Tryst Read online

  “So are you into pre-med Dick?”

  I shrug. “Sometimes.”

  I can feel the bass of his laughter against me, and I realize that his body pressed against mine is incredibly distracting and has malfunctioned my mouth filter. He has a way of doing that to me.

  “Oh, so you’re one of those girls?”

  I wrap my arms around his neck, bringing him closer. I want to question the action, but I don’t, unsure what might be fueling it.

  “I don’t mean to be, but he won’t give up, and I guess I appreciate the perseverance.”

  Blake’s face softens. “Perseverance, huh?”

  “Just like you appreciate the chase, a girl enjoys being chased, I think.”

  Blake reveals a wolfish grin.

  I shake my head. “Your chase is not like Rich’s. Rich wants me for me, not for a sexual conquest.”

  “So why not go for Rich. Seems purebred and up to snuff.”

  I jab at Blake’s shoulder. “Do you think so little of me? Because you barely know me.”

  “Consider this me getting to know you better. I’m trying to understand you. Why not go for the hot guy with the brains, the money, and whatever?”

  “I thought we weren’t trying to understand one another this evening. I feel like your science project.”

  Blake’s hands glide over my back, calling my body to attention again. When I feel his fingertips graze the bare skin of my back, I know he can feel me shiver.

  “Humor me.” He smiles.

  “Commitment,” I blurt out. “I don’t want commitment. Rich deserves more than me, and that’s the truth.”

  I’m shocked at my brutal honesty, and by the looks of it, so is Blake.

  “Who broke your heart?” He’s more clever than I give him credit for.

  My breath hitches in my throat, and my body freezes in his grasp. “How do you know a guy broke my heart?”

  “Because people who aren’t looking for commitment have usually given all of themselves to someone at some point, to then have it all come crashing down around them, or thrown back in their face. Then to find out taking the risk—because that’s what love is, a risk—was never worth it in the first place. So when I hear that response, I assume that you took a chance on someone who failed you, and you think: Why would I ever want to do that again? And you tell yourself you aren’t ready. When in actuality, it means you aren’t sure if that person is worth the risk.”

  I’m dumbfounded by his response, but then it hits me. My eyes squint, trying to read his stark expression.

  “Sounds like you know the feeling.”

  His lips purse. “Yes, I do. But it was for the best.”

  “Now you’re anti-commitment?” I can’t help but raise my eyebrows mockingly.

  He chuckles. “Is that where this conversation is headed? Yeah, I guess you’re right. Commitment isn’t my thing, and I’m having fun, for now. If that makes me an asshole, then so be it.”

  I’m almost jealous of his confidence.

  I shake my head while letting out an exasperated breath. “If a guy is in it for sex, they cheer you on and you maybe get called an asshole. If a girl wants to go for it, they call her a slut.”

  He grins wide. “Not if no one knows about it.”

  I don’t understand, but the corners of my mouth widen ear to ear, and before I can respond, he speaks sharply, “Incoming. I gotta go.”

  Before I understand what’s happening, he leans in and places a kiss on my cheek, and I find myself incredibly disappointed when his possessive grasp releases me as he heads in the other direction. I feel another familiar, but inconvenient hand at my wrist, twirling me around, causing me to come face-to-face with my brother.

  My heart jolts at the sight, knowing that what I was doing is far from acceptable.

  “Skyler, your friend Richard is sick and I think he needs to head home.”

  I take a deep breath, thankful that my dancing has been kept secret.

  I chew my lip, realizing that any buzz I had has dissipated after my adrenaline rush interaction with Blake. Knowing that, I think I’ve had about enough of everything and everyone tonight.

  “I’ll drive him home in his car, and then call a cab from his place. I need some fresh air anyway.”

  Josh shrugs, but I can tell he’s thankful.

  I scurry away. It’s hard to face my brother when I feel guilty. I’m ready to head home.

  What a night. I need a glass of water and a Tylenol, stat.

