“I know you would,” I say with a laugh, kicking out the chair Isabella was using and gesturing to it. “Now sit down, and let’s talk Becky Platter.”
Tristan is shoving binders back onto the library shelf in a fury. Clearly, he's upset about something, but I can't seem to figure out what it is.
“Are you angry with me?” I ask, trying and failing not to think about that moment in the library during first year when I reached up to grab that book without any panties on under my skirt …
“What on earth gave you that idea?” he deadpans, shelving the last book and moving back over to the table to write a note on his tablet. He jams the stylus into the screen in a way that makes me cringe.
“You've barely spoken to me in weeks. You sit next to Lizzie in The Mess every time we eat together, and …” I pause, my eyes tearing up even though I don't want them to. I told myself I would let Tristan make his own choice. If he has then …
He stops and turns to look at me, silver eyes blazing. There's fury in them that just barely reaches the surface. I can sense it, all of that anger boiling inside. He is really and truly angry with me, that much I know for sure now.
“Do you really want to know, Charity?” he asks, getting that vicious twist in his voice that he used to lash out at me so much during first year. Tristan steps forward and slams his palms into the shelf on either side of me, breathing hard. His blazer button is open, the two halves of his jacket hanging down as he stares at me from under a fall of shiny raven hair. “Because the very fact that I have to tell you is what's pissing me off the most.”
“I …” I start, thinking of Isabella's words, those awful, nagging things trying to worm their way under my skin. “We walked in and found him fucking your friend. Doesn't that bother you?” I'm not going to fall for that shit though. I'm not even going to bring it up unless Tristan does first. He wouldn't cheat on me with Lizzie. If he were going to choose, he'd just say something … Like maybe he's about to say something right now? “I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about.”
Tristan closes his eyes, but he's still panting, fingers curled around the edges of the shelves behind me. I reach up and put a hand over his chest, closing my own eyes and feeling the frantic beating of his heart.
A small squeak escapes me when Tristan's hand whips down and grabs my wrist, almost too tight.
Our eyes both open and I find myself getting lost in the brilliance of his blade-gray gaze. It's a double-edged sword, that's for sure. He can defend me with it … but he can also cut me if he wants, make me bleed. And boy, would I bleed for this man.
“What do you think about me and Lizzie?” Tristan asks carefully, his voice like velvet, his smell like cinnamon. His warmth transcends the distance between us, making me shiver.
“What do …” I start, thinking about the way he used to look at her, like she was his long-lost love who'd galloped away on a different knight's horse. But … that was the way he used to look at her, right? I try to think of the last time I saw his gaze soften in her direction. It’s been awhile, that’s for sure. “What do you mean?”
“Do you want me to get with her? Do you ship me and Lizzie for some reason? Because I swear to God, it feels like you do sometimes.” He stares at me so hard that I feel like all my inhibitions are being shed like a banana peel, stripping right down and leaving my pale yellow flesh quivering. Whoa. That was a totally weird metaphor. Scratch that. Pretend I never said anything at all.
“Why would you think that?” I whisper as Tristan breathes in and out, big, harsh, angry breaths. He presses in even closer to me, and I feel myself coming apart at the seams.
“Look, I hate Zack as much as the next asshole, but what you said to him, about how you wanted him to fight for you … do you ever take your own advice, Marnye?”
“I …” My throat feels too tight to talk, like it's impossible to breathe in without sharing a breath with Tristan, without getting two lungfuls of his beautiful scent. He's enticing, a little dangerous, exactly the sort of man I should stay away from. And at the same time … when I think about going to the same college as him, studying together, building a new life together … I get the chills in the best possible way. “We could really have something, me and you.”
Tristan growls at me. I kid you not. He seriously growls under his breath and clenches his teeth.
“Right. So why are you so pro-Lizzie?” he demands, and I blink back in confusion. “And why do you smell so damn good?” he adds, almost under his breath, glancing to the side for a moment before looking back at me.
“I'm not pro-Lizzie,” I tell him, and there it is. All these feelings come rushing to the surface, and I can't seem to hold them back. “I've … I wanted to be friends with her. And I felt selfish. She loves you so much, and I'm dating five guys, and …”
“So fucking what?” Tristan slams his palm against the bookshelf, still clinging to my wrist with his other hand. “You're dating five guys because we all refuse to let you go. What does that have to do with Lizzie? You want to trade me like a baseball card, so she doesn't feel left out?”
