Chapter 14
TRISTAN
Iorder a water and stare unseeingly at my phone while I avoid watching Katie and the blond-haired guy.
My blood is humming.
“You good?” the bartender asks.
I take a gulp of water and wish fervently that it were Prince whiskey. “Yeah,” I rasp. “All good.”
Not fucking all good. Very bad, in fact. Terrible, really.
I text Whit. It’s four a.m. in Liverpool. He’ll be awake. He has a long run this morning and he likes to start before the streets get crowded.
Tristan
Help.
Whit
What happened? Did an underwear model hump you in public?
Tristan
Very funny. I was dancing with Katie and I felt something weird.
Whit
Tell me you did not get an erection.
Tristan
Nothing like that. Things just felt different for a minute.
Whit
Different how? You didn’t do anything did you?
Tristan
I would never.
And there’s the rub. I’m the worst kind of asshole. Dancing with Katie, touching her, liking it. Was I trying to turn her on?
I frown down at the bar.
If I was trying to do anything, it was show her how to feel good.
Tristan
I’m helping her get laid.
Whit
By sleeping with her yourself?
Tristan
Fuck. No. She said she wants to get a guy. I’m just showing her how to be confident.
She desperately needs it. I had no idea she was this shy around guys. There’s a burn in my throat at the thought of how she sees herself. As someone who missed out. As someone who needs to lower her expectations.
I finally look over at the dance floor. The guy is a crappy dancer.
Is that what she’s going to settle for?
Bad dancing with men who aren’t even that hot?
I scowl and take another sip of beer. Is this what I’m in for? Weeks of watching her flirt with losers?
If that’s what she wants, then yes, it is.
Katie has been there for me at the worst times in my life.
The day of my father’s funeral, I found her in my house.
She pretended she was there for something else, but I saw the bracelet she tucked under a magazine.
A chain of those yellow flowers from the lawn that she loves so much.
Resilient, she always calls them. They’re weeds, really, not flowers.
I almost teased her about it back then, but my throat was too tight, my eyes too hot.
The story tumbled out of her—how she made these bracelets every year on her birthday.
Four flowers for happiness, five for luck, six for love.
She told me how she thought it might be too forward to do six, and five was good, but it seemed like I probably needed happiness the most. I remember my throat working and no words coming out, but Katie rushing to fill the silence with stories of how the bracelets made her feel less lonely.
So yeah, I’ll do anything for her, even watch over her while she dances with crappy guys. But—I scowl when I see the guy looking at me—if anyone tries anything, I’ll break their fucking arms.
He looks away and I watch Katie smile at something he says. I feel an irrational impulse to stand and tear them apart.
Careful, Tristan. Because I did feel something when I was out there with her—a pulse of heat where we touched, a slow simmer in my blood, stronger than when we sparred, and more addicting too. All of it was one-sided. I drain my beer.
Whatever.
If I have one skill in life, it’s avoiding things I don’t want to think about. Katie’s not bothered by dancing with me, so I won’t be either. It doesn’t mean anything. I scan the bar again, letting my eyes drift over the women present.
I’m supposed to be spouse-hunting. A pretty woman with curly hair catches my eye and smiles at me.
She’ll do. I drain my beer and walk over to her. Her smile grows.
We chat. I get her number. I pretend I don’t know exactly where Katie is the entire time.