Tryst Read online

  “With that kind of motivational support, it’s hard to refuse.”

  “Jeez, you’re bratty this evening. Will wine help?” He pouts.

  “Of course. And I choose the action flick.”

  “Excellent.”

  He tosses both DVDs at me as he sprints to the kitchen, and they bonk me in the chest.

  I grab for the movies to look over their cases for some plot points. Maybe the back covers can help me plot how my evening entertainment will go.

  “Looks like we’re out of wine. There’s beer here, but I think it’s Blake’s.”

  “Let’s drink it. He won’t be mad. I’ll replace it.”

  He appears in front of me, extending the opened bottle my way.

  I sit up straight, more eager for the sip than I realized.

  “How are you and Blake getting along?” Josh asks, almost causing me to sputter the beverage everywhere. My brother takes a seat.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Nothing. I just remember him taking care of you on your birthday. I’m sorry it wasn’t me who was there for you, but you and Blake must be getting along well.”

  Well, that’s an understatement if there ever was one.

  I shrug. “We’re friends. It was nice of him to be there for me. I was kind of a slobbering, sobbing mess. I’m sure he just took pity on me.”

  Josh snorts. “Don’t demonize the guy; he cares about you.”

  My heart flutters, but I try for a scowl. My brother can’t know about us, and I realize as my expression sours that lying is painful.

  “Have you two been talking about me?”

  “You’re my little sister. We talk about you.”

  My gut swells with embarrassment at the thought of Josh referring to me as his little sister in front of Blake. I realize that avoiding Tucker on this topic isn’t going to happen, and shouldn’t happen. I need to talk to someone about this. Keeping it all to myself isn’t working.

  “Hmm,” is the only thing I can manage.

  “So what’s going on with you and that guy Rich? He seems like a stand-up guy.”

  I purse my lips at the unpalatable topic, and dart my eyes to the large vase of flowers on the counter.

  “Nothing is going on. I like him. He likes me. However, there is nothing going on. We’re just friends. I want to chill out for a while. Is that okay with you?”

  Josh raises his hands defensively. “Relax, Skyler. I just think he’s the type of guy I want to see you with. He mentioned a crazy ex, though.”

  My disposition continues to drop at the mention.

  “Yes. She’s awful, and we hate each other. Rich isn’t over her, and she’s still at his place often. That’s not something I’m willing to compete with. Girls, they’re evil. She’s continuously rude to me only because I’m around Rich all the time.”

  “But they aren’t together?”

  “Nope. He’s trying to get away, though, to make himself available for me.”

  “Well, maybe you should give him a chance when he does.”

  I know now I have revealed too much about my personal life.

  “Can’t you just tell me to stay single and focus on school?”

  “Okay, do that then.” He laughs.

  I nod my feigned approval, and then it hits me as I swing my head back to look at him with a raised brow. “I notice you’ve been home less often . . .”

  He chews the inside of his cheek. “I’ve been spending time with Vanessa.” He pauses a beat. “Have you talked to her?”

  “I don’t have practice this week, so no, but I have every intention to, if you must know. So let’s make this conversation brief so it doesn’t have to feel too awkward. Are you two just fooling around or are you seeing each other?”

  I swear my brother blushes for the first time in years.

  “I like her, but the honest answer is I’m not sure.”

  “You like her?” I can’t help my shock. Little does he know, or maybe he does, that Vanessa has never been one for commitment. She’s never been the type of girl to see a guy more than a few times.

  “Just be careful, Josh.” My tone is curt, so I change the subject.

  “How long have you known Blake? When did you two become friends?”

  Josh turns to me. “He was one of the first guys I met when I moved back, and ended up being my first client. That didn’t work out, though it ended up being profitable for the both of us in the beginning. In a way, we owe each of our successes to the other, but you know . . .” He turns away, getting distracted by something I don’t notice. “Just don’t let money ever get between the people you care about. I almost lost my best friend.”

