Tryst Read online

  Tryst

  Alex Rosa

  InterMix Books, New York

  INTERMIX BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China

  penguin.com

  A Penguin Random House Company

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  TRYST

  An InterMix Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  InterMix eBook edition / March 2015

  Copyright © 2015 by Alex Rosa.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-19464-9

  INTERMIX

  InterMix Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group

  and New American Library, divisions of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  INTERMIX® and the “IM” design are registered trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC

  Version_1

  To my Mom, Dad, and Brother.

  Your unconditional support has been as inspiring as my dream to write.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  I watch my brother, Josh, burden himself with my belongings. His tall, lean frame scrambles by me, and his short black hair is damp with sweat. Why he chose to wear a tight V-neck sweater and jeans in the August heat is beyond me. I sigh as I swing my backpack over my shoulder. Josh is trying to manage a box and my luggage as we enter through the front door. He stumbles into the living room, and I remember that, though my brother is suave on the surface, clumsiness is genetic.

  I love that Josh cares, but it can be overwhelming sometimes. It does make me smile that he’s so excited to let me live with him for a while. I should consider myself lucky. Sometimes I think he believes he owes it to me because he was gone so long for school, but it’s not as if we grew apart. He’s a twenty-seven-year-old business professional. Even the title makes me giggle, but he definitely has made a name for himself as an agent for some big-shot Hollywood talent agency. From what he’s told me, he has some famous clientele. He won’t tell me anything else about them, which I think is silly.

  I set my backpack on the coffee table and finally turn my head to give this place a good look. Jeez, it’s nice in here, nothing like my shitty apartment in Orange County. His place is modern, minimal, and mostly white, with little contrast other than the large red sofa and love seat that face a large flat-screen TV. The place is not necessarily lacking in ‘bachelor pad,’ with a glowing red neon beer sign on the back wall, and black-and-white photographs of LA’s skyline.

  I guess I knew my brother was never struggling for money. In a way, it makes me curious why he even has a roommate.

  Josh interrupts my thoughts. He’s giddy, the corners of his mouth reaching from ear to ear, and it makes me smile, too. “I’m going to grab the last of your stuff, okay?” Before I can answer, he’s already out the door.

  I’m glad my presence makes him happy. I feel like I am intruding on his bachelor life. Who wants to have their little twenty-two-year-old sister living with them?

  I realize I’m parched. The large living room opens into the kitchen, where a dark granite island and counters greet me. The kitchen is spotless, with minimal kitchenware—a toaster, coffeemaker, and of course, a stainless-steel fridge. I wonder if this place is clean only because they knew I would be arriving. That would be something Josh would do.

  I open cabinets, searching for a glass, and on the second attempt, a voice startles me.

  “Cups are on the right, near the fridge.”

  I turn around, and my breath catches in my throat at the sight. A barely dressed boy—er, man?—is standing there, idly watching me.

  “Um, thank you.” I grab a glass and fill it with water.

  He gives me this all-American-boy grin, seeming to enjoy my obvious discomfort. “No problem. Skyler, isn’t it?”

  I take a sip and respond. “Yes. Roommate, I presume?” Getting those words out wasn’t so hard. As I wait for his response, my eyes drag down to his tan, toned physique, and I linger a little too long on the V at the edge of his navy-blue boxer briefs.

  His voice brings me back to his stark, forest-colored eyes that complement his dark brown hair. Those eyes are distracting.

  “I’ve got a name. Blake. Blake Everett. Nice to meet you.”

  Was that a hint of attitude? Without a second thought and no shame, he leans his half-naked body over and raises his hand to shake mine. I can tell he’s enjoying this, and it only makes me feel uneasier.

  I shake his hand as confidently as possible, and my imbedded manners kick in. “Nice to meet you too, Blake. Thanks for letting me stay here.”

  He smirks, and I notice him giving me the once-over. I suddenly wish I wore nicer jeans rather than a torn-up pair. I don’t like the feeling of being under his judgmental eyes, because I am nowhere near able to compare to this Greek god. I run my hands through my curly black hair, and wish I’d brushed it before leaving this morning. He’s so pretty it hurts.

  I’m aching to hear some sort of response, but I’m not sure he has one. I worry that I’m not welcome, but as he opens his mouth to respond, a voice from a bedroom down the hall interrupts. It’s high-pitched and squeaky.

  “Blaaaaaaakkkeee, I’m thirsty. Come love me now!”

