Page 41 of My Unfinished Heart

He turns to face me with confused eyes. “What? I swear I meant nothing by that.” But the blush splotching his cheeks says he might have meant something more like what I was thinking. There’s not really any denying the fact that there’s some tension between us. Even if his isn’t equal to mine—he has to feel it, too.

I look down the hall at the open door of my room where The Cure is playing, and the light is on. That’s where I need to be. “Maybe a professional is a better⁠—"

“Okay, wait. Wait here, okay?” His hand presses into my forearm for the shortest second.

I look at him, and with as much meaning as I can infuse into two words, I say, “I shouldn’t.”

“I’ll be right back. Just—wait for me. Please?”

“Tristan—”

“It’s just for a second,” he says, exasperated. He hurries down the hall before I can protest again. He disappears into Connor’s room, and I cover my face with both hands. I breathe into them. A few times. I rub at my eyes and run my fingers through my hair, pulling it too hard. Still not hard enough. I try to reconcile the part of me that wants him to come back with the part of me that knows better.

He returns in less than a minute wearing jeans and a regular t-shirt.

He still looks sexy in about a hundred different ways, but it’s an improvement. I give him a watered down version of a smile as he approaches at a measured pace.

I breathe. “Thank you.”

His eyes widen for a brief second before he lets out a soft, “Oh. Yeah.” His cheeks darken. “You’re welcome. Will you finish my hair?” he asks, seeming shyer with clothes on than when he was half-naked. But still not really all that shy.

“I will.” Tristan with pants on is much more manageable than without.

He walks back over to me, and I put my hands on his shoulders, turning him away. He doesn’t say anything. Several seconds pass without either of us speaking, and I miss our conversation.

“You’re being too quiet,” I finally say as I move his hair around to find where I left off. “Run out of things to say?”

“I think I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one night.”

“You and me both.”

“Can we sit?” he asks. “I’m a little light-headed.”

“Uh…yeah. Sure. Can I get you some water?”

“Nope. Just need to sit.”

I drop the lock of hair I’m holding and watch him sink to the floor. I kneel at first, but I need to be lower to see what I’m doing. I sit down behind him. He’s sitting with his legs crossed, his back straight. To get close enough, I have to practically straddle him—in the most gentlemanly sense of the word.

Okay, maybe I’m not such a gentleman. But I do have to get closer. So, with my legs bent, and my feet planted on the floor beneath his knees, I get close enough. Thank God for baggy jeans.

It’s intimate in a way I can’t even talk about. If he weren’t my brother’s best friend…

Shit, this is going from difficult to impossible. I breathe as well as I can and try to even out his haircut. “Does Connor really hate his room?”

Tristan sighs. “Let’s not talk about Connor right now.”

I shut my mouth.

“I didn’t mean you couldn’t talk at all,” he says after a few seconds.

I almost laugh. “You’re not making it easy.”

“Sorry. I never meant to make you uncomfortable.”

That ship sailed awhile back but saying that won’t help. “I’m fine. Are you uncomfortable?”

“Not like how you mean.”