Chapter 16

WITH HER HAND ON THE rail and her foot on the first step, Piper hesitated, looking up at his door. She hadn’t seen or heard from him since his call the morning after. He’d kept his promise, checking up on her well-being, but it was clinical, his words detached and devoid of warmth, like a doctor with a lousy bedside manner.

She’d hoped to get answers to the myriad of questions swirling in her mind, but after he got her assurances that she wasn’t in sub drop, he couldn’t end the call fast enough. Then, silence—for three days—as if the scene at the club had never occurred.

The irony of discovering a sense of freedom while cuffed and chained in a jail cell, of all places, wasn’t lost on Piper. The way she had reacted so intensely to his command and the touch of his suede flogger had deeply moved and unsettled her. Tristan shared none of those sentiments, evidently. And the finality of his goodbye haunted her.

Had she read too much into a single encounter? Was she simply a silly, unsophisticated young woman who allowed her imagination and her infatuation to run wild?

That’s what brought her to Tristan’s doorstep, intent on having a candid conversation and clearing the air. Summoning her courage, she climbed the stairs and knocked. Then she nearly bolted.

“Don’t be childish,” she scolded herself in a whisper.

She could have shouted down the door, it turned out. After a minute passed, she knocked again, listening for footsteps or a sound indicating he was home, but she heard nothing, and the door remained firmly shut.

Piper’s shoulders slumped with the weight of her disappointment.

For the hundredth time since the awful phone call, she reminded herself he’d made no promises. She agreed to a scene with an experienced dom to have a taste, nothing more. But as she slowly descended the stairs, she wondered aloud, “If it truly meant nothing, why does it hurt so much?”

Instead of returning to her lonely condo, she went for a walk to clear her head. She only got as far as the sidewalk before freezing in her tracks at the sight of Tristan’s massive truck parked in its usual spot.

Tears flooded her eyes. He was home. Why hadn’t he answered the door?

“Stupid question,” she said, angrily wiping her cheek when one droplet overflowed.

“Hey,” Josie called, appearing from beyond the circle of the streetlight. When she was close enough to see her tear-streaked face, her eyes narrowed, and she demanded, her voice sharp with concern. “What’s wrong? Is it your stalker again?”

Piper shook her head, trying to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to spill over. “It’s nothing,” she choked out.

Josie snorted derisively, not buying it for a second. “Pull my other leg, why don’t you?”

Hesitant at first, her words spewed out in a rush, like steam escaping from a whistling teapot. “I think I made a huge mistake the other night. I’ve been trying to talk to Tristan about it. I’ve knocked on his door every evening for the last three in a row, including just now. He won’t answer. I’m pretty sure he’s avoiding me.”

Josie’s gaze shifted over Piper’s right shoulder and zeroed in on his hard-to-miss truck. “You’re saying he’s home and couldn’t be bothered to come to the door?” Her expression hardened. “After being on this dating carousel for over a decade, I’ve concluded that men are jerks. Your situation only serves to validate my belief.” Moving closer, she draped her arm around her. “I’m sorry, Piper. Without me, you wouldn’t have known about Club Decadence. My only defense is that my clients talked it up so much I believed them and set expectations no club, kinky or straight, could meet.”

“It was the man, not the club,” she said, wiping away another tear that overflowed. “You’re not responsible for me moving in next door to him. That’s fate or bad luck. Probably a little of both.”

“I just don’t get it. Tristan can be grumpy, no doubt about it, but I always thought he was a decent guy. But not giving you the courtesy of answering the door even to say piss off... Well. That just pisses me off.” Josie caught her hand and pulled her toward the stairs. “Let’s storm his place and give him a piece of our minds.”

Although she liked the idea of pounding down his door and demanding answers, Piper already knew the truth. Further humiliating herself would only worsen the smarting sting of rejection. So she stopped her. “I’m not up to a confrontation.”

“That’s a shame because I am.” Her auburn brows arched, and mischief glinted in her eyes. “How do you feel about keying his precious truck?”

“No, ma’am. I’m definitely not up for vandalism! What’s gotten into you?”

“Sorry. I was listening to Carrie Underwood on the way home, and it put me in a vengeful mood.”

“Tristan didn’t cheat. He delivered what he promised and even checked on me the next day. It’s not like we were engaged to be married. We weren’t even a couple.”

“But you wanted to be?” she prompted.

Piper simply returned her gaze. Without a nod, headshake, or shrug—admitting nothing.

“If confrontation and vandalism are off the table, how about wine? Hunter always keeps at least one bottle in the fridge.”

“Rather than drowning my sorrows in alcohol, I was thinking more about overloading on carbs. Moose Tracks, to be specific.”

“Sister, you are speaking my language. Ice cream, I’ve got. Come on.”

As she followed her up the steps, Piper suggested, “You could tell me what happened with you and Axyl. Venting and crying aren’t a cure, but they help; trust me.”

“Oh no,” Josie stated firmly. “One sad, failed intro to BDSM story at a time.”

“I wouldn’t say that mine failed. It was rather amazing, which is part of the problem.”

“That makes one of us,” her friend muttered as she let them both into Hunter’s place.

The quart and a half of chocolate swirl and peanut butter cup-laden creamy goodness they hoovered through made Piper feel better for half a minute. By the time she went home, deliberately avoiding even looking at #110, she’d accepted a few truths. The glimmers of the dream man she thought she saw were figments of her imagination. She wanted Tristan to be that man so badly she’d ignored the evidence of his perpetual grumpy mood, people warning her about his grumpy mood, and the fact he was almost forty and hadn’t been married or in a relationship, as far as anyone knew, likely because of his grumpy mood.

He reminded her of Robbie Evers, her date for the senior prom, who’d taken her virginity and then ghosted her. By ignoring her completely, Tristan had proven he and Robbie were cut from the same cloth. Not only colossal jerks but complete assholes.

THE FOLLOWING DAY, when the scale registered a three-pound weight gain, which she knew was fluid retention because she didn’t eat that many thousands of extra calories, she swore off binge eating her feelings. She also swore off men and BDSM. She had a role to prepare for, and averaging eight signings a week, she didn’t have time for anything else.

In the days that followed, when she passed Tristan in the parking lot or ran into him in the courtyard coming or going, she forced a smile, but she didn’t stop to talk. What was there to say?

But no matter how good she was at faking it when the camera wasn’t rolling, and no one else was around, she was as morose and irritable as the asshole himself.

Thanks for nothing, Tristan.