Like the moment we shared just before Mark stormed away. For a split second, I thought Tristan would kiss me. Even the memory of that heated interaction causes my stomach to swoopwith hope and desire. My eyes flicker to his lips and when Tristan smirks, I’m sure my thoughts are imprinted on my forehead.
“I’m fine,” I lie, and his smirk merely widens.
To add to tonight’s stress, we are seated across the table from Mark and his date. I canfeelhis stare, sense that he’s looking at me. Knowing he’s probably trying to listen to our conversation, I decide to try out a cute nickname of my own on Tristan.
“… Babycakes?”
Babycakes?Where the hell did that come from?
Tristan laughs, and even though it’s at my expense, the sound hits me right in the center of my chest. It’s light and warm, and Ilikethe way his eyes brighten and crinkle in the corners. Thanks to a silly interaction, I find myself relaxing as I smile in return. I’m not even embarrassed by my pitiful attempt at a cute nickname. I’m glad I amused him.
“I love your romantic nicknames,” he says, when he’s gotten his laughter under control. Despite the fact that this isn’t an intimate moment, I have the crazy urge to lean in and press a kiss to his lips. Which scares me because this is starting to feel like much more than a fake date.
“Swordfish?” a waiter asks, appearing at my side. I’m thankful for the distraction because I’m not sure how to handle the fluttering feeling in my chest.
“Yes, thank you,” I say. Tristan’s seafood pasta is placed in front of him, and it smells amazing.
“Still upset they didn’t have lobster?” he asks.
I grin and shake my head. “I’m so hungry I’m not sure it matters what they put in front of me. Yours looks delicious.”
“Would you like to try some?” Tristan doesn’t wait for my response before placing one muscle and a clam on the edge of my own plate.
From across the table, I hear Mark’s familiar sound of disapproval. I didn’t realize just how judgmental he could be until I ended things. Now, that tsking noise he makes with his tongue against the roof of his mouth brings back memories of him criticizing me for every small mistake I made during our two years together. I wish I’d picked up on it and done something sooner rather than put up with his constant critiques.
I glance over, and there’s a dark look on his face that’s also familiar. His disdain along with his attention is completely focused on me.
“Problem?” I ask, my own irritation sounding louder than I’d meant it to be.
“Not at all,” he says, but that narrowing of his gaze says differently. “I just think it’s funny how some things never change.”
“What doesthatmean?” Even as I ask, I wonder why I’m engaging with him.
He shrugs. “Just that you never know what you want. You’re always changing your mind after you’ve already ordered.”
I blink.Seriously?
“And it’s not just about food. You’re fickle,” he mutters.
I hear a snicker and feel the stares of the others at the table. I flush with embarrassment, but I won’t let him belittle me.
Beside me, Tristan stiffens, but I place my hand on his muscular thigh and squeeze, letting him know I’ve got this.
I narrow my gaze at Mark. “Are you saying I have second thoughts about breaking up with you? Because I can assure you, I don’t.” I casually pat my lips with my napkin and treat him to a sickly-sweet smile.
Mark’s face grows red, and I regret my words. Not because they aren’t true, but because I don’t want to make a scene. Ashley, sitting nearby, leans over and whispers something tohim that ends in a heated conversation before her fiancé shuts it down.
“I’m sorry,” I mouth to my cousin, who shakes her head. I know she means it’s not my fault, but I feel bad.
“Look at you, putting a man in his place without breaking a sweat,” Tristan says quietly, and I slap his arm.
“Don’t encourage me. That could’ve turned into something ugly.” And I’d never forgive myself if I ruined any part of Ashley’s weekend.
Still, I can’t deny I’m also getting a little satisfaction from Mark’s obvious discomfort. After the way he tore me down during the breakup, payback feels good. And I have Tristan to thank for putting me in the position to do so. If he wasn’t pretending to be my date, if I were here alone, I might not have the opportunity to put Mark in his place.
I feel someone behind me and tip my head to see my mother is standing. I pivot so I can face her.
“Kaylee, who is this man?” my mother asks, eyeing Tristan with an assessing gaze. I’m not sure how much of our conversation she’s overheard, but based on her pinched lips, it was enough.