  I flush crimson, realizing the implications of the whiny girl voice and his attire. If I am not mistaken, he flushes, too, but the ar
rogant smirk remains. Why are his lips so distracting?

  He laughs, no doubt over my shocked expression, and then shrugs as if that explains everything.

  “You mind if I take this?” he asks. He snatches the glass of water out of my hand, takes a quick sip, and winks at me. With that, he turns on his heels and walks back toward his bedroom. I hear his door shut.

  He has me fuming. What an asshole is the only thought I can muster. That water was mine, not for some floozy he’s bedding. I take a deep breath, annoyed with my body’s hormones and with myself.

  I hear Josh coming in through the front door, and I try to gather my equilibrium. He appears in the kitchen and utters the same statement that Blake made moments before. “Cups are on the far right next to the fridge.”

  I scowl. “I’m aware. Thanks.”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “Whoa, what’s wrong with you all of a sudden?”

  “Nothing. I just met your roommate. He’s kind of a character.” Be cool.

  As if completely understanding what I mean, he nods.

  I can’t help myself, and continue, “You know he has a girl in his room right now?”

  Josh smirks, which is a response I wasn’t expecting. “I hate to say it, but you might want to get used to that.” He sighs. “I hate that I’m bringing you into this environment.”

  Environment? “Josh, I’m not a child anymore. I’m an adult. This environment is fine. I’m a college student, for Christ’s sake. It just caught me off guard, okay?”

  The thought of bringing a guy home with me seems so far out of reach. No matter what environment I’m in, my overprotective brother will probably throw him out. Then I wonder if he brings girls home, which is weird.

  He raises his hands in mock defense. “I’d hate to have to witness you bringing dudes home, but”—he winces at his words—“you’re an adult, and it’s whatever.”

  I laugh and raise an eyebrow. “It’s ‘whatever’?”

  He shakes his head, laughing. “Yeah, whatever. Just do me one favor.”

  This brother-sister powwow has me reeling. “What?”

  “Just don’t sleep with Blake. Like, ever. I mean it.” He squints as he says it, as if it’s weird to ask, and he’d be right.

  I let out a laugh at his request. “Please, Josh, that will never happen. Good-looking or not, he’s obviously not my type. What does he do anyway that he’s home midday on a Thursday? I’m assuming my GPA wouldn’t even consider him.”

  Josh visibly relaxes, and I wonder why but decide not to ask.

  “He’s an actor, model . . . whatever.”

  “There’s that word again: whatever. Do you represent him?”

  He shakes his head. “God, no. I mean, he’s my best friend, but I’m glad I don’t work with him, although his agent is from my firm. He does pretty well for himself, but he’s not my gig.” He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly.

  “Sometimes I forget how Hollywood you are.” I’ll stick to my MCAT prep and biology texts, thank you.

  He rolls his eyes at me. “Let me show you where you’re staying. It’s not as private as you might like, but hey, it’s a free room, right?”

  The corners of my lips rise and I follow him into the living room. There’s a staircase to the left. I follow him up the stairs to a generously sized loft that overlooks the first floor. I can see what he means about privacy. There’s a skylight in the high-vaulted ceiling, and it’s my only view of the outside world. There’s also a large bed with a stark white comforter and pillows. It looks comfy, kind of like a cloud. Then there’s a dark-wooded chest of drawers. A misplaced-looking desk is against the same wall with a vanity mirror above it.

  I smile at Josh as he looks to me for some sort of response.

  “It used to be the office, but to be honest, we never used it. I bought the bed and the dresser, and kind of put everything together quickly. I hope it’s okay. Oh, and check this out . . .” He walks past me to the far wall and pulls at a string holding back a maroon-colored curtain. He tugs at the curtain, pulling it toward me, and it becomes similar to a wall.

  “I couldn’t have my little sister out here in the open, ya know?”

  I can’t help myself. I lean in and hug my brother. He’s helped me more than he’ll ever realize. He hated my ex-boyfriend, and after what happened, he’s done everything possible to make the situation better. I’m lucky that I didn’t have to switch schools. Moving and finding a new job was easier to do with his support. I have absolutely no idea what I would do, or where I would be, without him.

  He hugs me back. “Everything will be okay, Sprout.”

  I smile at the endearment and let him go. “Thank you so much, Josh. I don’t know how I will ever repay you.”

  “Finish school. That’s all I ask.”

  “You sound like Dad.”

  At the mention of one of my parents, we both sigh inwardly, missing them instantaneously.

