Tristan
Because your photos are so old and blurry.
She’s calling me. My face hurts from smiling as I answer and pop an arm behind my head.
“Tristan Prince. Dating coach extraordinaire.”
“Are they that bad?” She’s whispering, and I burst out laughing.
“Why are you whispering?”
“Shut up.” Another whisper. “Can you tell me if these are better?”
I put the phone on speaker. She sends me a string of photos and warmth winds through my stomach, spreading with each swipe.
“Well?”
“Who took these?” It wasn’t me. I’d remember a bathing suit this small.
“Sienna sent me what she had on her phone. Do you think they’re too much?”
“They’re hot, Bailey.”
Shit. I didn’t mean to say that. I didn’t mean to tell my best friend I think she’s hot, and I didn’t mean to do it likethis, where I can’t even see her face.
“That’s good, right?” She sounds uncertain, and something sweet and hot unfurls in my chest.
“If you want to hook up, then yeah, that’s good.”
“You’re sure?”
I should tell her not to post them. I should warn her that some guy is going to do what I’m about to do, my finger hovering over the screen to zoom in on her body.Not while you’re on the phone with her, you pervert.
I swipe again. The breath stutters out of my chest. It’s her, pressed to a wall, arm around my sister, back arched, hair wild. She’s in a cropped sports bra and tiny shorts, and I know exactly which ones, because I’ve admired how fit she is in this outfit about a thousand times. Clinically, not with the heat gathering now at the base of my spine.
“Tristan?”
“People will like it. Men. Ah, men will like it.”
A breathless sound. “How do you know?”
“I’m a man.”
“And you like it?”
I rasp an approximation of an agreement, then clear my throat. “I like it.” I am hard. This phone call was a mistake.
She hums happily. “I’m uploading them.”
“Right now?”
“No time like the present. Maybe I’ll meet someone before tomorrow, and then I won’t have to do the whole awkward picking men up thing.”
My hand tightens on the phone.
“Tristan? You still there?”
“You’re still off tomorrow, right? Why don’t you go out with me?”What exactly do you think you’re doing, Tristan Prince?
