However much I’m dying to give in to him, until we’ve both gotten a good night’s sleep and we’re both feeling a bit more clear headed, I am not about to letanythinghappen between the two of us. Not until I’ve had a chance to try to untangle the mess of my thoughts. And that’s definitely not something I’m going to skip through after how he acted tonight.
Someone’s hurt him before, and I’ll be damned if I don’t do everything I can to make sure my mixed-up feelings don’t leave him feeling like I did too.
Jesus, he’d been so uncomfortable about having to ask for help and far too obviously worried I’d be angry he’d woken me up.
Someone in his pastwouldhave been pissed.That thought has been bouncing around my head ever since it popped into it, and I haven’t been able to turn down the unprecedented roaring fury of protectiveness it stirs in me.
Because something tells me thatpissedis a gross understatement for whatever happened.
My early undergrad foray into psychology before deciding on history as my degree path taught me enough to suspect that Tristan didn’t end up so jumpy and obviously afraid from one or two isolated events. Whether it was a partner or a parent or someone else, I can’t help thinking someone drilled that fearinto him through long and nasty conditioning.
The thought makes me sick with anger.
If it wasn’t for the fact that I believed what Tristan said about wanting to see where things go with us and that crushed look his face had after I’d essentially accused him of trying to sleep with me as payment for a place to stay,like a total idiot asshole, I’m well aware,I wouldn’t be about to get into my bed with him under any conditions.
I had believed him though.
But I’d also believed him when he’d told me he doesn’t know if he knows how to have any sort of relationship, even something casual, and that just about breaks my heart. Mostly for him, but a little for myself too, if I’m honest.
You make me want to.
My pulse gives a quick leap at the memory of the way he’d looked up at me as he’d said those words. At the vulnerability I’d glimpsed in his eyes, because I can’t help hoping that, from Tristan, the fact that he let me see that means that maybe he might want to trust me enough to try.
And if he does, nothing could stop me from trying with him.
From the moment I first saw his dazzling smile, I’d felt Tristan’s brightness. He calls me sunshine, but the name should be his, even with the shadows of pain I’ve seen dim his inner light tonight. Every interaction I have with him reveals some new depth; his kindness, his genuine interest, his stunning talent and creativity, and now, in the shadows he’s let me see, his resilience.
“Ready to join me?”
All signs of vulnerability are gone as, smirking a wicked smile that shows off his dimple and sets his eyes smoldering, Tristan slips into my bed. In one smooth motion, he scoots tothe far side, making room for me to follow.
Suddenly, tonight feels like a test.
Not from Tristan, but from the universe, daring me to get things right. To find the balance between holding back to keep from any risk of trampling boundaries I don’t know he would be willing to assert, and not going to the opposite extreme of pushing him away by withholding closeness, all the while trying to sort out my own tangle of pain and guilt and loneliness.
“I’ve promised to be good.” He blinks up at me as he rolls onto his side to face me, dropping that smirk for an expression of wide-eyed sincerity that somehow feels even more diabolical than before.
“You have,” I acknowledge. “I’m just not sure I believe you.”
Tipping his head back against the pillow, he laughs, a bright, clear, genuine laugh. It’s a reminder I definitely don’t need of how very much I want to not mess this up. Not for him, and not for myself. And, clouding it all and threatening to drive out every last rational thought, is the inescapable memory of how damn good he’d felt in my arms when he’d let me hold him. How very much I hadn’t wanted to let him go.
Before nerves or more overthinking can stop me, I drop onto the bed beside him, switching off the lamp and holding my breath as I slide under the blankets. Already, his warmth has begun to fill the space between the sheets, and, as I settle my head on my pillow, finally relaxing enough to take a breath, I catch a faint whiff of whatever irresistible scent clings to him.
Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed by what I already knew and yet somehow completely underestimated. Every cell in me craves his nearness. His brightness. His touch.Him.
There’s about a foot of space between us, but shifting ontomy side toward him cuts it in half. As I move, I carefully watch his face, illuminated enough by the moonlight still streaming in through my window to see him easily.
His smile doesn’t falter. Instead, it spreads, becoming wicked again.
“Aren’t you supposed to be warming me up?” He cocks his head against the pillow, making the cool, white light of the moon glint off the ring in his eyebrow as it rises in challenge.
“Aren’tyousupposed to be being good?” I retort as my stomach swoops, undermining my efforts to sound serious as I grip the sheets beneath me, forcing myself not to close the distance between us and wrap myself around him. If I do, I’m not sure that I’ll be able to make myself stop at just that. What I am sure of though, is that I don’t know if I’m ready for what might happen. “Besides, me warming you up was never part of our agreement.”
“Nah,” he agrees, and his smile splits into one of his heart-stopping grins as he scoots temptingly closer. “But youknowyou want to. Please? Besides, Ireallyam still cold.”
His grin vanishes as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a wistful expression belied by his eyes. That doesn’t matter though, because his damnplease, combined with the possibility that he might be telling the truth about being cold, make my resolve crumble.
I can hold him. I can hold him and not let things go beyond just that.