  I’m on the edge of my seat. There is so much I don’t know, so much history I’m completely oblivious too, and I find it odd that Blake would be willing to risk his friendship with my brother to get into my pants.

  I’m about to probe more, hungry for information, but the front door swings open.

  “Speak of the devil,” says my brother. He turns his attention to Blake as he enters the foyer.

  Anger sizzles on the surface of my skin as I avoid laying my eyes on him. I realize it’s not only anger I’m feeling, but also a hint of jealousy as my eyes dart to the time.

  It’s almost nine thirty. Where has he been all day? Was he with a girl? Who is she? Was it one, or a couple?

  “What’s eating you?”

  My brother is talking to me. I actually have to blink a few times and untwist my face from its scowl, realizing I must look like I just sucked a lemon. I try my hardest to soften my expression before turning to face my brother.

  “Nothing.” I make the mistake of letting my eyes bounce to Blake as he walks into the living room. He looks incredible, which makes me angrier. What is wrong with me?

  His hair is damp and matted to his forehead. His dark, olive-green T-shirt, dotted with raindrops, stretches over his Adonis form as he slips off his leather jacket. He looks like he just stepped out of a high-end magazine. The drops of water artfully dripping down the statuesque lines of his face teeter on fashionable.

  I swallow a dry gulp, finding that drinking in the sight of him only mildly satisfies my thirst. The cocktail of anger and lust burns a fiery path through my veins. I find it best I don’t speak, but his sparkling eyes tell me he’s reading me, devouring me, and taking me in, too. I worry I give my entirely frustrated, angry, and slightly jealous self away. Damn him.

  I take in a deep breath. I need some space.

  Blake takes a seat on the love seat to the right of me. His eyes unmoving, that dimple carves itself into his cheek as his lips slink into that smirk.

  I abruptly get up from the couch, seeking to remove myself from Blake’s overwhelming presence, and find it more unnerving than usual with my brother nearby.

  I grab for my beer. “I’m going to make dinner, who’s hungry?”

  The laughter that slips through that sexy half smirk makes me want to punch him, because I know what he’s laughing about.

  Annoyance twists around my misplaced anger. I haven’t forgotten about his awkward shit fit with Rich this morning.

  “Starving! Let’s start this movie soon, Sprout!”

  Josh grabs for the DVD. His ignorance is almost comical, and a blessing.

  As I walk toward the kitchen, I hear Blake ask, “Movie night?”

  Without turning around, I shout back, “Yeah. It’s brother-sister night. No intruders allowed.”

  My brother’s laughter joins with Blake’s. “You heard the girl. I don’t know what’s gotten into her in the last ten minutes, but you gotta bail.”

  “Don’t I get food, too?” Blake questions.

  I know what I’m witnessing is an A and B conversation and I should C my way out of it, but I want so badly to yell, “No! No! No! You don’t get any food, and you don’t get me, at least not tonight! Not until we exchange a few choice words!”

  Instead I take a large gulp of my beer, and busy myself
with getting the pasta sauce heating and the water boiling.

  “Yeah, of course. She’s making it the way my mom used to make it. See, there are pluses to having a girl in the house. They cook.”

  “I heard that!” I shout. Both boys laugh.

  I down more beer, trying to find something stable in the bottle, but I know I’m searching in the wrong place.

  “Where were you? Were you out with what’s-her-face?” Josh asks Blake.

  I pretend to fiddle with the jar of marinara sauce, but my heart rate gallops. Silence hangs longer than I expected, causing my eyes to flicker upward briefly. Blake is blatantly ignoring me.

  Whose face is Josh speaking of?

  Blake shrugs as if this particular topic is an overplayed one, and both guys chuckle with an unspoken understanding of . . . what? Was he with a girl?

  I scramble for another sip.

  I’m getting too invested too quickly and I need to zone out.

  I toss the spaghetti noodles into the boiling water and move toward the simmering pot of sauce as periodic chortles echo from the living room.