  Chapter 11

  When I arrive home from work the following evening, I notice that the driveway is empty. A night with the living room to myself—this is exactly what I need, though I wonder where Blake is. He’s likely bedding an openly available girl who comes with no rules and regulations. Oh, and she’s probably a model.

  I’m shocked by my reaction, wondering if I need to get laid, too. I seem to be glowing with green envy at Blake’s overactive love life.

  As I enter the living room, I laugh at the idea of calling Blake’s escapades a love life. Love, in reference to his life, feels absurd, unless he is one of those artsy types who fall in love with one muse after another. I want to think he isn’t that insightful, but I remember his almost philosophical view of commitment.

  Heaving in a deep breath, I bask in the silence and decide to push the idea of Blake far, far away. Tonight, I need a chick flick and some wine.

  I run upstairs and change into my UCLA sweatshirt and running shorts. After I pile my hair in a loose bun on top of my head, I grab the quilt off my bed and head downstairs with the DVD Becoming Jane in my grasp.

  I toss the items on the bright red couch, and run to the kitchen to find the bottle of white wine I bought weeks ago. I worry that maybe one of my roommates might have snagged it, but lucky for me, they prove to be honorable. I spot the bottle in the back of the fridge.

  I grab for it, pour myself a glass, and bring the bottle with me to the living room.

  By the time I get the movie playing, it’s nearing nine o’clock. I find myself feeling content as I press play, and nearly finish my first glass of wine.

  Only thirty minutes pass before I hear keys jingling against the front door. When the large white door opens, I see the stylish shoes and jeans first as Blake steps inside. I half expect a girl to be trailing behind him.

  Blake’s full form enters, alone, and my body buzzes at the sight of him. Clad in a leather jacket and a dark gray Henley shirt, he runs a hand through his tousled brown hair.

  As the door closes behind him, he takes notice of me. I gulp the last bit of my wine, then place the glass less than gently back onto the coffee table. I eye the bottle in front of me, and I wish I had left it in the kitchen. It would be far less incriminating if it remained in the fridge.

  I turn my gaze to him and am about to say hello, but when he peels his jacket from his lean muscular frame, my mouth goes dry, inhibiting me to speak.

  Lucky for me, he speaks first.

  “Is your brother home?” He hangs up his jacket on the hook next to the door and strolls toward me.

  My brows furrow, and I’m curious why it matters. My reaction time is slow with the wine, and seeing his fitted clothes, I regret my unflattering sweatshirt choice.

  “No. I haven’t heard from him all day, actually.”

  Blake hums his approval, and his mouth curves knowingly, as if he might have a secret.

  He strolls past the couch. “Chick flick sort of night, is it?”

  I fiddle with the edge of my blanket, not daring to look at him clanking around in the kitchen.

  “Yeah. Sorry for taking hold of the TV. I can go upstairs and sleep.”

  When I look up, he is standing in front of me, holding an empty wine glass.

  “Go upstairs to sleep? I was thinking I’d join you. Not that I think you’ve had a rough day, but I sure have and could use it.”

  A smile peeks through my lips at his adorable tone. “You need a chick flick night?”
>
  “Aren’t I allowed to have one, too?”

  He shrugs as if the whole thing is perfectly acceptable. I have to laugh, and find that any nerves I had before are gone. Getting to know Blake better is helping the cause, even though his looks can be on the distracting side.

  I lean over for the bottle and feel rather than see him take a seat next to me on the couch. When I lean back, he is taking my quilt and covering his legs.

  I want to argue, but then again, I don’t want to stop him from doing it.

  I fill his glass and then fill my own, finishing off the last of the bottle.

  I turn to look at Blake and quip, “I think you should actually have the last two glasses.”

  He tilts his head to the side after taking a quick sip.

  “Why’s that?”

  One corner of my mouth arches upward. “Because I’ve already had two.”

  His laughter in response has me laughing, too.

  “No, it’s all you. In all fairness, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t already have some wine earlier, too.”

