It makes me think of those statues. The fancy Greek or Italian ones that are always in art museums. Where they take a block of marble and craft it into something incredible.
What if someone were to carve Tristan? He’s sitting still enough that they could. Imagine what the artist could call it:Man Enduring Love Island.
Tristan doesn’t move his head, but his brows furrow together again like he knows I’m watching him. I quickly go back to my phone.
Abe: Seriously, Matheson. What are you two doing right this second?
Russet:
Ben: Russett get your mind out of the gutter.
Ben: Unless you are in fact doing each other right this second?
I think I’m running a temperature because the room is way too hot. Summer has just begun, but either I’m comingdown with something or my basal body temperature is signaling a change in my menstrual cycle.
Abe: Maybe that’s why she’s not replying like normal. . .
Lennie: I mean Tris is very attractive so. . .
Ren: EXCUSE ME!!!
Ren: Tristan Trevino has been hired for his bodyguard services. As such he will be focusing on keeping Isolde safe. And I better not get any responses with further innuendos, okay? Because I’m being serious. Someone tried to kill our friend tonight. Her sex life needs to take a backseat for a second until we get this all sorted.
All sorted.
My chest grows even heavier. The shallow breaths aren’t helping.
I want to go to bed, but the TV continues to drone on. Tristan has his phone out too, texting. Should I just tell him I’m ready to go to bed? If I stand up, he’ll look over at me, and it’ll be awkward.
Russet: In all seriousness, Isolde, how is it going? Are you okay?
She and Lennie didn’t come to the warehouse tonight. Russet had needed to go home to her daughter, Sailor, and Elijah is possessive as fuck when it comes to Len. But I’m sure by now they know what happened.
This is from Cade.
Tristan had killed the guy. The body had landed with a thump. But he’d gotten a shot in, the bullet grazing my side.Tristan had pulled me off the ground, his arm tight around me as he forced me to safety.
This is from Cade.
Russet: Isolde?
I’m slower to type, using only my right hand while I shift my left elbow closer to my side.
Isolde: Yeah, I’m all right.
The TV ripples with firelight, a preview of the next episode flashing. Tristan’s chest lifts with a sigh when he realizes the streaming service is going to automatically play the next episode.
Isolde: I don’t think he really likes me.
Fuck’s sake. That sounds whiny.
I prepare myself for a barrage of my friends telling me how great I am. It’s not that I need their support in this endeavor—I can’t think of a time when people haven’t thought I’m weird.
But I don’t want anyone to think it’s like I need or want Tristan to like me.
Ren replies first. Ren, who usually takes five business days to respond to anything unless you’re one of her paying clients.
Ren: Nah. He always looks bored. It’s just his face.