  Cutting through the tension like the knowing older brother he is, he wraps his arm around my shoulder. “Let’s bring your stuff up now.”

  ***

  I watch Josh place the last box in my bedroom.

  “Have you applied to med schools yet?” he asks.

  “Yeah, I have. I submit a few more applications in a couple of weeks, too.” There’s no way I’d miss those deadlines. I have worked too hard to give up now.

  “Good.”

  Jeez, always the responsible brother.

  I fidget in my seat. “Are you coming to my game this Saturday? It’s against Cornell.”

  “I’ll be there.” He smiles.

  I relax. I don’t want to swamp my brother with my soccer game schedule, but I figured he would at least want to see the game where we play his alma mater. I play for UCLA’s women’s soccer team, and because of soccer, I’m on nearly a full-ride scholarship for my bachelor’s degree. It’s my senior year, and my last season.

  I sigh, realizing the time. “I have to get to work.”

  “Ya know, Skyler, you don’t have to work. I would be willing to help you out while you go to school. I know you only have to pay for textbooks and all, but still.”

  I shake my head. “I will not burden you more than I have to, Josh. I should work. It keeps me busy and gives me some extra cash. I was working before, you know?”

  “I know. I just want you to focus on school. It’s not every day that someone in our family will be a doctor. I just want to make sure you’re successful.”

  I give him a playful jab in the arm. “Like you?”

  He shoves me back and rolls his eyes. “Your way is a whole hell of a lot more honorable.”

  “Stop it,” I say, and get up to get ready for work.

  Chapter 2

  I thought working at a twenty-four-hour coffee shop might make the most sense since I could pick up hours at any time of day, and maybe squeeze in some studying here and there. Remembering how to make which latte this way and that coffee another has been more complicated than memorizing my medication chart for class. You would be surprised at what kind of concoctions some people order when they are trying to burn the midnight oil.

  The only enjoyable part of my job is my barista counterpart¸ Tucker. He helped me fumble through my first week of mocha debacles.

  “Tucker, tell me something funny.”

  He raises a brow at me as he refills the milk carafe. “Rough day? I thought you were moving in with your brother today?”

  “I did. I met his roommate today, too.”

  “Oh, the mystery friend?”

  I roll my eyes. I’d told Tucker that it was strange that I had never met my brother’s best friend, and that in light of the situation, I hoped he was pretty to look at.

  “Yeah, mystery solved,” I spit out.

  “He must be a looker for you to be so upset.” He snickers.

  I pick up a dish towel and throw it at him. “How do you know?”

  “The one thing I have learned about you is that you rarely mean what y
ou say when it comes to boys. You’re looking for a distraction, but you don’t want too much of one. He must be cute.”

  “And a slut,” I say with emphasis.

  “My favorite. When am I invited over?” His smile practically oozes seduction.

  Tucker loves men, and for him, the cuter and crazier, the better.

  “Never at this rate. He had a girl over when I was there. He came into the kitchen, wearing just his underwear, and then I heard this chirpy voice down the hall beckoning him to love her. It was just gross.”

  He laughs. “Jealous much?”

  “Shut up. I don’t even know the guy.”

  “Just because someone is getting some doesn’t mean you have to hate on him.”

  I look for something else to throw, and he continues to laugh at me.

  “Whose side are you on, Tucker?”

  “I’m on the side of getting you laid!”

  I guffaw. “I got only one rule from my brother, and that is to not sleep with Blake.”

  Tucker leans against the counter, practically swooning. “Even his name is hot.”

  “You’re not helping.” My voice goes into a high-chirp tone.

  He regains his composure. “Strange rule.”

  “I thought so, too. Did you get the large latte with an extra shot of espresso?”

  “Are we talking about coffee now?” He sighs as if the topic of boys is way more palpable than work.

  Ding.

  The front door signals an incoming customer, and I’m thrown as I see the person stroll into my coffee shop.

  I whisper “Tucker” forcefully as he turns around to walk up to the register to greet the customer.

  Tucker puts on his best smile. “Hello, how may I help you?”

  “Can I get a large caramel mocha with soy, please?” The voice is crisp and beyond cool.

  “Absolutely, sir, it would be my pleasure. Your name?”

  The customer swivels his view to behind the counter and makes eye contact with me. His wry smile forms as his eyes dart over me again, and my heart quickens its pace.

  “My name is Blake.” He looks amused. “Hey, roomie.”

  I can’t stop staring, but neither can he. “Hey, Blake.”