He grabs a mug, filling it with water, and pops open the microwave.
“Wait!” I jump out of my seat. He didn’t miss a beat when I asked him to fuck me last night, but he freezes, his brows lifting at my reaction. “There’s a kettle down there.”
I keep it tucked away since, admittedly, I don’t drink tea asmuch as coffee. Once I retrieve it from the correct cabinet, Tristan takes it from my hands, motioning for me to go back to the table.
He fills it with water, turning it on. At first all I hear is the bubbling water, but then there’s another noise.
Tristan’s laughing. “Did I just offend you with my microwaved water?”
His eyes crinkle, the sharp jawline even more handsome thanks to the smile on his face. It’s like he’s lit from within; that’s how damn magical he appears.
“We have this thing about using kettles.” I’ve had to correct Ren before too.
When the kettle clicks off, he adds the teabag, smiling as he watches me from the corner of his eye like he expects me to correct his tea making. It comes across as teasing, the kitchen lighter than it had been when I first walked in.
At least for a minute.
“I. . .” Have never seen Tristan struggle for words, but he stares at the mug before he hands it over. “I’m sorry if I went a bit too hard last night. If I got too. . . rough.”
It’s definitely not the steam from the tea making my cheeks flush. “No, it was. . .” Hot. Incredible. I would let him fuck me anyway he wanted, so long as he made me feel that good again.
“I liked it,” I admit, staring at the swirling tea.
But Tristan has clearly been ruminating too. “You slapped my hand away when I tried to pull your hair.”
The embarrassment that pierces my soul is visceral.
Tristan hasn’t looked away, keeping me in sight. I know he’ll read my face and think I’m just saying shit to make him feel better.
“No, I was just a little surprised at the time.” I don’t want him thinking I wasn’t okay with last night. I was very much okay with any and all activity involving his cock. “I’ve actuallyalways liked my hair being pulled during sex,” I admit, feeling slightly more emboldened now that he hasn’t called me an ugly hag.
“You know. . .” I play with the food on my plate. “Since you’re here for a while. . .”
He doesn’t say anything, but like always my skin heats the moment his gaze lands on me.
“We could do it again?” I shrug, going for what I think is nonchalant. “You know, maybe, make it into an arrangement.”
“What a way to ask him out,”Sammie’s ghost teases.
Guys don’t date me. But perhaps if he finds the idea of friends with benefits acceptable, we could have some fun while he’s living here.
Trevino’s phone lights up. He picks up the call, striding out of the kitchen, and there it is. Tristan Trevino is, in fact, not interested in fucking me again.
CHAPTER 11
Isolde
“So how is it really going?” Adeline asks me.
“Fine,” I say automatically.
We’re lying in the middle of the boxing ring at Leon’s, staring up at the metal ceiling.
Adeline usually works remotely but gets out most days to escape her house. She’s at home at Leon’s, always smiling cheekily at the gym owner when he leaves his office.
“Any description to fill out the use of that one word?” Adeline asks.
My hands sit on my tummy. The metal rafters are dusty. The baby curls at my nape are sticky with sweat.
