Chapter Fourteen
REESE
The towel barrier is completely useless.
Sometime in the night, we’d both reached over it for one another. Tristen’s hand tangles in my hair at the nape of my neck with mine flat on his chest. Even his leg is slung over onto my side, his socked foot resting between my calves.
Still asleep, he doesn’t flinch when I nudge him to his side of the bed.
His chest rises and falls in a steady pattern, his mouth slack.
It draws my attention to the coarse hair of his furry beard, the thickest I’ve seen it.
Less manicured and more mountain man, it fits him.
I’m almost tempted to run my fingers up his jaw.
Or scoop back the mop of hair over his eyebrows.
Despite being on day four of our travels, he still smells laundry-fresh with a hint of his aftershave mixed in.
The spicy fragrance used to annoy me, but now it’s surprisingly comforting.
I inhale it slowly this time, appreciating this quiet moment without judgment.
I’ve never been so close to him that I could study him so easily.
It’s almost too intimate.
Waking up wrapped in someone’s embrace is a first for me. My one and only boyfriend was allergic to cuddling and romantic gestures. All Burns cared about was the music, the parties, and the thrill of his next buzz. Affection was a tool used for manipulation and nothing more.
“What’s with the frown?” Tristen asks, his voice heavy with sleep. “Bad dream?”
“Just thinking.” I roll away from him and stare at the ceiling two feet above me. Stupid Burns. I wish I could just forget he existed.
“Where are you going? Talk to me.”
Tristen traces a path down my arm to my hand, looping his index finger through mine.
“It’s not important. Mistakes from my past.”
“They seem important if they’re bothering you.”
I chew on my dry lower lip, desperate for my lip balm in the other room.
“I was thinking of Burns and how different the two of you are.”
He growls something close to a curse. “Of course I’m nothing like him.”
“I know, it’s just all I have to compare.
I’ve never slept next to someone before .
. . at least I think.” I cover my face, remembering the fragmented memories of the night I blacked out at Cliffys.
“I woke up once in my own bed with no memory of how I got there. I mean . . . who knows what happened that night. Gosh, I’m such a disaster. ”
Why would Tristen ever be interested in someone like me? I have so much baggage I could fill this camper with it.
“Wait a minute. When was this?” He tries to peel my fingers back. “Was it when you wore the blue miniskirt?”
“Miniskirt?” I sputter and turn on my side to face him. There are two skirts in my possession and neither of them are mini. “It was a normal length denim skirt that Nova gifted to me for my birthday. It stopped right above my knee.”
“You need your eyes checked. There was a lot of thigh visible. I had to knock a few heads for staring,” he counters sternly.
“That’s crazy talk. Nobody was staring but you.”
“Of course I was. You had no right being that gorgeous and strutting around the bar.”
I hold his angry stare for a second and erupt into laughter.
“Are you yelling compliments at me now?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?” He blinks a few times and releases a breath of hot air. “Holy smokes, I’m jealous all over again and it was like two years ago.”
“Jealous?” I melt a little. “Even back then?”
“It’s not important. Ahem. Go back to bed.” He waves his hand over my face. “This is all a dream. You won’t remember this.”
I grab his hand and tuck it under my chin. “Nah. I’ve lost enough memories as it is. I don’t want to lose the good ones too.”
He blushes through his beard, then he startles upright, cracking his forehead against the ceiling.
“Tris,” I cry.
“If I don’t have a bruise by the end of this trip, it will be a miracle.”
“Let me get you a cold water bottle.”
“No, wait.” He snags my arm. “The night you were wearing the miniskirt—”
“Regular skirt, but go on.”
“You passed out at the table, and I carried you back home.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Yeah, as soon as I saw your head hit the table, I was over there. I didn’t trust your drunk boyfriend to make wise choices, so I left the bar to Mark and carried you home.”
I cover my mouth. All this time I thought it had been Burns. Shaking my head, I piece together my missing memories.
“Let me get this straight—you just took me. Picked me up and nobody said anything?”
He shrugs. “The group you were with was too drunk to notice. Karaoke night gets a little rowdy.”
“Oh my gosh. And you just lugged me through town and into my apartment?” I suck in a breath. He was in my tiny, crappy apartment. Probably littered with Chinese take-out boxes and my clothes flung everywhere. “Were you inside my bedroom?”
“Well, yeah. I had to get you to your bed.”
“And you just dropped me off and left.”
He clears his throat. “I had planned to, but then you vomited on me—”
Groaning, I roll into a ball away from him. If I could dig through the mattress to hide, I would.
