Beneath me, Tristan’s shoulders sag in resignation as I shake my head, so close to him that the movement brushes the tip of my nose lightly over the tip of his.
“I wish I didn’t have to go,” I admit, closing my eyes at the sensation of his free hand twisting in my shirt, like he’s trying to hold me in place.
“That makes two of us,” he grins, giving the fabric a little tug to pull me closer against him.
My pulse leaps crazily, and before I can lose my nerve, I suck in a breath and lean in the rest of the way, letting my lips brushin one too-brief sweep against his.
It’s not quite a kiss, and it lasts less than a second, but the soft warmth of his lips lingers on mine as I pull away, electrifying every inch of me with the need for more.
Which is why I have to stop it. Now.
If I don’t, I know I won’t be able to.
16
Tristan
Iknew it. Itotallyfucking knew it.
When Jesse emerges from the bathroom, complete with shower-damp hair and a beige-y sweater that doesn’t begin to do his sexy-self justice, along with a pair of khakis that it should beillegalto match with beigeanything, he’s wearing two totally unmatching socks. And not just sorta mismatched. One is black with a neon green toe, and the other is ash grey with charcoal pinstripes for fuck’s sake.
I can’t decide whether it’s totally adorable or skin-crawlingly horrifying.
Okay, fine, it’s totally adorable and I know it. Even if I might just have an honest-to-god panic attack if I let myself think too much about the fact that those socks can’t even have similar textures…
And yeah, I’mprobablymentally deflecting from some far more serious shit right now, but if fixating on Jesse’s highly questionable sock-related choices keeps me from having to freak out about the fact that sleeping with him left me all kinds of warm and fuzzy and feeling far too fucking good for my own good, I’ll take it.
Just sleeping. All snuggled up in his arms, breathing in thatspicy, citrus-cinnamon smell of him.
Never mind that my morbid fascination with his terrible judgment in sock selection is also somewhat helping to keep at bay the brain-melting need to jump himright now. Otherwise, I might end up on my knees, begging him to put me out of my misery and just fuck me already. Can youreallyblame me after that grade-A cocktease act he pulled right before he left me high and dry and hard as hell, all alone in his bed?
Okay, yeah. Maybe it’s a teensy bit difficult not to focus on that one.
Especially since, this morning, I have a feeling he wouldn’t have been able to hold out and stop at just teasing if he could’ve stuck around.
Not that I blame him for leaving. Those kids are totally adorable.
Then there was that moment when he’d looked at me and I’d felt like I could read his mind. Like I could see the wheels turning as he tried to decide whether he should invite me to come along.
I’m not gonna lie, it might’ve stung a little to derail that.
What would’ve stung more though? Having him ask me only because he felt like he should.
Besides, even if he had invited me, what would I know about being part of that sort of happy family shit, even with someone else’s family? Sunshine though, he’s cut out to fit right in.
“What are you doing?”
Jesse doesn’t sound pissed as his question jerks me back to reality. That still doesn’t stop my flinch at his words as my eyes snap up from his socks to his face in an instinctive panic to check his expression.
Not pissed,but—
“I don’t mind, obviously,” he blurts, taking a step toward me with his hands slightly raised, like he can see right through me to the fear I just shook off. “You just didn’t have to.”
I look down at the neatly made bed I’d been giving a final smoothing, tugging at the already straight comforter. “Just didn’t want to leave you with a mess,” I shrug, trying to seem normal as I come down from my reaction.
“You have work today?”
He sounds surprised, and when I shake my head, he tilts his questioningly for a moment before hot, bright pink spreads across his cheeks.