  I sip from my glass and wonder if I see sadness in his eyes. In my experience, wine usually doesn’t come with a happy story.

  “What was so rough about your day?” I steal another sip.

  He waves off the statement. “Some friend came into town, and it’s complicated, but she needed some help. I offered a listening ear. I just didn’t think it would be so draining.”

  I want to ask more, but I notice him take a large gulp of wine, and then I think better of it.

  “Are you still heartbroken?”

  I choke on my current sip, which leaves me embarrassed as Blake stifles a laugh. I place my nearly empty glass on the coffee table, and when I lean back into the couch, Blake lifts his hand to wipe away a few rogue droplets of wine at the base of my chin. His fingertips against my skin leave a warm tingling sensation.

  “Sore subject, huh?” he retorts.

  I shake off the knots forming in my stomach. “No, it isn’t.” I heave in a deep breath, realizing I’m trying to convince myself. “Just like yours, it was much better that it ended.”

  I stop talking, unsure if I want to talk to him about this.

  He nods. “How long were you dating?”

  My eyebrows rise in response to his curiosity. “Why the twenty questions about my love life all the time? I should be asking you questions.”

  He sighs as he places his empty glass on the coffee table. “What’s there to know?”

  “What was her name?”

  “Marguerite.”

  I flinch. She is probably foreign and pretty. I debate if I want to know more, but always a glutton for punishment, I continue. “How long were you two together?”

  “Two years.”

  “Hmm. Not as long as I thought.”

  He let’s out a snort. “It felt like a lifetime.”

  A question hits me. “Who ended it? You or her?”

  He hesitates. “She did.” His brow tenses as he runs a hand over the faint stubble on his jaw, and I feel the need to comfort him.

  I tug at his arm, stopping his neurotic strokes. “Ya know, it’s perfectly normal for your heart to get broken.”

  “Is that what they say?”

  “Well, it’s what helps me get through my day.”

  His eyes shift into glowing orbs of interest. “What else helps?”

  His intense gaze makes me nervous, and I go back to fiddling with the edge of my blanket. “Oh, you know, all those clichés that ring true. Only time can heal. There are other fish in the sea, and all that jazz.”

  Shocking me, he grabs for my fidgeting fingers, causing my body to spring to attention as if whatever he went through today has made him incredibly understanding.

  “I’m sorry for whatever that guy did to you,” he says.

  My breath hitches. He can’t possibly know, can he?

  I change tactics and pull my hand out of his grasp. The wound feels too fresh to let someone in, and I don’t think I’m ready.

  “And the same to you. I’m sorry for whatever that girl did to you.” Deciding I’m going to lighten the mood, I smirk and continue, “Which has unfortunately driven you into countless beds of nameless women.”

  He laughs, and at least I feel the moment is salvaged. I wonder what else is encased in Blake’s sad side.

  I’m about ready to ask, finding this Q&A session appealing, when I hear a knock at the front door.

  I look at the clock, noticing it’s ten.

  Blake is about to get off the couch. “Wonder who that could be this late.”

  I shake him off and rise from the couch instead. “I’ll get it. It’s probably Josh with his hands full. He’s always promising me bags of swag.”

  I spring toward the door, thinking that putting distance between myself and Blake will give me a sense of clarity. As I approach the door, I decide that looking through the peephole wouldn’t hurt.

  I stand on my tiptoes to see, and the person behind the door has me paling instantly.

  I take a step back, eyeing the door for a second, worrying that he might attempt to knock again. I try blinking back my shock.

  “Who is it?” Blake asks from the couch.

  I can’t fathom what is happening at this moment.

  In a rash, split-second decision, I say, “Nobody. Do me a favor and wait there a sec, okay?”

  Blake’s brows tense, but he replies with a shaky, unconvincing, “Okay.”

  I know I have less than five minutes before Blake gets too curious, and I hope that’s all I need to get Jason out of here.

  I watch my hand tremble as I reach for the knob, and I pray to God that I’m strong enough to handle whatever awaits me behind the door. I gulp, thinking that I hate the coincidental fact that I was talking about him only moments ago.

