Chapter Nineteen
Nineteen
Tristan
I should have realized how much my drinking affected Michelle.
Instead, here I am, wearing some other man’s shirt in a bed that smells like her. Here I am, with a woman I’ve wanted since I first laid eyes on her, and she’s given me strict instructions not to touch her, because I made her scared before I even knew alcohol was a red line for her.
She trusts me, though. She must, or she wouldn’t have insisted I stay here.
I place a pillow in the middle of the bed, because I’m going to need all the help I can get to keep from trying to cuddle her once I’m asleep.
Not touching her is already difficult, but sharing a bed is going to take it to a new level of impossible.
She’s worth waiting for.
The door to her bathroom opens, and she slips out of it, her gaze darting to mine before shyly dropping away again.
My breath catches.
Michelle is always beautiful, always extraordinary, but like this? In pajamas and fresh-faced, her hair in a loose braid that trails over one shoulder?
She’s fucking irresistible like this.
Relaxed, natural, stunning.
“What?” she asks, touching her cheek self-consciously. “Did I miss a spot?” she rubs at her cheek, and I shake my head, at a loss for words.
“You’re perfect,” I tell her, my voice like gravel.
“You had too much to drink.” She laughs, like I’ve said something funny.
I bite my tongue to keep from arguing, from telling her how much I want her, how much I like her. She doesn’t want that—especially not right now, when she’s let me in her bed, when she’s trying to trust me.
She thinks of me as a friend. Michelle’s always made that abundantly clear.
Wanting more is as stupid a desire as nearly anything else I’ve ever done, and I can only imagine how poorly matched a man I’d be to her.
“Right,” I say, raking a hand through my hair.
Her mouth pinches, worry clear on her face, worry that I’ve caused her, when I want to do anything I can to wipe that look from her face.
“I’ll just go…uh, did you find a toothbrush?”
“Yeah, I had like ten in there.”
Jealousy spikes. Why would she have so many toothbrushes unless she expected company?
I realize too late that I’m scowling at her.
A nervous laugh comes out of her, that fake smile back on her lips. “I buy things in bulk on sale. At Costco.”
Not for men who stay over. God, what is my fucking problem? Of course she doesn’t have nearly a dozen toothbrushes on hand as a thoughtful gesture for a one-night stand. She just told me she doesn’t do casual.
Get it together, Gold.
I slide off her bed, making my way to the bathroom.
“Thank you,” I tell her, when I notice her wringing her hands. “And I really can sleep on the couch if you’re not comfortable—”
“Shut up,” she says. “We’re sharing the bed, and we’re both going to sleep. It’s fine. We’re adults.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, wanting anything but to put more pressure on her.
I hate that I might’ve made her uncomfortable in her own home.
“I’m sure, you big goober. Now go brush your teeth. You stink.”
With that, she plops onto her side of the bed, fluffing the pillow I placed in the middle.
If I look at her any longer, the need to kiss her is going to get even worse.
Teeth. I should brush my teeth.
I force myself into the postage stamp of a bathroom, shaking my head as I close the door behind me. I look like a giant in here.
It smells feminine and soft, just like the woman it belongs to. I inhale deeply, trying to memorize it, memorize her.
Now that I’m in her bathroom, I want to take my time, explore this little bastion filled with products and makeup that she likes.
The water from the faucet disguises the noise of me quietly opening the shower curtain and surveying the bath products she likes. A quick look in the cabinet over the toilet tells me even more. Citrus, lavender…and some kind of coconut cream that makes me think of sun-strewn white sand beaches.
And Michelle on them, with wind-tousled hair and sun-pinked cheeks at my side.
What if I could make that happen?
What if I could convince her that I’m more than a good time—that I could be hers?
I stare at myself in the mirror, at the stubble that’s appeared already, and I wonder if I could ever convince her that I would treat her right.
Maybe I’m the one I need to convince.