Chapter Three
Trystan
Living under the same roof with Chloe is hell on my peace of mind. It hasn't even been eight hours, and she's already driving me to the brink of madness. But I'm too goddamn stubborn to leave, especially if it means leaving her here alone.
I spend half the fucking day replaying our conversation in my mind. Does she really think I stopped talking to her because I was pissed she decided to go to prom?
Contrary to her memory of events, that's not what happened.
The night she called me to show me her dress, she looked like a goddess. And then she casually fucking mentioned that some asshole asked her to go with him. All I could think about was that prick putting his hands on her.
Maybe I said some shit I shouldn't have said.
Perhaps I didn't call for a few days because I would have lost my mind if I had to listen to her tell me about her perfect night with someone who wasn't me.
But she's the one who iced me out.
Hell, she was icing me out long before that. I don't remember when she stopped sharing shit with me the way she did when we were kids, but it was years before her senior prom. She became downright arctic after it, though. And she hasn't thawed at all over the years.
If anything, she's grown even colder, even more distant.
The only goddamn place I have in her life is the one I've forced myself into over the years—not quite a friend, but not someone she can ignore, either.
Maybe it's fucked up or immature, but I'm petty and desperate enough to make sure she can't forget I exist, no matter how much she wishes she could.
I pop up like a goddamn car salesman, showing up when she least expects it.
Family dinner? Surprise, princess.
Mia's birthday? Can't ignore me now, baby.
I take any little scrap I can get, because it's better than having no place in her life at all. It's better than just being someone she used to know.
I want every piece of her, starting with the truth. Why the fuck did she quit her job? Whatever happened, I know it's bothering her. I saw it written all over her face when I asked in the kitchen. But she blew me off, refusing to tell me.
I've never wanted to spank the truth out of someone as badly as I do her. I am not that fucking stupid, though. Chloe would rip my balls off and feed them to the Chihuahua next door if I even tried it.
Instead, I cook dinner for her while Thanos supervises from his bed in the corner. I guess their afternoon walk went better than our morning walk did.
I'm sure we came home looking like we were both done with life after our disaster of a morning. He came home from their walk with his tongue hanging out and his tail wagging. She was smiling.
I am not jealous of the dog for making her smile.
I'm also full of shit.
"Son of a bitch," I groan, grabbing plates to load them up. I barely have the chicken and roasted veggies arranged when her door slams against the wall.
That's my first indication that she's pissed.
My second is the way she shouts my name like I put dye in her shampoo bottle again. For the record, I didn't. Wyatt and I only did that shit once, when we were fourteen.
The possibilities for punishment are never-ending on a vineyard in the middle of summer break. We sweated every minute of the day for two weeks straight over that bullshit. And she pulled up a fucking lawn chair and watched with a smile on her face for the whole two weeks.
Thanos looks at me like he wants to know what the fuck I did this time. It's a good question. The possibilities are endless.
She stomps into the kitchen with her hands on her hips, fire in her eyes, and a growl on her lips. Fuck, she's beautiful. Her wavy brown hair curls around her flushed face, and her mossy green eyes shoot off sparks.
"What's up?" I ask, trying to pretend like my dick isn't pressed up against my zipper hard enough to leave indentations of the teeth all up and down my shaft.
"You called my dad."
Well, fuck me running.
"Figured he should know you were here," I say, sliding her plate onto the table. He seemed grateful to hear that she wasn't alone. He's worried about her.
"That's not your job," she growls at me.
"He's your dad, princess. I wasn't going to leave him worried that something had happened to you. We both know you don't want that. So, yeah, I called him."
She huffs out a breath, spluttering, but it's not like she has an argument here. She knows I'm right. "I was going to call him," she finally mutters.
"Yeah, but you didn't." I nod at the table before grabbing the bottle of wine I brought for Wyatt.
Looks like she needs it more than he does.
And whether she appreciates it or not, I'll always look out for her.
The last thing she wants is to hurt her parents.
I know her well enough to know that. "Sit. Eat."
She blinks as if just noticing the food on the table or the mess of dishes in the sink. "You cooked?"
"Figured you were hungry." I shrug like it's not a big deal. Feeding her isn't a big deal. The fact that she hasn't eaten anything except for half of a banana since she got here worries the fuck out of me, though.
