Chapter 18
Eighteen
Astrid
"Little smart ass," Tristan grumbled.
And once again, I found myself laughing, though I wasn't sure why. Was it genuine amusement or my nerves kicking in?
A flutter of anticipation and excitement whirled through me at the prospect of seeing Tristan's bedroom and wearing his clothes.
God, what was wrong with me?
But a terrible thought occurred to me right then. What would I do if his clothes didn't actually fit me? He was so tall and muscular that his clothing had to be oversized to an extent. But how would that translate to fitting my plus-size body?
I tried to work out the measurements in my head, but I had little to no experience in menswear.
As we walked down the hallway, then up the stairs, I tried to tamp down the worry, attempting to distract myself by being nosy. I peeked into a few open doorways to spot a workout room and then what had to be Archie's bedroom, clothes everywhere, posters all over the walls. Messy and lived in.
Tristan soon stopped in front of a door, opened it, then gestured for me to go ahead, and the sight in front of me was not what I would have expected.
The room had all the usual features like a massive bed with a heavy dark wood headboard and plush comforter in navy blue—so typical—overstuffed chairs near the floor-to-ceiling windows, and a fireplace with a mantle.
But what caught my eye was a huge pinboard on the wall opposite the bed, covered in mementos.
"Wow," I said, stepping closer to examine it.
Postcards, ticket stubs, and old faded photos crowded the surface, an entire history of Tristan's life spread out before me. My eyes didn't know where to look. The whole display seemed so personal. Too personal for someone like him.
Glancing back at him, he was watching me carefully.
"This is..." I began, not sure what to say. Strange? Astonishing? Evidence that he was actually human?
His hand rubbed the back of his neck. "Weird?"
"No. Not weird." I hesitated. "Just... unexpected."
He gave me a shrug. "I guess I'm sentimental and just don't want to forget certain things that have happened in my life."
Sentimental? Was he kidding me?
And how completely ironic that he'd say that. Because I was the exact opposite. There were certain things that had happened in my life that I'd give anything to forget, most especially what he'd done.
The question was on the tip of my tongue, the desire to ask him why, why he did what he did in high school, something that had haunted me relentlessly in the years since, something that had landed me in therapy.
Did it ever cross his mind that he was my absolute worst memory? Did he even remember me?
But I couldn't go there. The words, the questions, literally wouldn't leave my mouth. When I confronted him about it, and I most certainly would someday, I needed it to be planned, I needed to be ready for it, to practice, to discuss every aspect of it with my sisters beforehand.
I hated confrontation. And I already knew this would be the confrontation of my life.
So instead, I stuffed it down, like I always did, like I'd been trained to do since high school, because smiling through the pain was second nature by now.
Determined to play this game and keep up the charade, I turned to him, trying to put us back on safe ground, away from memories and nostalgia for the past.
"So do you have an old t-shirt or something?" I asked.
He smiled. "Yeah. I've got you."
I liked it when people said that phrase. It felt comforting. Usually. But hearing it from Tristan Hawthorne's mouth? I didn't believe it for a second.
He disappeared into his closet for a moment and came back with an armful of items, placing them on the bed for me. "There might be a jersey or two in there," he said, waggling his brows.
That made me smile, against my better judgment. "I hope you're joking."
Bowing, he backed away. "I'll leave you to find out." He hesitated a beat. "Unless you need my help."
I actually could use his help. Damn this dress, and the designer who made it, for being impossible. "Could you unzip me please?"
His grin was instant. "Of course."
Holding my hair to the side, I turned my back to him and his annoyingly, unfairly sexy face, willing myself not to respond.
This was fine. This meant nothing. My body would never betray me like that, right?
Wrong. Just the mere hint of his presence so close behind me caused goosebumps to skitter across my arms. And my nipples decided now was a good time to stand at attention. Traitors.
I took a deep breath and released it slowly, reminding myself of who this man truly was, that despite the most incredible night of my life that we'd shared, despite the way he'd touched me like I mattered, nothing would ever happen between us again.
And then his hands brushed the bare skin of my back, warm and gentle, taking me back to the last time he'd touched me.
Oh, no.
This wasn't good. Not good at all.