“—a few times. I had to rinse off my shirt.”
“Then you left?”
“Well . . .”
“Oh my gracious, Tristen. Why am I just learning about this?”
“It’s not a big deal. I was worried about you. You were really out of it, so I stayed for a few hours, debating if I should take you to the hospital or not. But you seemed a lot better after you threw up all that liquor . . . just wish it wasn’t on me.”
I groan again, wishing Past-Reese didn’t leave me such horror stories.
“So I guess I owe you another apology. Will there ever be a day I won’t have something to apologize to you about?”
“Reese . . .” He flings the towel over his shoulder and wraps his arms around me, pulling my back against his chest. “Don’t ever worry about it. I’m just glad nothing bad happened to you. Your safety is worth a little collateral vomit damage.”
“Gross but sweet at the same time.”
He kisses the back of my head and chuckles. “It’s a Hallmark card in the making.”
“Well, on that romantic note, I’m getting up.”
“Aww . . .”
“I need to go to the bathroom, and it’s impossible to get out of this bunk without crawling over you. I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Crawl away.” He gestures to the ladder.
“Not like this is weird or anything,” I joke as I climb over him and down the ladder.
Today seems different—lighter, in a way. I hum as I get ready, almost in a foggy daydream as I throw on my Cliffys t-shirt. Not only am I hoping to get a rise out of him, but I’ve run out of clean clothes.
His gaze catches on me as I walk out of the bedroom. Mission accomplished.
With a cocky smirk, he leans against the counter and blocks my path. “Fine. I admit defeat. The shirt looks better on you. But you look amazing in everything you wear. I can’t tell if I like this or the towel better.”
I grin, shaking my head. “You weren’t supposed to be looking.”
“How could I not? Oh, that reminds me. Did I see a tattoo on your shoulder? When did you get that?”
“Oh.” I slap a hand over it and frown. “It’s just another bad memory.”
“Another fun surprise you woke up to one morning?”
“Um, it’s something Burns picked out.”
His smile slips, and he pushes off the counter to loom over me. “Can I see it?”
“It’s just a dumb microphone.”
“Nothing about you is dumb.”
I take a breath and turn around, allowing him to adjust my neckline to see.
An uncomfortable heat crawls up my neck.
I know it’s silly to be so worked up about a tattoo, but I can’t stop myself.
Tristen lingers for a moment, staring at the small microphone with the cord twisted in a heart shape.
Luckily it’s small, no bigger than a quarter, so it’s easy to keep hidden, even under the wide straps of a tank top.
“He picked it?”
“Yeah. So I’ll always remember him,” I mumble, my eyes downcast.
He huffs in irritation. And for a moment, he’s so quiet I assume he walked away before I hear him ask, “Can I touch it?”
My breath catches, and I peer over my shoulder. “If you want to.”
With two fingers, he presses into my skin. His gentle caress summons a burst of goosebumps over my shoulders and down my arms. “You know, a lot of careers use a microphone. Not just low-life wannabe musicians.”
“Yeah?”
“Comedians, announcers, news reporters.” He hesitates before adding the last one. “Narrators—audiobook ones, especially.”
I can’t move. I can’t speak. I can’t breathe.
“It could be anyone’s microphone, really,” he whispers, leaning closer to the spot so that his heated breath fans over my skin and sends another wave of goosebumps over me.
I lick my lips, suddenly desperate for some lip gloss. “Like who?”
Instead of responding, he presses a slow kiss onto the tattoo, my body tensing in response. It lasts for only a half second, but I sense the memory of it burning into my mind.
“Even this looks good on you,” he says, his voice deeper than before. He presses another kiss to the spot, then another on my shoulder until it’s a line of kisses to the sensitive spot in the crook of my neck.
With a squeal, I spin away. “You, sir, are trouble,” I say with a laugh.
“I was just following the trail of freckles. Can you blame me?”
I smack his shoulder as I pass him. “Yes, I can. I can’t just make out with you all day.”
“Says who?” He leans to capture my lips, and I throw up a stiff arm to stop him.
“Me. I have to go inspect the transmission leak, and you said you were going to take a shower.”
He pouts dramatically, giving me the saddest puppy dog eyes that I almost relent. But before I give in, I zip out the door, breathing in the fresh air not coated in his scent.
The rain finally stopped, leaving massive puddles around the campsite.
A little dirt won’t kill me, but Lewis might if I don’t get my butt back to Rocosa soon.
After I fill up the transmission fluid again, I wait outside a little longer, letting Tristen enjoy his five-minute hot shower while I check my emails.