“Good point, but I meant write a song,” he replied. When she raised an eyebrow at the comment, he explained, “I wrote most of the lyrics for Izzie’s songs up until we broke up. She collected hits and awards for those. She’s recorded a couple of number one songs after that, but they were few and farbetween.”
“And you think she’d be so brazen as to come after you forthat?”
“I don’t know what to think,” he admitted, burying his face in his hands after digging his elbows on his knees. “Nothing addsup.”
Bruna’s fingers ran through his hair and twisted his neck to look up at her, still resting his face on his hands. Her smile beamed as she declared, “You still love her.” When he grunted in response, she conceded. “I’ll rephrase it. You still feel something for her. Don’t try to convince me otherwise, the evidence speaks for itself. You’re heartbroken. You still sound hurt talking about her, after all this time. It wouldn’t cut so deep if you didn’t still havefeelings.”
He opened his mouth to refute the idea, then shutit.
Bruna was a mystery wrapped in an enigma. A successful neurosurgeon, a woman insecure about her appearance, and an insightful fuck buddy. Her reasoning was sound, except she waswrong.
“You’re right, you don’t fully understand what’s going on because you don’t have the nitty-gritty of the situation. It’s too late and I’m too tired to go there now though.” He grazed her lips as he stood to leave. “Thanks for listening and trying to help. You’re a goodfriend.”
“Noproblem.”
Nodding, Tristan walked out the door and closed it behind him, then climbed the stairs to his floor. The apartment was quiet, Noah’s bedroom door was closed, for which Tristan said a silent prayer because his roommate tended to forget to do that even when he had company. Oh, the scenes Tristan had witnessed without intending to. Notpretty.
Even less appealing was the scenario Bruna’s words painted. They swirled in his mind as he mulled them over, throwing his clothes in thehamper.
He took a quick shower to get rid of the day’s bad juju, then went straight to bed. But, when sleep eluded him, Tristan fought the gloomy thoughts that insisted to keep himup.
He lost thebattle.
The past rushed back, flooding his head with memories he had spent years repressing. He tossed and turned, checking the alarm clock on the nightstand every five minutes, until he drifted into sleep around five in themorning.
* * *
Dreams havea peculiar way of taking people back in time to relive events as they once happened. Tristan’s dreams that night came without surprise. It had taken him a long time, and a lot of heartache, to repress the happy moments he had shared with Izzie. Some of the most cherished ones assaulted him when his mind slipped intoslumber.
Different from other friends-to-lovers couples he knew, Tristan had never doubted that Izzie was his one and only. He hadn’t lied to himself, he hadn’t denied his feelings. He had owned them, he had treasured them. He had seized each opportunity that came his way to show Izzie how much he lovedher.
But being two years older than Izzie, he didn’t act on his desire. Instead, he waited for her to be ready. That made for an awkward, disappointing first time. Prom night’s expectations, and zero experience on both parts, were to blame. Still, the night tuned out to bememorable.
Weeks before Izzie’s senior prom night, Tristan booked a suite in a romantic bed and breakfast in Santa Barbara, giving the staff precise instructions on how he wanted them to decorate the room. As Tristan and Izzie slow danced to their favorite song on the dance floor, a ballad by her favorite rock band, her softness wrapped around him like a security blanket. Tristan’s heart beat a crazy tattoo against his ribs, when he tipped her chin up, and his stare dove into her green eyes as Bono’s raspy voice sang about that one and only love people share. Her black curls rested on her shoulders, so he wrapped one around his wrist, cradling her delicate nape in hispalm.
He had rehearsed the words so many times, but the expectation in her eyes undid his confidence. Those moments looked so much easier on a movie screen or TV set. His heart beat so fast he swallowed hard to keep it from flying off his mouth. Still, the words desertedhim.
What the hell kind of lyricist am I? I can’t tell the woman I love how Ifeel.
Defeated, he rested his forehead against Izzie’s, now cupping her face with bothhands.
The vixen brushed her lips against his, a smile softening the curve of her mouth, then nudged his cheek with her turned-up nose. Tip-toeing to reach his ear, she whispered, “Yes.”
Relief washed the tension away, closely chased by arousal. Izzie’s smile broadened when his hard-on poked herbelly.
“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered back, lacing their fingers, and parting the swaying couples as he made a beeline for the nearestexit.
Finding the driver of the limo he had rented took forever. At least, the blood racing down to his crotch made it feel that way. Once inside the car, he didn’t give directions to the Santa Barbara B&B he had booked, the driver knew where they were heading. Tristan had instructed him earlier because he wanted to surpriseIzzie.
He sat as far from Izzie as physicallypossible.
She scooted closer and leaned onhim.
He sat still, focusing his stare on the houses outside as if he planned to memorize theirarchitecture.
Izzie wasn’t famous for herpatience.
“What’s wrong with you?” she demanded, when she tried to sit on his lap and Tristan splayed his hand on her midriff, keeping her by his side. “It’s not like we’ve never fooled around in a carbefore.”
