While it’s true that I’m the one who needs to take things slowly with the physical aspects of our relationship, I want to make sure I give Tristan pace with the rest.
He doesn’t date, he told me. And from the little clues I’ve picked up from him, I don’t think his experiences with men have been all that great. The last thing I want to do is scare him off by letting him see how fast and how hard I’m falling for him.
That I can’t even wait a few days just to see him again.
Jesus, it scaresmeenough as it is. I have no desire whatsoever to know how it would make him feel if he were to find out.
And so, I’ve made it until tonight, Friday evening, before the last of my self-control crumbles.
At least, that’s how it feels. Alex, who’d told me at dinner tonight tojust effing grow a pair and invite him over already, would say it’s a victory, not a defeat.
Which one of us is right depends on what happens next, I guess.
Either way, the reality is that I simply can’t wait until Monday. I can’t go through another two and a half days with that damn wall between us.
I’d spent the whole walk home from Alex’s buzzing with keyed-up anticipation and dizzying nerves, running throughdifferent ways to ask Tris over. Just like when I tried to come up with a way to ask him out, each one sounded worse in my head than the next.
Now, climbing the steps up to my apartment, I’ve reached the end of the arbitrary time limit I’d set for myself. Because if I hadn’t given myself that limit, I know I’d just be sitting here all night, staring at my phone, trying to make up my mind what the hell to say.
Adrenaline kicks in, making my hand shake around my key as I fumble to unlock the door. Still, there’s no way I’m letting myself turn back from this.
Before I have a chance to talk myself out of it, I’m pulling out my phone and swiping open my texts. And then I’m firing off a message, fingers shaking and breath quick in my chest.
Me:If you’re not doing anything, do you want to come over?
Please, please want to come over.
The ping of my phone’s text alert makes me jump.
Tris:Sunshine! *gasping face emoji* is this a booty call??!!
A bark of laughter bursts from me a split second before icy-hot mortification crashes over my body, warring with the simmering tension of anticipation that has been coursing through my veins ever since I’d made up my mind to text him.
Shit. That sounded exactly like a booty call.
Did I just make him feel demeaned?
Shit, shit, shit. I hadn’t meant it like that. I’d just wanted to see him.
See him…touch him…kiss him… Jesus, is he right that it really was a booty call?
Andoh shit. What if he doesn’t realize that I really hadn’tmeant it to be, and doesn’t find it demeaning? What if he thinks I’m telling him I’m ready for more, only to have it turn out that I’m not?
I’ve got to text him again. Clarify. But not like I’m backtracking. Because I’m not…not entirely…
Christ. Why can’t I think of a damn thing to say?
I’m still caught in my minor hyperventilation episode, wracking my mind for something,anythingremotely clever to say to fix this, whichever direction I’ve fucked it up in, if I’ve fucked up at all, when a knock sounds at my door.
27
Tristan
Earlier That Afternoon
“You two are the cutest,” Reagan giggles over the top of her Kindle.
My phone’s just vibrated with yetanothertext alert, and since I’ve started keeping it in my back pocket lately, the fact that I’d been leaning back against the counter when this one came in made the sound hella loud.