His fingers continued their frustratingly delicate caresses the entire time he unzipped me, taking his sweet time as he did so, obviously drawing out the moment longer than necessary.
I should call him out on it. Tell him to stop. But instead, I stood there, gripping my dress and pretending like I wasn't feeling all of it.
When he finally reached my lower back, I wondered why I'd put in such a long zipper to begin with. What had I been thinking?
While I clutched the front of my dress to me, his presence became even stronger, and I felt the brush of his shirt against my mostly bare back. And then he planted a kiss on the top of my head, making my stomach do a spontaneous flip.
Absolutely not.
"You're all set." His voice was a low rumble. "I'll leave you to get dressed now... unless you need more help," he added.
Oh, he was enjoying this way too much.
Turning around to face him, ignoring the flush of my cheeks, I took in his mischievous expression. Was he teasing me?
"I'm good. All good."
He shot me a smirk. "It's nothing I haven't seen before," he reminded me.
He did not just go there.
"And every inch of you..." He paused to let his eyes roam up and down my body. "...is a masterpiece."
Oh, for the love of—
I swallowed hard. "It... it was dark that night."
"Not entirely, gorgeous."
Suddenly, the room became extremely warm. Had the furnace kicked in or something? Was the falling snow somehow acting as an insulator? At this point, my face had to be tomato red. This was ridiculous.
His easy laughter rang out as he took in my expression. "I love that you're turning shy on me. You have many different sides, and it's quite intriguing, Shayla."
A laugh escaped me. Because if I didn't laugh, I might lose my damn mind. "It's not Shayla."
He turned and walked to the door. "Okay, Veronica."
"It's not Veronica," I called after him, but he was already gone, the door shutting softly behind him.
Shaking my head, I tried my best to breathe and calm myself. I needed to focus. I had a job to do.
This was about making him fall for me. Not the other way around.
I still had a movie to get through tonight. A movie, though, couldn't be that difficult. There was no talking involved, and Archie would be right there with us. It wasn't like anything physical was going to happen.
With a sigh of relief, I reached for the clothes and rifled through them. No jerseys. Just a few hoodies, t-shirts, and joggers. All high end, of course.
Removing my dress, I pulled a dark blue hoodie over my head, and—oh. Oh, wow. Seriously?
The fleece-lined fabric hugged my skin like a warm embrace, oversized in the best way, the sleeves draping past my wrists. Soft, worn-in, and impossibly comfortable, like the kind of hoodie you steal and never give back.
And the smell? Like heaven.
Great. Just great.
Kicking my heels off next, I grabbed the largest looking sweats and pulled them on, hoping—no, praying—they'd fit. And miraculously, they did. They slid on easily, the waistband with plenty of room and the legs loose but not super baggy.
I released that breath I absolutely knew I was holding. Everything fit. Thank goodness.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I began to relish the feel of it all. Wait, stop. I shouldn't be relishing this at all. This was... silly.
But there was just something about slipping into a man's well-worn, ridiculously good-smelling clothes that felt like a hug for the soul. Even if, in this case, they belonged to the devil himself.
Okay. Fine. Whatever. It didn't matter really. Because it was show time now.
I needed to woman up, get out there, and keep playing this revenge game. Time to lay on the charm, as much as I was capable of that, and make this man fall for me.
Holding up the long legs of his pants, I began to walk in my bare feet toward the closed door. But at the last second, something caught my eye, and I turned to glance at Tristan's memory board. My breath caught.
There on the corner, I recognized something...
It was the mask he'd worn to our event.
Stepping closer, I found the clues from our scavenger hunt, plus a napkin from the venue, and a flower petal from one of the displays.
I felt a funny flutter in my chest, my heart constricting.
Oh, no. I had to squash that. I was supposed to be making his heart constrict, not mine.
Letting my eyes wander over the rest of the memorabilia, I saw something that sent a chill down my spine. A photo, a group of people dressed up and smiling, arms around each other's backs as they posed.
And their faces. My God. Their faces sent me straight back to high school. They were the faces that appeared in my nightmares, the features older now, but still very much recognizable.
Tristan was still friends with these jerks? The ones who had been left behind when he'd been kicked out of high school, the ones who'd taken up his torch and tormented me the last half of my senior year, subtly and slyly so they wouldn't get caught, making it almost worse.