Chapter 17

17

NINA

I stare at Tristan’s message, the words burning into my brain. Putting an ever-increasing pressure in my skull as I re-read his confession for the millionth time.

Prince Charming

In all these years, I never realized the name was hurtful to you. I thought it was just an inside joke between us. I never wanted to harm you or mock your body. I’m sorry if I did. I’m sorry if it hurt you

Can I trust him? After all these years of teasing remarks and animosity, could he really never have understood how upsetting it was for me? I chew my bottom lip, composing a million different replies in my head. But none of them feel right. I need to see his face and look into those mesmerizing blue eyes as he tells me how he really feels.

Before I can question the impulse, I leap out of bed and march to my bedroom door, swinging it open. Just as I step into the hallway, Tristan’s door creaks open. And even if I’m standing on solid ground, I feel like a pebble suddenly kicked off a cliff. There he stands, looking unfairly gorgeous with his tousled dark hair and a belligerent look on his face. Something else simmers there too, an intensity that sends chills skittering across my skin and warmth flooding through my veins.

He’s wearing only a white T-shirt that stretches over his broad chest and a pair of gray sweatpants that hang scandalously low on his hips. My eyes linger for a second too long before I snap them back up to his face, my skin prickling. I’m suddenly very conscious I got out of my room clad in unicorn-print PJs and no bra. What was I thinking?

“Going somewhere?” Tristan purrs, a smug smile tugging at his mouth as he leans against the doorframe.

Crap, I wanted to confront him about his text. But now that I see him, I panic. Quick, Nina, think! “Um, just heading to the bathroom,” I say a little too brightly. Smooth. “What about you?” I ask, trying to act casual.

His eyes rake over me in a slow, assessing manner that makes my toes curl. “Same thing.”

We stand there staring at each other in a silent battle of wits. Then Tristan quirks an eyebrow and gestures gallantly with one arm. “Please, ladies first.”

I head for the bathroom, hyperaware of him watching my every step. Even when I move past him, I still feel his eyes burning holes into my back.

I duck into the bathroom, berating myself for chickening out. Turning on the faucet, I splash cold water on the heated skin of my face, trying to calm my racing pulse. My mind whirls with indecision. When I come out of here, do I corner him and demand answers about that text? Or make a strategic retreat to my room and avoid… whatever is happening between us? Come on, Nina, put your big-girl pants on and just talk to the guy.

Nodding at my reflection, I take a deep breath and exit the bathroom. Tristan’s still there, lounging against his doorframe like he owns the place, those piercing blue eyes trained on me intently. My determination quivers.

Okay, maybe I’m not quite ready for that talk after all. I offer him a quick, nervous smile and start edging past him toward my bedroom door. I’ve almost made it when Tristan’s hand darts out, his fingers gently encircling my wrist.

“You never responded to my text,” he breathes, his thumb lightly caressing my racing pulse point.

I freeze, skin burning at his touch. Slowly, I turn to face him fully, his hand still on my wrist. “I… I don’t know what you want me to say, Tristan. I don’t understand you anymore.”

He frowns slightly. “What do you mean?”

I jerk my hand free, folding my arms across my chest defensively. “I mean, I’m used to you being cruel. To you mocking me. Acting like you hate me. And now…” I pause because the words are too hard to say, they’re choking me.

“Nina,” he interrupts, voice low and earnest. “I never hated you. And I didn’t mean to be cruel, I swear it.”

I turn slightly, avoiding his gaze. “You can’t honestly tell me calling me Gremlin was cute.”

“Why not?” He shrugs one shoulder taking a step closer, making the floorboards creak under his weight. “Gremlins are soft and cuddly and adorable.”

“Gremlins are scaly, reptilian little monsters,” I scoff, leaning back against the wall, “Not cuddly at all. They’ve got fangs and claws, pointy ears that stick out, and creepy big red eyes. You can’t tell me you thought comparing me to that was some sort of compliment.”

Moonlight streams through the window, casting shadows that dance on his face, making him even more unbearably handsome. “I always thought of you like the furry version of a gremlin, the teddy-bear one.”

“That’s a mogwai, not a gremlin.” My voice softens despite my frustration.

“Then I’m sorry my eighties pop culture isn’t up to par.” He runs a hand through his hair and locks eyes with me. “I never meant to be hurtful and I’m sorry that I was.”

The words hit me deep, but I shake my head, unconvinced—unsure I can let myself believe him. “So… what, you’re telling me you never even found me annoying? All those years of teasing and taunts were, what, your twisted way of showing affection?”

A rueful smile splits his face. “Oh, I found you plenty annoying. Still do.”

My stomach clenches. I knew it. But then his gaze turns serious, almost tender.

“But something’s changed, Nina. Something I can’t ignore anymore.”

“And what’s that?” I whisper, scarcely daring to breathe.

