Chapter 2

2

NINA

No matter that my hands are still half covered in slime, the moment I spot Tristan, I reach up and undo the topknot on my head, smoothing my hair down to cover my jug ears.

I know, I know. I’m supposed to love my body as it is, and jug ears are nothing to be ashamed of. I should own them as part of myself. And I mostly do, unless in the presence of the Prince of Darkness.

Our eyes lock across the room. I take in his expensive suit, wrinkled after a long flight, his elegant coat, trolley, and slightly less-than-perfect hair. The dark circles under his eyes that, unfortunately, don’t make the blue of his irises any less piercing. He does the same and inspects my shoeless feet, flannel PJs, and the muck running down my front.

He raises an eyebrow, giving me a curt nod. “Gremlin.”

One word. One word out of his fucking mouth and my hate for him flares.

Before you pick sides or call me exaggerated, I should probably give you a little context. The first time I met Tristan Montgomery was fifteen years ago, when we were thirteen and eighteen, respectively. It was around this time of year, December 20. He and Dylan had had a game in New York on the 19th, and instead of going back to Duke, they came straight to mine and Dylan’s hometown, Mystic, Connecticut, to spend the holidays.

Tristan’s family had ditched him for Christmas or something, I don’t remember. But I know that at the time I felt sorry for him. Now I understand why not even his parents would want to spend winter break with him.

Anyway, the second my brother walked into the house with his tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed friend, I had a crush. An infatuation so all-consuming that I was ready to tear down all my Adam Levine posters from my bedroom and replace them with Tristan Montgomery ones. I would’ve traded all my Twilight books, even the limited editions, for a simple nod from him.

In all my years of sharing a house with a basketball player, I had never taken notice of Dylan’s athletic build the same way all my friends seemed to. To me, his six-foot-five frame, muscular arms, and broad shoulders were completely normal. Unremarkable even. But on his best friend, I noticed. Oh, I noticed.

What can I say? I was young and na?ve.

For the first few days, I was too shy to even say good morning to Tristan. Then one night, I gathered my courage and made an approach. He and my brother were playing video games in the basement after dinner, so I made hot chocolates for the three of us. I brought the mugs down and, after delivering them to the boys, I went back up the stairs, pretending to leave. Instead, I sat on a high carpeted step hidden from view. I pulled my knees up while I sipped my chocolate, waiting to eavesdrop if they’d say something about me.

Guess how well that went.

“Dude,” Tristan snickered, “you didn’t mention you were living with a gremlin.”

“Don’t be a jerk,” Dylan chided him.

“I’m not being a jerk, she’s cute.” There was a muffled oof from Dylan, maybe Tristan elbowing him. “Come on,” he continued, “don’t tell me you’ve never noticed the resemblance. Big eyes, wild hair, floppy ears.”

In my defense, I still hadn’t discovered the use of hair conditioner and my hair was a frizzy mess that could’ve very well made me resemble a crazed gremlin. By some miracle, I also had sailed through all my previous eight grades of school without being bullied or made fun of because of my jug ears. I had never been too self-conscious about them until that night.

With my heart already broken by his mean comments but a glutton for punishment, I peeked through the railing to see what they were doing. Tristan was mewling while cupping both his ears, making them jut out.

I saw red. I lost all rational thinking and stormed down the stairs, screaming, “You’re an asshole!” Not contented, I threw my hot chocolate at Tristan, hitting him in the center of his Blue Devils hoody. I ruined the sweatshirt but didn’t cause any burns—regrettably.

The last thing I heard as I stomped away was Tristan asking my brother, “Man, did you feed her after midnight or something?”

It was rampaging hate between us from that night on. The next time I saw him was the following summer. My hair was subdued into a perfect shine and left unconstrained to cover my ears for the entire extent of his visit. Even if he kept throwing me in the pool as a declared retaliation for ruining his favorite hoodie. And the constant surprise splashes made the effort to keep my hair dry and glossy seem futile. He also still called me Gremlin and hasn’t stopped ever since.

Our feud has only intensified over the years. On the too-frequent occasions I’ve been forced to stomach his presence, it’s been an all-out war. We started with childish skirmishes, like my habit to tie his shoelaces together—unfortunately he fell flat on his nose only the first time. Or the way I’d constantly change his gaming profile name in our basement to varied insults. And that one time I put bleach in his shampoo—orange-haired Tristan was a sight to behold. That same night, he put a Bluetooth speaker in my room and convinced me I had a ghost in the closet, I’ve never been so scared in my entire life.

Over the years, we’ve evolved into more grown-up pranks. I’ve signed him up for multiple dating profiles stating he lived with three cats, wanted to get married as soon as possible, and have five kids. I gave away his real phone number, which he’s had to change twice. With that face, the calls just kept on coming. I don’t have proof, but for every spam call or email I receive for services I never signed up for, I know Tristan is behind it. The first year I moved to New York, he stole Dylan’s phone and told me to come to my brother’s birthday party in a costume. Let’s just say the bunny scene from Bridget Jones has nothing on me. I tried to own my cheerleader getup with pride, but he kept smirking all night and it just ended with me throwing my pom-poms at him.

That’s why now, as we linger into this sort of standoff, I study my next move.

He’s just come back from a business trip. He looks tired, and definitely less polished than his usual perfect appearance. If it were me returning home after a long day of work and exhausting traveling, I’d want to wash away the grime and go to bed.

Coincidentally, a necessity that puts us in direct conflict because there’s no way I’ll wait until I get home to wash the filthy goo that’s seeping through my pajamas.

Now, his swanky apartment has two bathrooms, of course. But only one has a shower. And while I’d love to soak in the tub. I also know that Tristan Montgomery doesn’t take baths—imagine Satan soaking in bubbles, not happening. The primary bath is basically Dylan’s personal bathroom. I don’t think Tristan has ever stepped foot in it.

I stare at the door of the bathroom with the only shower in the house and give the Prince of Darkness a feral grin.

He follows my gaze to the door and back to me. “Gremlin, don’t you dare.”

But I have the advantage. I’m already halfway there.

Without a second of hesitation, I sprint down the hall, pumping my arms as I run. I hear him chasing after me. But despite his superior build and longer legs, I reach the bathroom door first and get in.

I’ve barely turned the lock when there’s a dull thud on the other side as all 200 pounds of muscular asshole crash against it.

Then the pounding starts. “Gremlin, get out of that bathroom. I’m not kidding.”

“I’m sorry. What was that?”

“I’m tired. I don’t have time for your bullshit.”

“What? I can’t hear you. Guess we’ll have to wait to catch up until after I take a very looooong shower.”

I turn on the faucet to drown out his protests. As the water warms, I pluck my dirty clothes off, trying not to gag. But before I step under the jets, I shoot a quick text to my roommates’ chat.

Nina

Start whatever cheesy rom-com you selected and don’t let the Prince of Darkness bully you into shutting it down. We’re owed a movie

Winnie

Won’t you miss the movie that way?

Nina

Knowing the Prince of Darkness will have to watch it will be my solace

Winnie

But it’s the new enemies to lovers, fake-dating one we saw the trailer for the other night

Oh no, I really wanted to watch that movie. It was just in theaters and it’s going to take ages before it becomes available on our lesser subscription. But this is war, sacrifices must be made.

Nina

Let it roll, I’ll watch it another time

Hunt

We just pressed play

I’m seriously worried TPOD will murder us now

Nina

Don’t worry, Dylan won’t let him. My brother owes us

With that last mental image of Tristan ousted from his favorite bathroom and forced to watch quality romance footage, I welcome the embrace of the warm water for the longest fucking shower I’m ever going to take.