Chapter 18
KATIE
Tristan
Remember to call me if you need a ride.
Katie
Thanks, Dad.
Tristan
That’s Daddy to you.
And remember to be yourself.
Katie
So helpful! Didn’t think of that!
Tristan
Just be how you are with me and I know he’ll like you.
Three hours later, I’m covered in mud, my wrist is screaming in pain, and I’m thirty feet above the ground on a small platform.
I’m leaning against the trunk of what I hope is a sufficiently sturdy oak, and my eyes are squeezed shut so I can’t see how dizzyingly far away the base of the tree is.
I’m trapped on Ryan’s billionaire friend’s private preserve. I feel like I’m being hunted for sport.
Freaking rich people.
Fucking Ryan.
Fucking Ryan who left me here because he had to take a work call.
Really, I think he just wanted an excuse to weasel out of our date.
The problems started forty-five minutes into the obstacle course when it became apparent that I was in better shape than him.
At first, he puffed up and tried to outrun me.
I slowed my pace for him, determined to make this date good and not leave him in the dust.
But then he wouldn’t stop talking about his fancy friends and name-dropping people I’d only ever seen in movies.
I felt like I was seventeen again, watching my high school boyfriend, Max, and his friends play video games and pretending to enjoy myself when I could have been doing literally anything else.
I kept waiting for that warm, spilled-coffee feeling to jitter through me. I felt it with Tristan and I so badly wanted it to be there with Ryan, but it just wasn’t.
At mile three, I thought to myself, there has to be more to dating than this.
If Ryan were Tristan, I would have said something cocky to him, and he would have tugged on my braid and called me killer.
God damn, he would have said, and the soft appreciation in his voice would have made me feel like flying.
Instead, Ryan wouldn’t stop talking about things I’m not interested in and he never once stopped to ask me about myself.
How many times have I smiled politely when a man talked about something I didn’t care about?
I wondered. How many times have I forced down words I wanted to say or arguments I wanted to make, all for the sake of being liked or being chosen?
And then I suggested we race, because I couldn’t take it anymore, and as soon as he agreed, adrenaline burst inside me like a dam and I sped off toward the first zip line.
Not exactly a great first date.
He texted me twenty minutes ago saying he had a work call, and I nearly threw my phone out of the tree.
“Fuck this,” I mutter, because cursing feels better than contemplating the rickety bridge in front of me. A bird chirps lazily in agreement. I gingerly test my wrist, biting my lip against the pain.
I hiss another curse as I try to rotate it.
It’s not sprained, but it hurts like hell from zip line number three, when I slammed into the platform.
Ryan wasn’t there for that, thank god. I need to wrap it, then I’ll make it across the stupid bridge.
My eyes keep going to the wobbly structure, then skittering away.
I pull my shirt over my head, wishing it were thinner and bigger so I could rip it into a long bandage.
I just need compression and to immobilize the joint.
When I’m done wrapping the joint as firmly as I can and tying it with my shoelaces, I let my head tip back against the tree and contemplate the bridge. It’s mere ropes and slats, like something from an adventure movie. A strong gust of wind whips through the trees and the bridge sways.
I swallow away the sour taste in my mouth.
I’m not going back, and there’s no way off this stupid platform even if I did want to call Ryan for help, which I don’t. I fiddle with my phone, delaying the inevitable.
My last texts with Tristan are on the screen. I want so badly to text him, but something stops me. He’s on a date today. I can’t interrupt it. I can’t cling to him.
Tristan is out on a date and I’m alone, and I better get used to it, because this is the future. Just like at work, no one is coming and I need to rely on myself. I pull myself to standing, then startle when my phone buzzes.
Tristan
How’s the date? Did he make any moves?
I laugh weakly into the cool air.
Katie
If only.
I send him a picture of the platform and the bridge. My phone rings seconds later.
“So Ryan’s into some kinky shit?” Tristan says without preamble.
I shouldn’t feel the rush of relief that I do at hearing his voice.
“Tristan, go away,” I hiss. “Your date is going to get offended.”
There’s a scratching sound and then I hear, “You’re not offended, are you?” and a woman’s tinkling laugh. There’s a scrape of a chair, then Tristan’s warm tones telling her he’ll see her again.
Maybe it’s her. The one he’ll marry.
“Spare me,” I mutter. “Go get it on in private.”
His low laugh into the phone makes me feel like he’s right next to me. “Trust me,” he croons, “I’m way more fun in private.”
I groan, but already I’m forgetting about the platform and the way my stomach sours every time I look at the bridge.
“So, Bailey,” he drawls just seconds later. “How’s it hanging?” There’s a door slam, then a car starting. “Ryan leave you all alone?”
My breath shudders out. “Not exactly. I got competitive. I fucked up.”
There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line, then, “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen?” I choke. “You were supposed to be meeting her in Hart’s Hill.”
“I changed locations. I like the lobster rolls better in Newland’s Landing.”
“Did you bring Nour?” I ask suspiciously.
“Nour who?”
Tires squeal on his side of the phone. “Is that you?”
“Is what me?”
“Are you driving dangerously?”
There’s a pause. “Nah,” he finally says. “Must be some other guy.” He hangs up.
I want to laugh. Or cry. Or throw up, maybe. No one is coming. Tristan is, though, and as I lean back against the tree and try to steady my breathing, I order myself not to like it.