  I shoot Blake a reassuring smirk before I go for it. Jason needs to leave before Josh gets home, or there will be a brawl tonight, and I don’t want another encounter with the police like last time.

  I want so badly to run back to the couch and ask Blake to make it all go away, but the idea seems so childish. I need to be adult. I need to be able to handle my problems. Not everyone can pick up the pieces of my messes.

  I open the door and shut it behind me, making a point to turn around and face the guy who shattered not only my heart, but my entire existence.

  Seeing him face-to-face has me shaking, my anxiety levels on high, and I regret facing him alone. However, Blake can’t know the truth.

  Jason looks just as I remember him. His burly frame is darkly tanned and toned from many beach day excursions, which I remember always seemed to get him into trouble. His dark brown hair is gelled back, and his muscular, tattooed arms are folded against his broad chest. Jason’s staggering size has me ready to cower in fear, but I notice that, besides the pain he has caused me, he is still the gorgeous rebel I fell in love with. It hurts to admit that time apart seemed to do him good.

  His full lips twist in a way that makes my skin crawl, and the ring on his bottom lip glints with the faint light from the small porch.

  “Babe, I’ve been looking for you.”

  I haven’t heard his voice in so long, and like a drug, my blood sizzles with need.

  When he speaks, his body sways, and the faint, wafting smell of alcohol hits me, striking a familiar sense of apprehension. These are how those terrible nights began.

  I tug at the bottom of my sweatshirt and want to correct his endearment, but decide to get right to the point.

  I am a strong, capable woman. That’s what my therapist told me.

  “Jason, how did you find me? You aren’t supposed to come near me.”

  His shoulder slump stirs a deep-seated need to bring him close, but I rub at my jaw as if to remember he never stays nice for long.

  “I missed you, babe. I want—I need you back.”

  I look left and right, confirming that the suburban street is empty of activity. I try my best not to
lock eyes with what I remember is a gooey, chocolate stare that used to warm me from the inside out, and instead look at the ground.

  “Jason, you didn’t answer my question. How did you find me?”

  His tone shifts into a whine that causes my insides to twist with every word. “Aren’t you happy to see me? You changed your number. I’ve been trying to call you.”

  Realizing he is not going to be cooperative, I answer. “Yes, of course I changed my number, Jason. You gave me no choice. We are over. I don’t miss you. I need you to leave.”

  I heave in a deep breath, hoping this doesn’t escalate. If he can leave, all will be okay.

  “You need me.”

  I turn my eyes to meet his hazy gaze. “Jason, I really need you to leave now. Legally, you can’t be here.”

  I worry that my tone is pleading, and I don’t think that will get me far. At this moment in time, I can’t seem to get my head around how I’m in this situation in the first place. Why did I have to answer the door? I should have just called the cops.

  His voice rises once again. “I knew you’d run to your brother. You used to be so much stronger. You hated taking things from him.”

  I cringe, the words striking a chord. I know he’s only instigating a fight, but I become defensive. “You gave me no choice.”

  His voice hardens. “How many times do I have to tell you how sorry I am? I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I need you!”

  I shake my head and clench my eyes shut.

  “It’s not enough. I’m not going to ask you again. You have to leave.”

  “It has never been enough!” he shouts. “When have I ever been enough for you? Here I am! I went through all this trouble to find you, to tell you I love you! And this is what I get?”

  His anger spikes with every other word, and my body is in fight-or-flight mode. Instinctually, I’m waiting for the only thing that Jason has ever given me at the end of every argument in our last six months of dating.

  “Please stop, Jason!”

  My eyes still tightly shut, I hear him take a step forward, and a silent tear falls down my face.

  “I don’t deserve this!” he shouts.

  I want to scream and shout, but for some god-awful reason, I freeze, weak and terrified. I am a house of cards, crumbling with the gust of wind, and the only thing I have ever known, with the one person I loved the most, is to brace myself for the oncoming blow.