Tristan
“Well?” She smiles sexily. “Tell me.” She sucks on her finger seductively. “How many times a day do you think about me?”
I stare at the woman sitting across the table from me.
Avril Mason: she’s beautiful, ticks all the right boxes.
Natural blonde, killer body, twenty-eight, a successful fashion editor—she has been on my radar for years, but we have never been single at the same time.
I went on one date with her before I went to France for the conference.
After that I thought we were going somewhere.
Not so much now. I should be obsessed with her; I should be chasing her around New York and falling hopelessly in love.
What I’m doing is neither of those things.
I’m dreaming of a fiery brunette. That woman has gotten under my skin.
I can’t get Claire fucking Anderson out of my head.
This is my third date with Avril, and every damn time I’ve spent the entire evening dreaming of Claire.
It’s getting to where I have to either step up and do the deed with Avril or stop seeing her.
This is not my style. I fuck whomever I want, whenever I want.
Doing the deed is never an issue. Especially with someone I know I want.
Usually, I close the deal on the first night or, at the least, the second. This is my third date with Avril, and as she sits across from me—and as usual—I find myself wondering what Claire is doing.
What is it about her that has me captivated?
She’s wrong for me ... in every sense. There is nothing that we have in common, and she’s right—we live different lives in different worlds.
Avril picks her phone up and pouts and takes a selfie. She instantly posts it on her Instagram and tags the restaurant.
I watch her in a strange detached state.
Why is she so unattractive to me, when I know for a fact that she’s beautiful?
What did that fucking Claire Anderson do to my sex drive?
My dick may as well have shriveled up and died. He doesn’t want anybody but her.
And I don’t get it, because I’ve dated some beautiful women over the years and yet have never had this happen before. I’ve always had to try to reign in my sex drive, control it to be loyal. It’s been a conscious decision.
But now, nobody seems to be good enough to make him even think about wanting to come out and party. Now my traitorous body has only one woman on its mind.
I sip my red wine, annoyed with myself.
Snap the fuck out of this.
Claire Anderson is no good for you. Stop thinking about her.
Witch.
If I had my time again with Claire, I’d give it to her good. I’d break her in half. I get a vision of her riding my cock the other night, and I clench in appreciation ... so fucking hot.
What am I doing here?
“Well?” Avril asks.
Huh? I glance up from my daydream. Did she say something? “I’m sorry?” I ask.
“I said, let’s go back to my place,” she whispers. “I’ve made you wait long enough; it’s time.”
I smirk, amused that she thinks she’s made me wait. Poor deluded woman.
I don’t want this.
“I have to be up early tomorrow ... rain check?” I ask.
“Are you serious?”
I hesitate, hardly able to believe it myself. “Yeah, I am.” I sigh.
Her eyes hold mine. “You’re just not into me, are you?”
I puff air into my cheeks, feeling guilty. “It’s not you. It’s me.” I sigh. “I’m sorry.” I shrug. “I have no excuse, because you’re perfect.”
She gives me a lopsided smile. “Do you want to talk about it in bed?”
I chuckle and sip my red wine. “As tempting as that is ... no.”
“So this is our last date?”
I wince. “I think so.”
“I really thought we had something.” She pulls a whiny face, and as I stare at her, I remember Claire teasing me with that exact line, as if she knew I heard it often.
And I do ... but I never knew how it felt to hear it from someone I cared about.
It sucks.
I read the report as Fletcher stands in front of me, nervously waiting for my opinion.
A smile crosses my face. He’s worked hard on this; I can tell. “This is good, Fletch.”
“Really?”
“I like it. I would have perhaps added a little more information on projected earnings for the first quarter.” I look up at him. “But it’s good. You did well this week.”
He smiles. “Thanks.” He turns to walk out, and I notice it’s dark outside. I kept him later than usual. “How are you getting home?”
“Subway,” he says.
“I can give you a lift if you want.”
He frowns. “You want to drive me home?”
“No. I’m offering you a lift because it’s Friday night, and I know you’ve missed your usual train. And besides, your mother will have a conniption if something were to happen to you.”
“Ah.” He thinks about it.
“Contrary to what you believe, Fletcher, I’m not the devil. I have no plans to kill you and bury you in a ditch on a deserted road.”
And besides, I want to see your mother.
“See, the fact that you said that ... is just creepy,” he mutters dryly.
I chuckle. “Was a little.” I turn off my computer. “Okay, let’s go.”
Twenty minutes later we arrive at my parking space, and Fletcher’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “This is your car?”
“Nice, huh?” The lights blink as I unlock it.
He whistles as he walks around it. “A brand-new Aston Martin.”
“Uh-huh.”