He takes another step closer, eyes burning into mine. An electric tension filled with possibility crackles around us. “I think you know.”

My mouth goes dry. “No, I don’t know. I’ve no idea what changed.”

His eyes search mine as if looking for the answer to an unspoken question. “You dropped your towel in front of me, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you ever since.”

I frown, trying to process his words. “So what, I flash you my butt cheeks and boobs, and you suddenly, what, like me?”

Tristan’s gaze drifts down to my chest—and I’ve never wished more to be one of those people who sleep with their bra on. “Don’t sell yourself short, baby. Those are pretty spectacular boobs and butt cheeks.”

Heat rushes to my face, a mix of embarrassment and indignation. “Is this just physical attraction for you?”

He takes yet another step closer, his body nearly brushing against mine. “And what is it for you?”

I swallow hard. “I don’t know, Tristan. I’ve spent so many years being hurt by you. I don’t know what to make of this new version of you.”

His face falls, genuine remorse etched into his features. “I’m so sorry, Nina. I never meant to hurt you. I never hated you.”

“But you did hate me,” I protest weakly.

“Hate?” He shakes his head. “No. Found you annoying, yes.” He reaches out, flicking my nose playfully. “You’ve been insufferable and maddening… but I never hated you.”

“But you always dismissed me like a fly that had better be squashed?”

“Dismissed you? No, baby, never! Do you think I get near hypothermia for just about anyone? Or that anyone else in the world could make me puke my lunch and then go on the Cyclone for another ride?”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re under my skin, you always have been.” His words lodge heavily in my belly. I feel a flutter, like the wings of a trapped bird desperate to escape. “You drove me crazy, Nina. Still do.”

I stare into the endless oceans of his eyes and whisper, “So my superpower is to drive you crazy and make you do stupid things?”

Tristan chuckles, the sound creating an air pocket in my belly. “You have no idea.”

We stand there, eyes locked. My brain can’t cope. When I don’t speak, Tristan reaches out for my wrist again, brushing his thumb over my pulse point in that maddening way. “If only you knew all the stupid things I want to do with you.”

Suddenly, Dylan’s door creaks open, and I clutch my throat. In one swift move, Tristan pulls me into his room, flattening us both against the wall, my back pressed to his chest. He keeps his door almost completely shut with one foot, not daring to push the latch fully in and risk making a sound.

We stand there, rooted to the spot, as Dylan’s footsteps echo down the hallway. The heat of Tristan’s body seeps into mine, and I’m acutely aware of every point of contact between us. His hand rests on my hip, his fingers grazing the sliver of skin exposed by my riding T-shirt.

As we listen to Dylan enter the bathroom, Tristan’s thumb starts to move, tracing small circles at my waist. My knees threaten to buckle, and I pray he can’t feel the way my heart is racing. This close, I catch a whiff of his scent—he smells like a promise of dark nights and broken hearts. It’s intoxicating, and I have to fight the urge to turn around, bury my face in his neck, and inhale deeply.

An eternity seems to pass before we hear the bathroom door open again and Dylan’s footsteps retreating back to his room. The moment his door clicks shut, Tristan moves, releasing me only to trap me more firmly in his room as he closes the door and locks it.

The sound of the lock sliding into place is deafening in the sudden silence. My mouth goes cotton dry as I realize we’re now truly alone. No more interruptions, no more excuses.

Tristan turns to face me, his blue eyes darkening as they roam over my face. “Nina,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly.

I lick my lips nervously, and his gaze trails the gesture. “Tristan, I…” But words fail me. I don’t know what I want to say—or do, or not do.

No, that’s a lie. I know exactly what I want to do. And it’s him. I’ve always wanted him, even when I hated him. Especially when I hated him. And now that I can have him, I don’t know if I should. He’s Dylan’s best friend, my brother is going to kill me if he finds out. Our dynamic is already messy enough without the need to add sex to the mix. What if Tristan and I end up hating each other even more and really can’t stand to share a room anymore afterward?

That would put Dylan in the middle, more than he already is. But it’s not like whatever this is will be long term. Tristan is basically saying I’m an itch he needs to scratch. He isn’t making any promises for the future. Hasn’t even mentioned it. So maybe Dylan won’t have to find out. And us having sex will have no consequences.

Maybe the need to scratch this itch is mutual, and then I’ll be able to move on and forget him. Give my thirteen-year-old self her revenge fuck and then move on.

No one needs to know. This is just for me. For her.

Feeling bolder than I ever felt standing before Tristan Montgomery, I say, “My brother can never find out.”

A smile, sly and knowing, tugs at Tristan’s lips. “Find out what, Princess?” His voice is a challenge wrapped in velvet.

Since I don’t know how to answer him in words, I simply tug at the hem of my T-shirt and pull it over my head, showing him I’m not wearing a bra underneath.