Tryst Read online

  Screw the rules.

  I want him, right now, this instant.

  We hurriedly and anxiously shift our bodies. I wrap my legs around his narrow waist, cradling him between my legs. He presses his erection into me, and I moan. One of his hands drags down my body, caressing my breast, then my hip and thigh, bringing our bodies closer, while his other hand cups my face.

  I close my eyes, reveling in his touch as his kisses move down my neck to my exposed collarbone. I release a breathy gasp as he nips and sucks the skin. He is too good at this.

  I don’t want to stop.

  I grab for his T-shirt, and he helps me take it off him. I let my fingertips caress the sinews of the muscles on his abdomen, as I wanted to this morning. It feels forbidden, but that’s what makes it better.

  He resumes pressing his body into me, and I can feel the delicious friction at the apex of my thighs. He goes back to my lips, possessing them and me with ardor. With his fervent lips stroking mine, it feels as if he has been aching for this as much as I have.

  My body wants to be closer than we already are, skin on skin and then some.

  The hand gripping my thigh comes back up, slipping underneath my shirt. His fingers move across my stomach, then to my breasts. He runs his thumb over the cup of my bra, rubbing my nipple, calling my body to attention like a conductor would his symphony. I release a whimper.

  Feeling his skin on mine flames my blood, and I feel so out of breath—needy and wanton. I moan into the crook of his neck as he takes my earlobe between his teeth. To quiet myself, I press my mouth into his shoulder, nibbling on his shoulder to stifle my groans. I can feel his need, too. His lips may be slowly and carefully devouring my taste, but his frantic hands gliding over my body and his grinding hips give him away. We are two people aching to be as close to each other as possible. The realization that he wants me makes everything below my waist clench. I groan again, knowing I’m soaking.

  His hand underneath my shirt slides down my stomach to the waistband of my jeans. With deft fingers, he unbuttons them, and slowly pulls down the zipper. I am wet with anticipation, and I know he can sense it. His grin against mine is proof before he drags his tongue across my bottom lip.

  Even now, in the heat of the moment, it feels like a game. It’s been so long since I’ve made myself this vulnerable, and in a way, his touch is comforting. I don’t fully understand that part, but the last thing I want to do is think.

  His hand slips into my panties, and just when things are about to get good, we hear the worst possible sound: Josh’s car pulling into the driveway. It’s like a bucket of cold water to my libido.

  This is the only rule Josh gave me, and I am breaking it, here and now.

  Reality hits hard.

  Without words or explanations, Blake slips his hand from my panties with a frustrated sigh, and we both sit up, looking at each other, mildly stunned, almost as if we are both baffled at how everything got out of hand so quickly.

  We’re out of breath and disheveled. At least I managed to keep my clothes on, for the most part. He’s shirtless, and I can tell that he’s straining against his jeans. The thought distracts me, but I shake my head, knocking me out of my sex-drive filled stupor.

  The boy gives me ADD when it comes to anything involving my hormones.

  He nods, signaling that we both know exactly what I need to do.

  I rush, getting off the couch, and run to the back door, grabbing my keys off the counter and buttoning up my pants as I go. I still feel like I’ve run a marathon, his fingertips feel tattooed on my body, but there is no time to think. I’m panting. I turn back to glance at Blake, who is putting his shirt back on. We can both hear the keys in the front door. I fling myself out the patio door, and lean against the wall of the condo. I’m out of sight, and decide to listen.

  I take in a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves and to keep quiet. I’m thankful that Blake was able to clothe himself in time, and I close my eyes to focus on my brother’s entrance.

  “Hey, man, how was work?”

  “The working world is highly overrated. I only had one meeting and decided to call it a day. Is Skyler home?”

  At the mention of my name, my throat goes dry. I try to be cool even though he can’t see me, and I don’t make a sound.

  Blake’s voice sounds strained, but he answers. “Um, I don’t think so. I haven’t heard her upstairs or anything. She must still be at school, or something.”