  “Whatcha making?”

  The wooden spoon flies from my hand and lands unceremoniously on the floor.

  I swivel around to find Blake right next to me, pursing his lips into a restrained smile.

  I squint my distaste at his presence.

  “Are you going to get that?” My voice is low so my brother can’t hear as I point down at the ground to my waiting utensil.

  Blake’s face softens. “You’re still mad about this morning?” Being a gentleman, he leans down to pick up the fallen spoon and walks over to the sink to wash it, not taking a second to notice my newly crafted look of anger. Instead, I roll my eyes.

  My brother is preoccupied with watching TV now, flipping through the various ESPN channels.

  Blake hands me the wooden spoon. “Here you go, princess.” His tone is quiet and antagonistic.

  I yank it from his hand, turn around to the bubbling pot, and reply curtly, “Thanks.”

  “Why are you mad at me?”

  I stop stirring to look at my brother once more before locking onto Blake’s intense gaze.

  “First, do you really want to have that conversation now? Second, why are you laughing at me? Because I know you are.”

  “Because you’re cute.”

  The wooden spoon flies from my grasp again, splattering more sauce onto the floor.

  Blake leans down to recover it, trying to silence his chuckles as he does.

  In utter frustration, I shout too loudly, “I got it!”

  Blake springs up and shoots a glance toward my brother as I scramble to clean up my mess.

  Josh doesn’t budge but shouts, “Quit harassing my sister, douchebag.”

  When Blake turns around, he’s grinning and I don’t know why. His lips curled upward in that way are hard to resist, and I feel my shell cracking as a small smile tries to will its way onto my lips.

  I lower the heat on the stove, focusing on something other than his close proximity and his intoxicating cologne.

  “What’re you doing after the movie?”

  I stop stirring. “I’m busy.”

  “You’re too busy to come see me?”

  “To do what?”

  “You know what.”

  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  He grins devilishly. “I’m yours for the taking, Skye. I told you. I think after you’re done with your movie you should live on the wild side.”

  Desire pools between my legs.

  He takes a step closer to me, and I peer at him through hooded eyes, finding his not-so-cryptic proposition alluring, yet ridiculous.

  “I’m trying to be mad you,” I whisper. I dart my eyes to the living room to make sure my brother is distracted, and then back to Blake, whose eyes are blazing out of control. His feral look is almost too much and I turn away, focusing on the food.

  “Don’t be mad at me because of this morning. Do you want me to say sorry?”

  Still not looking up, I reply, “Would you even mean it if you did?”

  Would you even know why? is what I really want to say.

  “For you I would.”

  I turn off the burner and feel my proverbial feathers thoroughly ruffled by the statement. I focus on finishing the meal. I can feel his stare heavy on me, causing goose bumps to pebble over every inch of my body, but I don’t look. It would end me. I stick my finger in the marinara sauce, prepared to taste it, but my hand is grabbed before it reaches my mouth.

  A breathy gasp escapes me as Blake lifts my hand to his lips.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers. I never knew an apology could hold so much promise as he wraps his divine mouth around my index finger, sucking the sauce off as he pulls my finger from his lips. I can feel his tongue dragging and enticing the tip before it leaves his mouth.

  With my heart in my throat and my panties soaked, I lift my eyes to Blake’s, and when I do, I realize I know that look. He takes in a quick gulp of breath and looks about ready to take me on the kitchen floor. To be honest, I wouldn’t mind.

  He releases my hand and I’m in a dumbfounded trance, hungry, but not for food, and my anger dissipates into hot, sticky lust.

  “Delicious,” he drawls.

  Mesmerized by Mr. Sex-On-Legs standing before me, I reply, “It’s my mother’s recipe.” My breathy reply reveals everything he needs to know about my current state.

  He smirks. “I meant you.”

  “I really want to be mad at you, but you make it difficult.”

  “Don’t fight it, Skye. I’ll see you later?”

