Chapter 25
TRISTAN
I’m in bed on Thursday night, after four hours spent working on a yeast strain I’m cultivating.
I’ve gone from meetings with Grandfather and Aiden to dates with spouse candidates to working late almost every night this week.
Luckily, I have very little time to think about Katie or the kiss.
The way she exhaled softly into my mouth. The way she trembled under my hands.
I’m trying to read when my phone lights up. I expect the usual text from Katie asking if I’m safely home for the night, but what I get is something that makes me laugh.
Katie
A guy I matched with just asked if I was of legal age.
I grin at my phone.
Tristan
Because your photos are so old and blurry.
She’s calling me. My face hurts from smiling as I answer and pop an arm behind my head.
“Tristan Prince. Dating coach extraordinaire.”
“Are they that bad?” She’s whispering, and I burst out laughing.
“Why are you whispering?”
“Shut up.” Another whisper. “Can you tell me if these are better?”
I put the phone on speaker. She sends me a string of photos and warmth winds through my stomach, spreading with each swipe.
“Well?”
“Who took these?” It wasn’t me. I’d remember a bathing suit this small.
“Sienna sent me what she had on her phone. Do you think they’re too much?”
“They’re hot, Bailey.”
Shit. I didn’t mean to say that. I didn’t mean to tell my best friend I think she’s hot, and I didn’t mean to do it like this, where I can’t even see her face.
“That’s good, right?” She sounds uncertain, and something sweet and hot unfurls in my chest.
“If you want to hook up, then yeah, that’s good.”
“You’re sure?”
I should tell her not to post them. I should warn her that some guy is going to do what I’m about to do, my finger hovering over the screen to zoom in on her body. Not while you’re on the phone with her, you pervert.
I swipe again. The breath stutters out of my chest. It’s her, pressed to a wall, arm around my sister, back arched, hair wild.
She’s in a cropped sports bra and tiny shorts, and I know exactly which ones, because I’ve admired how fit she is in this outfit about a thousand times.
Clinically, not with the heat gathering now at the base of my spine.
“Tristan?”
“People will like it. Men. Ah, men will like it.”
A breathless sound. “How do you know?”
“I’m a man.”
“And you like it?”
I rasp an approximation of an agreement, then clear my throat. “I like it.” I am hard. This phone call was a mistake.
She hums happily. “I’m uploading them.”
“Right now?”
“No time like the present. Maybe I’ll meet someone before tomorrow, and then I won’t have to do the whole awkward picking men up thing.”
My hand tightens on the phone.
“Tristan? You still there?”
“You’re still off tomorrow, right? Why don’t you go out with me?” What exactly do you think you’re doing, Tristan Prince?
I feel like I have about five functioning brain cells right now and they’re all focused on willing my attention away from my dick.
“A practice date?”
Is it my imagination, or does she sound weird too?
“Yeah, a practice date.”
We hang up. There’s zero chance I sleep tonight. I let my hand drift down to where I’m hard against my stomach.
Am I this dumb?
As I stroke myself, and sparks zip up my spine, I know I should stop picturing Katie. I shouldn’t tighten my fist and imagine her. I should be embarrassed. I should stop.
I don’t stop. I spill on my stomach in hard pulses.
And the weight lifting off my chest feels strangely like relief.