  I hear my brother’s sigh. “I was hoping to watch a movie tonight with her, but then again, maybe I could use a night to myself.”

  My heart clenches, thinking I not only broke his one rule, but I am now skipping out on potential family time because I couldn’t keep my pants on—or should I say, buttoned?

  Blake’s voice distracts me. “Yeah, me too. I think I’ll head to my room. I have a script to read over.”

  I release another tentative breath while rolling my eyes at his answer.

  It’s silent for a moment, and I wonder if Josh has disappeared. “Is that pizza on the floor?”

  Nope, my brother is still very much there.

  I hear Blake’s outburst of laughter at the question.

  “Oh yeah, my bad, bro. Fell out of my hand earlier. I’ll get it.”

  I want to laugh. I can picture him sitting there, smiling my favorite smile, revealing that dimple.

  “Dude, you can be such a slob sometimes. Clean it up. I’m heading to my room. Later.”

  I finally hear his bedroom door shut, and I know the coast is clear. However, I don’t want to go back in. I can’t face what just happened. Not right now.

  I do the only thing I can think of. I peer down at my keys in my hand, then down to my bare feet. I shrug and walk around to the driveway, shoeless and all.

  I’ll head to Tucker’s place. He’ll know what to do.

  Chapter 15

  I didn’t go home that night, and to be honest, I didn’t go home the next few nights, either. I couldn’t bear it. I was scared, and I wasn’t sure of what.

  I thought that if Blake confronted me, I would turn into a puddle. A puddle of what? I don’t know, exactly, and the fact that I didn’t was driving me insane. I kept thinking that if I gave myself more time, I would somehow figure out the words. I would be able to wrap my head around what I wanted to do.

  I am a big heaping mess of—I don’t know.

  The truth is I dreamt of green eyes and strong, confident hands every night on Tucker’s couch.

  The most unfortunate part of this tale is the fact that I was using someone as a replacement—filling my time as much as possible. It is the most selfish thing I have done in a long while.

  I lift my eyes from my textbook to see Rich next to me, twirling his pen in his right hand. As if feeling my eyes on him, he turns to face me.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “Huh? What?”

  “You’re such a space cadet today. Is everything okay?”

  I manage a smile, and lean back to show him I’m relaxed and calm, which is so far from the truth.

  “It’s nothing. This physiology mumbo-jumbo is frazzling my brain.”

  With a handsome smirk, he retorts, “Clearly.”

  He places his arm around my shoulders with effortless confidence. I don’t budge. Selfish seems to be my middle name as I bask in the attention.

  I’ve been trying my damnedest to forget Blake’s smell and touch.

  Swimming in guilt, I ask, “Why do you put up with me, Rich?”

  “Because you’re pretty.”

  His patronizing tone riles me up, and I jab him in the chest. He laughs, lifting his hand to my chin, and strokes his long fingers down the length of my jaw, sparking my smile.

  “Okay, it’s more than that, of course. Haven’t we been through this a hundred times? It’s you that has to deal with me, remember?”

  I wrinkle my nose, knowing where this topic might lead, and talking about Heather is something I always want
to avoid. I have scolded him about his ex so many times that it has become officially overdone.

  “You’re a pain, but so am I.”

  How is it that the men in my life have this impressive suave gene? Rich leans in closer, his intent clear as we sit alone in his living room with no prying eyes. His face moving toward mine gives me only a split second to refuse, but in my current state, I’m more curious about my romantic possibilities than ever.

  A part of me wants someone to replace the feeling of Blake’s lips against mine. I want to feel something else. I don’t want to be so melodramatically delirious about it.

  Rich is the one who deserves my affection, and I’m so curious, like a science project result, to compare the feelings that their lips elicit. Guilt springs to my gut but I ignore it, pushing it back to the depths of my core, for once eager to taste Rich’s lips.

  My recent taste from the tree of knowledge has taught me a thing or two about ignoring my rampant morality.

