Is that what she’s going to settle for?
Bad dancing with men who aren’t even that hot?
I scowl and take another sip of beer. Is this what I’m in for? Weeks of watching her flirt with losers?
If that’s what she wants, then yes, it is.
Katie has been there for me at the worst times in my life. The day of my father’s funeral, I found her in my house. She pretended she was there for something else, but I saw the bracelet she tucked under a magazine. A chain of those yellow flowers from the lawn that she loves so much.Resilient,she always calls them. They’re weeds, really, not flowers. I almost teased her about it back then, but my throat was too tight, my eyes too hot.
The story tumbled out of her—how she made these bracelets every year on her birthday. Four flowers for happiness, five for luck, six for love. She told me how she thought it might be too forward to do six, and five was good, but it seemed like I probably needed happiness the most. I remember my throat working and no words coming out, but Katie rushing to fill the silence with stories of how the bracelets made her feel less lonely.
So yeah, I’ll do anything for her, even watch over her while she dances with crappy guys. But—I scowl when I see the guy looking at me—if anyone tries anything, I’ll break their fucking arms.
He looks away and I watch Katie smile at something he says. I feel an irrational impulse to stand and tear them apart.
Careful, Tristan.Because I did feel something when I was out there with her—a pulse of heat where we touched, a slow simmer in my blood, stronger than when we sparred, and more addicting too. All of it was one-sided. I drain my beer.
Whatever.
If I have one skill in life, it’s avoiding things I don’t want to think about. Katie’s not bothered by dancing with me, so I won’t be either. It doesn’tmeananything. I scan the bar again, letting my eyes drift over the women present.
I’m supposed to be spouse-hunting. A pretty woman with curly hair catches my eye and smiles at me.
She’ll do. I drain my beer and walk over to her. Her smile grows.
We chat. I get her number. I pretend I don’t know exactly where Katie is the entire time.
15
TRISTAN
“Arms around my neck.”
“I can walk,” Katie protests.
I brace an arm on the edge of the car door. “You cannot walk. You might be learning to dance, but heels on gravel are a bad idea and have always been a bad idea, since the first time you fell and skinned your knee.”
“So undignified,” she grumbles.
I grin, warmth spreading through me. Katie might be out dancing with guys with boring names, but I’m still the one who carries her home.
“You’re still dignified, Bailey, don’t worry. You’ll always be dignified to me.” She’s not dignified right now, actually. She’sloose. She came back from her dance with the guy all smiles and wanted another drink, and now she’s a little smudged around the edges in a way I never see her.
Tipsy.
And I’m glad it’s with me. I’m glad she didn’t go home with what’s his name, and I have no right to be glad. None. Zero.
Not when he made her feel good. Not when it’s clear thatdating and dancing and losing control are what she needs. She’s twenty-six, for fuck’s sake. Sheshouldbe in his car with her dress hiked up around her thighs like it is now, and sheshouldbe with someone who wants to pull over and lick her thigh because he can’t go one more stoplight without touching her.
“Come on.” I bend. “Remember when you chipped a tooth?”
Her hand lands on my right shoulder. “A gentleman would stop reminding me.”
“Not a gentleman.”
“It’s true.” She clambers onto my back. “Good thing, I guess. Since I’m just using you for your body.”
A laugh billows out of me.God, if only she knew.“I knew it,” I say mournfully.
