggested.

He nodded his head, “I’ll be right back.” Then he turned toward the bedroom.

He paused when he rounded the corner, thankful to be out of sight, as anticipation grew in his chest. He picked up his cellphone off the bedside table, opened his notifications, and let out a sigh of relief when it wasn’t his father.

Penny: Hoping you just turned off your alarm and you’re not dead on the side of the road somewhere.

Penny: We have a problem.

Penny: Call me

His immediate relief was replaced by dread.

“Pen, it’s me,” he said as she picked up the phone on the first ring.

“Thank God, Tris! Did you forget to make a payment? Collections was here asking to talk to you. What’s going on?”

Fuck! He sat on the bed, needing to steady himself. “What did you tell them?” he asked. “What did they say?” He couldn’t get the questions out quickly enough. He was trying to sound calm but failing miserably.

Penny told him they’d thrown around words like “repossession,” and “final notice.” He’d known this was coming. He’d put them off too long––but he still felt numb inside.

“Are you okay, Tris?” Penny asked. “Are you in trouble? Is there something you need to tell me?”

“Everything okay?” Sam’s voice made Tristan jump. He hopped off the bed and spun around to find her standing in the doorway, a full plate of pancakes in one hand.

He met her eyes, hating the worry he saw in her expression. Covering the phone with one hand as he shook his head. “It’s Penny. I’ll be right there,” he answered.

Sam froze in the doorway, her face contorting with an uncertainty that took his breath away.

“Hurry up,” she said as she turned around, “or your pancakes will get cold.”

He watched until she left their bedroom, then ducked into the bathroom and pulled the door closed behind him.

“If they come by again,” he said quietly into the receiver, “tell them their check is in the mail.” He hung up without waiting for Penny’s reply and switched his phone to silent.

He raked his hands through his hair and gripped the back of his neck. The payment would only hold them off for so long and drain what he had left in his checking account, but what choice did he have? What would he do if he didn’t have his business? He was an uneducated, untrained man who was approaching thirty. He needed to pull it together. He needed to calm down.

He walked out of his bedroom five minutes later, finding Samantha standing at the kitchen window. He wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face into her hair.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, turning to face him.

He forced a smile, dipping his head low so he could kiss her collarbone. “Everything’s fine.”

She craned her neck to the side. “Tris?—”

But he placed one finger to her lips, shushing her. “We have exactly four more hours until you get on that plane. I don’t want to spend it talking about work.” His voice was soft, pleading, but his words were brutally honest. He couldn’t stand the thought of spending his last minutes talking about this.

At first, he thought she would argue, but then she nodded, wrapped her arms around his waist, and flattened her body against his. “I don’t know how I can leave again,” she whispered.

He squeezed her so tight he thought he may crush her. Then don’t , he wanted to say, but he forced himself to remain silent.

He picked her up off the ground, cradled her against his chest, and walked toward the bedroom.

“What are you doing?” she asked, laughing when he grabbed the plate of pancakes off the counter and made his way toward the bedroom.

“These pancakes are calling my name,” he said gruffly, “and someone promised me breakfast in bed.”