He took a seat across from me, and we started serving ourselves. I knew this was going to be either the most memorable dinner I’d ever had or the most uncomfortable, awkward one.
Half an hour later, I got my answer. It was absolutely one of the best dinners I’d ever had with another person. After the initial discomfort of being with a virtual stranger, the conversation had taken a natural, organic route. It was as if Tristan wanted to know everything about me. He asked about my childhood, my likes and dislikes, my time in the city, and even my schooling.
And then I’d asked my own questions, realizing I wanted to know everything about him. It felt like I was so thirsty, starved for the information. I asked him about his life before Cherry Falls, and although I’d seen the tightness around his mouth and was about to tell him it wasn’t my business, he told me everything.
I realized quickly the reason he’d acted reluctant to tell me was because he was ashamed. He was a former fighter who got lost in booze and violence and had lived his life hard and without care. It made me realize how much I’d been lucky and privileged to have a father who cared and loved me unconditionally. My mother may have passed before I’d ever had the chance to meet and love her, but still, I’d never wanted for anything, not material or emotional.
And it made my heart break that Tristan hadn’t experienced any of that.
I should’ve stopped at one beer, because despite the pasta, which I’d hoped would have sucked up a lot of the booze, I kept drinking them. And here I was finishing up my fourth, feeling the buzz, my lips loose as I talked about anything, everything I could because I’d never felt so good in my life.
I was a lightweight, shamelessly so, and after each beer I found myself divulging even a little bit more information that I normally wouldn’t have until I’d known someone for quite some time. But I felt so easygoing and comfortable around Tristan, the atmosphere warm. I felt like I’d known him my entire life, and not just in the obvious sense that we lived in the same town for fifteen years.
And every time I said something, even a simple “yes or no” in response to what he’d asked, it was like he hung on to my words. Every single one of them.
“Damn, Dolly,” he said with a very satisfied grin on his face, his hand placed on his hard, defined abdomen. “I have never had a meal that good.” I knew my expression was skeptical, and he laughed, holding his hands up in surrender. “I swear. I’m not the type of dude to just try and woo a beautiful girl by speaking lies.”
I felt a wave of heat move through me, this pleasure that I’d put that look of contentment on his face simply from preparing him a home-cooked meal. But the air became a little tense, and the silence stretched on as I let his words sink in fully. Beautiful girl.
“I made things awkward, right?”
I laughed softly, probably awkwardly, but the weirdness I’d caused from tensing up at his words dissipated the longer he stared at me and the more I felt that pleasure settle deep in my body.
“I didn’t mean to make things weird or uncomfortable. I just…” He cleared his throat and ran a hand over the back of his head. “I was just speaking the truth,” he murmured.
I licked my lips and willed my face to not be as red as a cherry tomato. I brought my beer up, finished it off, and found myself looking down at the empty bottle before looking at Tristan again. I shouldn’t have said what I was thinking, but the words tumbled out of me.
“Got anything stronger?” His grin was answer enough.
8
Tristan
An hour after dinner had ended, the kitchen cleaned, and both of us now sitting in the living room, I could say with certainty that we were drunk—not shitfaced, not totally trashed that we didn't know what the hell was going on, but drunk enough that we laughed too much and too long at the stupidest things, buzzed enough that I wasn’t even trying not to find reasons to touch her.
I wanted to push a strand of her blond hair away from her cheek, let my fingers linger on her smooth skin. I didn’t stop myself from laying on the charm hella thick, flirting shamelessly, throwing out the compliments until I should have felt embarrassed as hell for being so damn obvious, but at that moment not even caring.
“Oh my gosh, you have to stop,” she gasped out in between laughing. Dolly wiped a few stray tears that slipped down her cheeks as she tried to compose herself.
“I swear, it’s the entire truth.” I leaned back on the couch and shifted on the cushion so I could really stare at her. One of my legs was bent and resting on the cushion, my knee brushing against hers. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t purposefully sit like this so a part of me was touching her.
“You're telling me—” she finally said after composing herself, and the way her grin was spread across her face, her straight, white teeth flashing in pure happiness and amusement, had my heart beating a funny rhythm. “That you literally got into a fight over a loaf of bread?”
I couldn’t help my own smile from spreading. “Hey now. The asshole tried to overcharge me for some plain as hell white bread like it was imported. I barely had two nickels to rub together at the time, so I wasn’t gonna let him try and trick me into giving him any more when it was already day-old bread. So I said, ‘Give me the bread for what it’s worth, or I’ll give you a knuckle sandwich.’”
She tipped her head back and started laughing, and I was transfixed by the graceful arch of her neck. “Oh my God,” she wheezed out. “You did not say ‘knuckle sandwich.’”
I chuckled deeply. “I was fifteen and thought I was tough. What can I say?”
Her laugh had my cock twitching. The fucker had been hard this entire time, but I’d been able to hide it with strategically placed hands, an arm, even one of the throw pillows on the couch at one point.
We laughed for a few more minutes, and then we both started to sober slightly, not because the alcohol was fading, but because the atmosphere got a little bit more serious, the thickness between us accelerating. Or at least that’s how it felt to me the longer I stared at Dolly and the way I let my gaze shamelessly move along every single inch of her.
I knew the moment she realized I was staring at her a little too hard, a little too intensely; her shoulders went back slightly, and her spine straightened. I saw the prettiest blush tint her high cheekbones, watched as she lifted her hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers shaking slightly.
“I’m sorry,” I found myself saying and blindly reached for one of the throw pillows that I’d kicked off the couch, placing it over my lap strategically, hoping she wouldn’t see the obvious reason why I needed to do that.
“What for?” she said softly as she looked at me with an almost shy expression on her face.
She started picking at the edge of her shirt, and I could tell she was nervous. I hated that I’d made her feel that way but hoped it was a reaction because she was feeling the same kind of intense arousal and chemistry for me as I felt for her.
“For blatantly staring.” She snapped her head up after I spoke those words, and our gazes locked.
“I didn’t notice,” she whispered.