  Bzzz. Bzzz.

  Before his lips reach mine, I feel and smell his warm huff of minty breath, halting his course.

  My phone buzzes next to me on the couch.

  I lock eyes with his gray gaze, and I think he might be laughing at me.

  “So close, yet so far,” he whispers before pulling back, though seemingly satisfied.

  I sigh and tilt my head to the right, watching him go back to his textbook. “It’s probably for the best, right?”

  “If you say so, Skye. The fates apparently don’t want me to have you, either.” He flashes his pearly whites. How is it we have now become used to this bizarre situation? “I’ll take you any way I can get you, though.”

  I breathe in a deep cathartic breath as I reach for my phone. The phone number that appears is not a number I know. I look at the text closely:

  Guess who?

  My heart beats erratically and irrationally while the drowning feeling of fear tries to suffocate me.

  Would Jason taunt me like this?

  “Hey, Skye, can I ask you something?”

  I clear my phone screen and turn to Rich, scrambling for normality.

  “What’s up?”

  I hope he hasn’t taken notice that I have given up on my textbook, or my flushed state.

  “What’s going on between you and that Blake guy?”

  I peer down at my phone, fear dissipating to hope and wonder. Could Blake be texting me?

  “Skye, did you hear me?”

  I tear my stare away from my phone and look at Rich, fiddling with his pen, tapping it repeatedly on his book.

  “What do you mean? There is nothing going on between Blake and me. He’s my brother’s asshole roommate, and we also happen to be friends.”

  The moment the word “friends” hits Rich’s ears, his brow knits into confusion.

  “It’s okay to be friends with him, isn’t it?”

  Rich looks away, and I can tell he isn’t comfortable any longer.

  “I can’t tell you who to be friends with, Skyler. I just don’t like the guy, though he did invite me to your birthday party. After seeing you on campus with him the other day, I was just curious.”

  I close my eyes briefly at hearing his words. “My birthday party?”

  “Yeah, he was running on campus again two days ago. He saw me heading to class, stopped me, asked how you were, and somewhat reluctantly invited me to your party. How come you didn’t tell me you were having one?”

  Blake was not only going through with planning my party, but asking about me and seeking out Rich to invite him.

  “Why don’t you like him?”

  The air thickens, and I watch Rich shift away from me on the couch.

  “Can we save that topic for another day?” he asks.

  This time, I’m the one to shift uncomfortably. I’m at a loss with everything, and now with the details of the world around me. Shouldn’t I know their beef? Do I have the right to know?

  I look down at my phone, thinking more and more that it’s Blake texting me.

  “I think I’m gonna call it day. I can’t study anymore, and this conversation is—”

  “He slept with Heather,” he blurts out.

  My brows furrow as I slam my textbook shut. “W-what?”

  “He was the one I caught her sleeping with. We weren’t together at the time. She took full responsibility for the situation, telling me she wanted to see where her relationship with him went. Apparently he just stopped calling her and that . . . and that is when she picked me back up off the floor she left me on.”

  The bruised person behind Rich’s eyes reveals itself. “Don’t look at me that way, Skye. I don’t like the guy because he treated Heather like shit. And don’t get me wrong, I resent her for it, too. In a way, I can’t even be mad at him. He didn’t necessarily do anything wrong. Heather and I were broken up, but nobody wants to catch their ex with another guy. That’s a fact. He’s just one of those guys, ya know? I’d hate to see you get wrapped up with him. He’s nothing but the campus fuck.”

  Why is it that I want to defend Blake? I can easily justify Rich’s rash comment, but it doesn’t sit well with me. I know he’s right, but I feel like I understand how Blake ticks. Because of his somewhat ridiculous, but partially philosophical explanation of commitment, and his behavior, I have somehow managed to forgive his sexual escapades.