“In sapphire black.” He gasps in awe.
“You got it.” I smile. “You like these cars?”
“I love these cars.”
I smile. “Maybe if you get your license, you can have a drive of it.”
“Really?” His eyes widen in excitement.
I shrug. “Sure, why not?”
Fletcher has grown on me. He’s not a bad kid after all. Smart and funny, like his mom.
He flashes me a broad smile and climbs into the passenger seat. I pull out of the parking lot with speed, and he smiles goofily through the windshield.
She better be home.
A long hour later we pull into his street. “Just up here on the left,” he says.
“I have been here before, remember?” I smirk.
He gives a subtle shake of his head, embarrassed.
My eyes flick over to him. “You know, I hate to admit it, but you impressed me that day.”
“Why would that impress you?”
I shrug. “I like the way you look after your mom.”
He smiles. “Yeah, well, she’s pretty amazing.”
She sure is.
I pull up out front and park the car. “I might just pop in to say hello to her—clear the air, so to speak?” I say. I think quickly on my feet. “We were angry with each other last time we saw one another in my office.”
He looks at me for a bit, as if carefully considering my request. “Yeah, okay, I suppose.”
We get out of the car and walk up to the house. I notice that there is no crap everywhere, unlike last time. The door opens in a rush, and Claire stands there, as if not realizing we were on the other side. She’s wearing a black dress, and her hair is up. She looks beautiful.
“Oh. Tristan.” Her face falls when she sees me, and she stares at me for a beat. “Hello,” she forces out.
“Hi.” I smile. Nerves dance in my stomach.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
“I drove Fletch home.”
Her eyes flick between me and Fletcher. “Did you forget about tonight, Fletch?” she asks. She seems nervous.
“What?” he says.
“Remember?” Her eyes widen. “I’m going out, and you’re babysitting Patrick for me.”
“Oh,” Fletcher replies. “Yes, I did. With Paul from Pilates. Sorry I’m late.”
What?
“That’s me,” a voice says from behind us. We all turn to see some blond dude walking up the path toward the house. He’s all dressed up.
I stare at him as my brain misfires. Huh?
“Hello.” He smiles. “I’m Paul.”
“This is Tristan, Fletcher’s boss,” Claire interrupts before I get a chance to say something.
“Hello,” I bark. I shake his hand and then turn to Fletcher and widen my eyes.
Are you just going to stand there?
Fletcher smirks and kisses his mother on the cheek. “Have fun, Mom.”
“Thanks, darling.” She turns to Paul. “Are you ready?”
“Sure am.” Paul puts his arm out, and she links it with hers.
I put my hands on my hips in disgust.
What the actual fuck is going on here? She’s dating someone else?
Are you fucking kidding me?
Don’t cause a scene in front of Fletcher ... don’t cause a scene in front of fucking Fletcher. You are not dating her ... you shouldn’t be pissed.
I am.
I want to cause a fucking scene.
“Won’t be late, sweetie. Bye, Tristan.” She forces a nervous smile, and I glare at her.
I watch as they walk out, get into his car, and drive away.
I turn to Fletcher. “What are you going to do about this?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“Why aren’t you attacking him with underpants?” I snap, annoyed. “What good are you if you’re not going to be consistent?” I hit his chest with the backs of my fingers. “Consistency is key, Fletcher. If your mother isn’t allowed to date, she isn’t allowed to date anyone.”
He shrugs, uninterested. “You coming in?”
“Yes, I am, actually.” I walk into the house, angered that I’ve been discriminated against so abysmally.
She’s on a fucking date ... of all the nerve.
I raise my chin in defiance. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to her yet. I better wait for her to get home.” I look around the house. “Where does your mother keep her wine?”
“Hi.” The little dark-haired boy smiles up at me. “You came back.”
“Yes, I did.” I smirk. This kid is my favorite—cute and innocent.
“What’s your name again?” He frowns.
“Tristan.” I smile. “I remember your name.”
He bites his bottom lip. “What is it?”
“Patrick.”
His eyes widen in excitement. “It is.” He smiles proudly.
I look around nervously. “Where’s that other brother of yours?”
“Who?” He frowns.
“The Harry Potter one.”
“Oh, he’s at school camp. He gets back in the morning,” Patrick replies.
“Great.” One less crazy fucker to worry about.
“No way,” Fletcher gasps as he looks at his phone.
“What?” I frown.
“Oh my God.” He puts his hand over his mouth. “Alita VanDerCamp just messaged me.”
“And?” I frown.
“She’s the hottest girl in school.” His eyes are wide with disbelief.
“Hmm, okay.” I shrug as I open a kitchen cupboard. I need a fucking drink.