  Is that what this is about? Sex.

  I worry that Blake just wants me for my body, and then I realize that is exactly why. I mean, don’t I want him for the same reason? For the primal need to have his body at my beck and call?

  “No promises,” I answer.

  He smiles. “Do whatever feels right.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re insane.”

  He hums and goes out of his way to walk around me, swiping his hand over my behind in a way my brother wouldn’t be able to see.

  I grab for my beer, but before my desperate hand reaches the bottle, Blake snatches it. As he brings the dark amber beverage to his lips, making me jealous of the bottle, I lick my bottom lip. He keeps the bottle, eyeing me, and I wonder what that feral stare holds for me as carnal instinct floods my core.

  As if his work here is done, he flashes me a satisfied smile before walking out of the kitchen, heading down the hall.

  “Good night, all,” he shouts. “Time for that beauty sleep.”

  “Don’t be such a fairy. G’night,” Josh shouts.

  I take in a deep, leveling breath, not realizing I’d been holding it the entire time. I listen for his bedroom door to shut.

  “Is the food ready yet?”

  Josh shuffles from the couch and walks toward me in the kitchen, and all I can do is nod.

  I desperately want to reschedule movie night and be in that bedroom down the hall.

  ***

  That movie was too long and I don’t remember any of it, although I was staring at the television the entire time. I sat there, pretending to watch, but all I could do for the two-and-half-hour experience was play rock, paper, scissors with myself on what I was going to do when the movie ended.

  “Good night, Josh!” I hug him. “Let’s have more brother-sister time, okay?”

  He smiles. “As long as you cook.”

  I grin, finding that my waning balance is there, nestled in family.

  “Of course. Oh, and, Josh?”

  “Yeah, Sprout?”

  “Good luck with the Vanessa thing. I can’t say I like it, but I support anything you decide.”

  He squints, but nods his understanding. “Whatever you say, Sprout, and thanks.”

  That is when I realize that if I’m allowed to speak more, I might blurt out that my screaming libido wants him
asleep so I can make bad decisions without his presence.

  I sprint upstairs and pace, internally arguing with my morality. After taking another leveling breath, I take a seat on the edge of my bed, noticing my furiously tapping foot. Even alone, in the confines of my bedroom, I’m embarrassed by its meaning. Should I do what Blake implied? Should I run to his room, demanding his body? It seems so crazy.

  His words from earlier echo back into my head: I’m yours for the taking.

  Was he serious? And am I serious right now?

  It’s odd that I went from preparing myself for being mad at him to anxiously wanting to be near him the moment he leaves. He teases me and baits me with his body.

  I smirk at the thought.

  My heart leaps into my throat as I notice the light downstairs turning off and my brother’s bedroom door shutting.

  I chew my lip, wondering if I can gather the confidence to go to Blake’s room.

  I peer at the clock and notice it’s nearing one. A part of me wants to wake him up and demand his body as punishment for his ridiculous behavior earlier, but I know he’d enjoy that sort of reprimanding. The fiend.

  I have to halt the giggle that wants to emerge from my lips because I feel silly.

  I turn off my bedroom light and pad downstairs. I try to avoid any creaking steps as I leap over the bottom two, nearly spraining my ankle when I make contact with the floor.

  I have to bite my lip in order to keep “fuck, fuck, fuck” from flying out of my mouth at the pain.

  I amble toward the hallway, questioning if this journey is worth the physical pain. However, as soon as I arrive at Blake’s closed bedroom door, I forget the pain. My chest tightens with nerves.

  I chew the inside of my cheek as I turn around and stare into the dark abyss of the living room. I can turn back now. I can return to my room and resume my sane life of simplicities, but my feet don’t budge. A thrill tremors through my body as my hand reaches for the doorknob.

  As the door silently opens, I wonder if he’ll deny me. What if he gets angry that I’m waking him up?

  So what if Blake was to get mad. I mean, what are we to each other anyway, right?