Nerves wreak havoc in my belly, turning me into a jittery mess. But then I remember my superpower—acting. I school my features while my pulse spikes; the trepidation makes my knees go weak. He has the worst possible timing.
I force a smile, hoping I don’t look as guilty as I am.
“I feel ignored. I thought we were friends,” he says good-naturedly, the genuine smile erasing my worry.
A tiny breath of air escapes my mouth, calming down. “You lead a busy life.”
“I’ll always make time for you,” he assures me, saying, “Let’s go grab dinner.”
I can’t refuse him, or he’ll suspect something.
“Yeah, sure,” I say, my voice cracking at the end.
His eyes narrow into an earnest expression. “Are you sure you’re okay? You can tell me anything, you know that, right?”
I wave him off. “Maybe I’m coming down with something.”
We go to our go-to diner on campus, and as stealthily as I can, I type Tristan a text.
Something came up. I need one more hour.
My palms turn clammy with every second he doesn’t reply while I try my best to participate in the conversation with Dario.
Usually, I am all for hearing about his escapades.
“What is it with you and taken women?” I shake my head at him, worried that he’ll meet the wrong man at some point.
He shrugs. “They can’t demand more.”
I pin him with a hard glare, and he brushes my concern away. “Don’t worry.”
“Of course I worry.”
I find his hand on the table, and he eyes me with a sad look as if he could only feel something more. I know because I’ve been looking at him the same way until recently.
The hour passes as slowly as a snail crossing the street, unaware that a car could crush it any second now.
His time is limited, and I should appreciate his effort more. Besides Evie, he’s my only other friend. On top of guilt, I now feel bad as well.
He walks me back to the dorm, and I hug him. “Thank you for finding time for me.”
“Always,” he says and kisses my cheek.
He climbs into his car, and I wave at him, just in time to notice whose car is parked a few feet away.
Fuck.
12
TRISTAN
Dario fucking Moretti.
Rage overpowers me, blinding me to the point of reaching for the glove compartment and picking up my Glock. My finger presses on the trigger, struggling not to empty it into this arrogant asshole. One bullet and he would be dead.
He touched her. Touched what is not his to touch.
Kissed my fucking woman. It doesn’t matter that it was on the cheek. He already seized a first I can’t reclaim.