  Tucker has rubbed off on me, because suddenly, messing around in your twenties doesn’t seem like such a forbidden thing. Sure, you’re left up for social judgment, and Rich is obviously quick to judge, but the fact that I know Blake is fully aware of how it’s perceived, and that he’s perfectly okay with it, who am I to argue with the logic? In my liberal mind, I accept all persons, so who am I to push my moral boundaries on anyone?

  “I thought you would be more upset,” Rich says, as if disappointed by my reaction.

  I shake my head, darting my eyes back to my phone, then to Rich.

  “Huh? Upset? I’m not upset. I’m fully aware of who Blake is and what he does in his spare time. I’m just sorry that happened to you and Heather.”

  Rich watches me. “So you’re friends, then?”

  I look away, slipping my textbook in my backpack, signaling my intention. “Yeah, we are. Good friends, but you don’t have to worry.”

  “I’m not worried,” he responds crisply. “I know you can take care of yourself. Let me walk you out.” The dam breaks, and guilt is quick to flood my core once again. He’s always so forgiving, always so understanding.

  I really don’t deserve him.

  We rise at the same time, and Rich leans down to press a chaste kiss against my cheek. It calms my frazzled mind, but only slightly. Not like how it used to.

  I swing my backpack over my shoulder, gripping my phone in my right hand as Rich walks me to my car. I debate on replying to the text, pending my most recent discovery, because I’m more confused than ever.

  Besides, I’m still not sure who’s texting me.

  ***

  When I walk into the coffee shop, the jingling bells over the door annoy me.

  “Tucker?”

  It’s a slow Thursday afternoon, but lucky for me my loud whine goes nearly unnoticed by the sitting patrons.

  Tucker appears behind the counter, looking at the clock before looking back at me.

  “I told you I’m not off until eight. Are you heading home tonight before your party tomorrow?”

  I throw my hands up in defeat. “Party! I don’t think I’ve even been invited to my own party!”

  As I step up to the counter, Tucker smiles. “Hasn’t Blake called you?”

  I tense, watching Tucker closely through squinting, suspicious eyes. “How would he call me?”

  Tucker turns to walk away, pretending to wipe down the counter with an available rag.

  “Because . . .” His tone is incriminating.

  My amusement is evident as I mirror his word. “Because, why?”

  “I might have given him your num
ber.”

  Though the rush of internal relief that the number isn’t Jason’s is wonderful, there’s no stopping my blatant tone of disapproval. “When did you give Blake my number? And could you have at least let me know?”

  Tucker chuckles, seemingly satisfied about something. “Blake was in here earlier looking for you. He said you were ignoring him.”

  “You already know this. I’ve been sleeping on your couch for almost a week.”

  “Did he call you?”

  “He texted me, but I didn’t answer.”

  Tucker tosses the towel onto the counter. “And why the hell not?”

  I pull my phone from my pocket, peering down at the screen, realizing that in the time span of driving from Rich’s to here, I have received three more text messages from the same number, but knowing now who it is, I don’t bother reading them.

  Frustrated with one of my best friends, I pay attention to the phone, deciding only to save the number. After I’m finished with the task, I purse my lips.

  “What time is my party?” I tap my foot, annoyed.

  “Why didn’t you text him back?” he asks with equal annoyance.

  Deflecting his question, I repeat, “Tucker, what time is my party?”

  He clenches his jaw. “It starts at nine, but I’m not supposed to bring you until 9:45.”

  My expression softens in shock. “He has a plan?”

  “Yes. It’s kind of a surprise.”

  “Well, obviously it isn’t now.”

  He folds his arms over his chest like a petulant child. “I was going to tell you anyway, because I’m a good friend.”

  This is currently up for debate.

  I sigh, running a frustrated hand through my tangled hair. “You are.”

  “Now, why haven’t you texted him back?”

  I know now I have to give in, and my confession will be an embarrassing one. “Because I like the satisfaction of making him wait, especially now that I know it’s him texting me.”

  The sinister smirk that appears on Tucker’s face makes me want to laugh.