She stares at me for a long, silent moment and then dips her head, hiding her eyes behind her hair. "I feel like a jerk for yelling at you now."
"Feel free to be pissed while you eat. Doesn't bother me any." It's a lie. I want her laughing and smiling, not growling. But at this point, I'll take whatever I can get. I'm that desperate for five minutes of her time.
She shuffles toward the table before sinking into her chair. I watch the way she peers at her plate, turning it around like she expects the chicken to jump up and bite her.
"It's just chicken, Chloe." I plunk a wine glass down beside her, making her jump a little. "I didn't poison it."
"You might have," she mutters.
"Out of the two of us, you're more likely to do the poisoning."
"Why? Because I'm a woman?"
"I mean, statistically speaking…" I circle the table before sliding into my seat just in time to catch her scrunching up her face at me in a scowl. "But that's not what I meant. You're the one who has been mad as hell at me since we were teenagers."
She rolls her eyes, reaching for the wine. "You're imagining things."
"Uh-huh." I cock a brow at her. "Last time I saw you, you told me to go fuck myself. The time before that, you threatened to hit me with your car. The time before that, you said—what was it? Oh, that's right. I swear to God, you make me want to gouge my own eyes out," I say, mimicking her voice.
Her lips curve into a grin, a soft laugh of protest escaping as she fills her glass to the brim. "First of all, I do not sound like that. Secondly, that is not what I said. And third, it was five in the morning, Trystan. You can't expect anyone to be rational before the sun even rises."
"I'm rational before the sun rises."
"That's because you're an actual psychopath." She lifts her glass to her lips, amusement dancing in her gorgeous eyes. "You like getting up with the chickens. You do manual labor with the chickens. That's unnatural, no matter how you slice it."
"Eat your damn chicken and hush," I say, chuckling. She has never been a morning person. Even as a kid, getting up early used to piss her off. And I always loved waking her up before the sun just to listen to her grumble and growl. I always had her laughing before it crested the horizon.
God, that laugh made me feel like a giant.
She takes a sip of wine, and then her eyes widen. I watch in amusement as she drinks half the glass before setting it down.
"That's good."
"Yeah? You like it?"
She nods, her tongue flicking along her bottom lip to gather up every last drop. And I barely bite back a groan. I want to be the one licking wine from her lips. I want to taste it on her tongue. Christ, not even beating off in the bathroom today helped alleviate the ache in my balls.
I doubt anything ever will. Until she's beneath me, moaning my name, I'm going to be permanently hard. I accepted that shit a long time ago. But fuck my life, you'd think it'd get easier at some point.
Spoiler Alert: It doesn't.
"What is it?"
"What?" I ask, still wrapped up in images of me licking wine from various places on her body, to remember what we were even talking about.
"The wine."
"Ambrosia Kisses," I mutter, spinning the bottle so she can read the label. "Ridley crafted it in Italy and imported it when he came home. I guess it's got something to do with Paisley." I shrug, not really clear on the details. Ridley's tight-lipped about the wine, but it's damn good.
Chloe's expression softens. "I can't believe your cousins are all getting married," she says.
"First Jareth, then Ridley. Now, Haven says Bastian will be the next one with an announcement.
" Her lips curve into a wistful smile. "I still remember all of you having paintball wars on the vineyard when we were kids. "
"Uh, Bastian never had a paintball war."
"He supervised," she says, her smile growing.
"You did, too." I take a sip of wine, eyeing her over the rim. "At least long enough to figure out where everyone was hiding so you and the girls could kick our asses."
A bright peal of laughter spills across the kitchen. "Don't blame me. You're the one who kept falling for it."
"As if I was going to rat you out," I say, grinning at her. "I fucking loved watching you win."
She glances away from me, her cheeks pink. And then she grabs the bottle of wine like she isn't sure what else to do with herself.
"You're going to be drunk soon if you keep drinking like that," I murmur, watching as she downs another entire glass.
"Maybe that's the point."
Shit. I am not mentally or emotionally prepared to deal with Chloe drunk. She's feisty on a good day. Drunk, she's a little firecracker. But I bite my tongue when she refills her glass again, refusing to prove her right by telling her what to do yet again.