My jaw drops open and Tristan takes that moment to sweep in and kiss me. Hard. His lush mouth against my parted lips. His tongue dives in, taking complete control, encouraging me to tilt my head back and give into him. He's the cruelest boy I know. He really is. He'll never be perfect. He'll never even be good. But maybe … he's just right for me?
I move my free hand to the side of his face, and he grabs my wrist again, pinning me to the bookcase. One of these days, I'm going to be up to no good in this library, and I'm going to get caught. My cheeks flame with embarrassment, but that color soon darkens to the heat of lust when Tristan bites my lower lip.
He pulls back just a bit and looks me hard in the face, still panting. He's so strong, I'm completely trapped there, my arms out on either side, my chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.
“I just wanted you to choose me,” I whisper, and I see his silver gaze move from my mouth back up to my eyes. “That's all. I was just … waiting to see if you'd pick me.”
“Maybe I was waiting for the same?” he whispers, and I close my eyes. Tristan makes a frustrated sound, and I open them back up. He releases me suddenly and steps back, pushing his hair from his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Fucking hell, Marnye.”
I bring my arms in close to my chest, trying to work the numb feeling out of my fingers as Tristan glances back at me, his face full of shadows.
“You were waiting for me …” I start as he looks up at the tin ceiling tiles above us.
“I was waiting for you to fight for me,” he says, turning back to look at me, his gaze slashed through with violent heat that seems to ripple in the air between us. “What's that old saying? Don't be so sweet that people will eat you up, and don't be so bitter they spit you out?” He pauses and exhales. “Sometimes I think you're too sweet. But then I wonder if it's my job to be your bitter.”
He turns like he's about to walk away, and I take off after him, grabbing onto his arm and holding him there.
“This is a habit of yours,” I whisper, putting my face against the crisp sleeve of his blazer. “Spouting some epic shit, and then taking off. You can't do this to me anymore.”
Tristan turns around, and we're suddenly standing so close that I can't breathe.
“I'm no good for you,” he says, but his voice holds so much less vitriol than it did before, like he can't keep up the facade any longer. “You really would be best off heading for college and leaving us all behind.”
“But?” I ask, lifting my face up to look into his beautiful eyes. They seem so much lighter now. Like, instead of a stormy sky, his irises are the color of a freshly polished silver teapot.
“I might be cruel, but I'm selfish, too. I want you too much to let you go.” Tristan puts his hands on my hips, and I feel my body start to quiver. The tension between us is making me sick. “It kills me to know they've all touched you, that they've all been inside of you …” His voice softens, but seems to get darker at the same time, like velvet shadows wrapping me up in a cocoon. “Every crush of yours but me …”
I swallow hard as Tristan guides me back to the bookshelf behind us, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the fluttering pulse in my throat. My eyes close and my fingers curl around the edges of his blazer. He runs his tongue down the side of my neck, leaving a hot fire in his wake.
“We could go back to your room?” I whisper, and I feel this crazy overwhelming surge of adrenaline, so powerful that I'm not sure I can stand for much longer.
“I won't make it back to my room,” he breathes, putting his mouth next to my ear. I look up, past the towering bookcases to the ancient chandelier flickering in the rafters. I know all about that chandelier, where it was made and when and out of what materials because, well, I'm a history buff and architecture freak, but … in that moment?
I couldn't give a fuck less.
Tristan's right hand slides down and then slips underneath the pleated black folds of my skirt. He runs his palm up my thigh, but unlike Creed, he's much less polite. His fingers tease the waistband of my panties before he drops them down and cups my core in his hand.
A sharp gasp escapes me, and Tristan chuckles, this warm, velvety sound that penetrates my darkest depths.
“Shush, or someone will hear us,” he whispers, leaning in and searing my lips with his. Our tongues tangle, and I find that I can't breathe without pulling his essence into me.
“Hear what?” I whisper back, still shaking. “What exactly are we doing here?”
“You know exactly what we're doing,” Tristan tells me, and then his hand slips into my panties and his fingers dance over my wetness, making my knees buckle. He just barely manages to catch me with an arm around the waist, licking and nipping at my lower lip as his fingers work my already aching body into a frenzy.