Chapter 10 Tristan
TRISTAN
An hour and a half into the party, I have yet to get Ligaya to myself. I’ve kept her in the corner of my eye, but she’s never alone, and neither am I. When a guy named Kai asks if he can try the wings on just as Ligaya takes a tray to the kitchen, I use the excuse to follow her.
“Need help?” I ask.
She looks over her shoulder. Her wavy dark hair grazes her back, drawing my eye to the creamy expanse of her skin. And lower.
The tattoo has to be a joke, right? Seas instead of seize the day? I mean, she’s a freaking English teacher.
As if she can mind read, Ligaya explains, “The writing isn’t permanent. The seashell is.”
“Thank god.” I exhale in relief.
We both chuckle.
“What’s a trip with girlfriends without a tramp stamp, after all.”
The term irks me. “It’s not a tramp stamp. It’s beautiful.”
Her eyes widen. “That was a softball pitch to make fun of me, Tristan. I’m surprised you didn’t swing.”
“I’m serious. I think it’s beautiful. In fact, I’d like to check it out a little more. The design is rather . . . interesting.”
By interesting, I mean hot as fuck because it’s on her skin.
Ligaya does the last thing I expect. Of course she does.
She turns around and leans her forearms on the counter. The pose makes her curvy backside stick out and the light shine on the tattoo.
“Go ahead.” She sounds as breathless as I feel. “Give it a look.”
Fuck yeah.
She’s a feast on that kitchen counter. My eyes track the elegant line of her spine and the subtle way her shoulder blades undulate under her skin.
The tattoo sits on her lower back, right above the waistband.
I trace a finger over the curve that dips ever so slightly.
That subtle, perfect hollow is the sexiest sliver of skin I’ve ever seen.
I follow the intricate lines of the seashell and hear her sharp intake of breath.
“Goddamn, your skin is silk.”
She glances over her shoulder with hooded eyes. I wrap my fingers around her waist. She closes her eyes and moans. Confident that my grip is welcome, I run my thumb over the tattoo in firm circles.
“Tristan?”
“Yes, Ligaya?” I splay my fingers over her lower belly.
“Don’t stop.”
“I don’t plan to,” I answer, doubling my effort so both thumbs frame her spine with massaging motions. The movement positions me behind her. I keep my hips back, but Ligaya leans further, grazing her ass cheeks against my steel cock.
“Goddamn, Ligaya,” I mumble, amazed by how well our bodies fit. My cock pushes angrily against my zipper.
“I’ve been meaning to get a massage,” she quips.
I run my hand to the front of her body and urge her up so her back is pressed against my chest and I can pin her hips between me and the kitchen cabinet.
“Lucky for you, I’ve been dying to give you one.”
She gasps at the press of my full arousal.
“Liar. You’re far from dying,” she says with a playful movement of her ass.
“Glad you noticed,” I whisper against her ear.
She moans and throws her head back to give me access to her delicious neck.
“You’re hard to miss,” she mumbles. “Like a warning label.”
The words make us both pause. We are entering uncharted territory. I don’t want to stop, but does she?
Ligaya turns around to face me. Her brown eyes are blown into wide black circles.
“Why did you leave the other day?” she asks.
“I would have stayed too long.” My answer is instant and honest.
“What’s wrong with staying longer?”
“I just moved back into town.”
“What does that have to do with me?” she asks, her brows pinching in what looks like genuine confusion.
She waits for my response, casual and infuriatingly unbothered. Then her eyes narrow like she’s putting two and two together.
“Wait a minute. When you mentioned ‘staying longer,’ did you think I was going to ask you to, what, be my boyfriend? Maybe move in?”
“No,” I answer too quickly, the word snapping out of me.
Her lips curl up at the corners, the beginning of a smile. “You sure about that? Did you think I had a fridge magnet ready for our vacation pictures, Tristan? Or maybe a Pinterest board of our beach wedding?”
She’s practically chortling now, her hand flicking in the air like the idea is too ridiculous to even land.
When she describes the scenario that way, my hesitation does seem a little ridiculous.
Maybe I am overreacting. I left her house because I had felt vulnerable and raw and clingy in the worst way.
Add to that, I had a hard-on that drained blood from my brain and diminished my ability to think straight.
Kind of like right now.
I shift my weight and look at her intently, my fingers twitching to grab her again. Her gorgeous smile is perfectly unreadable.
“What are you proposing, Ligaya?”
She taps her chin and purses her lips, like she’s choosing from a menu of bad decisions. Then, she shrugs. “One night. Scratch the itch. Then we go back to being acquaintances who pretend it never happened.”
“What a romantic.” My sarcasm pushes away the tug-of-war inside me. On the one hand: yeah, let’s do this! On the other, pretend it never happened feels like an impossible task.
She arches a brow, assessing my reaction.
“Do you want candles? I’ve got a Glade PlugIn at home.” She says it with a smirk, but her gaze doesn’t waver. There’s heat behind the joke, a glimmer of challenge.
“You’re serious,” I utter incredulously.
“Why not? Aren’t you curious what it would be like to be ruined by your high school nemesis?”
“So, you have been wanting me to ruin you,” I tease, although it comes out raspy. I sound like the thirsty man I am.
“You’ve got it the other way around, Tristan. I’m the one doing the ruining, thank you very much.”
Ligaya is being direct in proposing a one-night stand. I can handle this sassy, casual version of her. Especially if it leads to more of her.
“How sweet that you think you could.”
“I know I could.”
She’s not wrong. It’s quite possible she’s halfway there.