Page 25

She dropped into her office chair with a huff, and I plopped into the cushioned one near her door. Which was also right next to her desk. These offices were cute but tiny.

After a minute passed, long enough for us to collect ourselves, Natasha eyed me. “Hey, you okay? You don’t look so hot.”

I swallowed around the lump in my throat, which was scratchy and bone-dry, and opted for sarcasm to mask my discomfort. “Thanks.”

One corner of her mouth lifted in a humorless smirk. “You know what I mean.”

I nodded and tried to will saliva into my mouth. It wasn’t working. “Do you have some water?”

She wheeled back in her office chair and pulled a water bottle from a drawer in her desk. “Here. Brand new.”

“Thanks,” I uttered sincerely, twisting the cap and downing half of it before attempting speech again. At least I didn’t feel like I was swallowing knives anymore.

One of Natasha’s eyebrows raised as she stared directly at me.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “What?”

“What’s going on with you? That elevator thing seemed to have really freaked you out.”

I swallowed again, this time to avoid answering the question—or maybe give myself time to formulate a coherent response. “Yeah, I . . .” I huffed out a sigh. “It’s nothing.”

“Really.”

Her sarcastic tone made me bark out a laugh. “Okay, so it’s not nothing. But I’m not sure how to explain. And I don’t want to take up your valuable time.”

Natasha’s gaze went soft. “Tristan, I know we’re not best friends or anything, but I’d like to think we’re more than just acquaintances.”

I nodded, tears choking me though I didn’t know why. Why did I seem to be on the verge of a breakdown so often lately?

“As your friend, I want what’s best for you. And I’m here to listen if you want to talk.” She leaned back in her chair, reaching for another water bottle and cracking it open before taking a sip.

Silence stretched between us, and I fidgeted in my seat, trying to decide if I wanted to open up to her. Sure, I could’ve gone to Cameron, but as it turned out, I didn’t want to wait to get this off my chest.

Because I just blurted out, “I think I’m into two guys.” My eyes widened as soon as the words hit my ears. Where did that come from—and how could I explain without giving all my secrets away?

And oh shit—was she homophobic? I didn’t want to think so, but one could never tell . . .

Natasha smiled softly, leaning across her small desk to reach for my hand. When I reluctantly slipped it into hers, she spoke. “First, I’m going to say thank you for sharing that with me. I understand you a little better now.”

My shoulders relaxed a bit, and I released the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“Second, I need this story.” Her eyebrows waggled, and I laughed abruptly.

“Tash!”

“What?” She pulled her hand out of mine, leaning back in her chair once again. Then she raised her hand and rolled her wrist. “I’m waiting.”

I chuckled, considering her request—no, demand. But how much did I really want to share?

Straightening in my seat, I divulged a bit of the truth. “I met this guy online, and I’m super into him. We haven’t met, of course, and I haven’t seen a pic of him or anything, but we just have this connection. But then there’s this other guy, in real life, that I see every other week, if not more often. Like, as friends. He popped into my head in that elevator, not the first guy, so I just . . .”

I scrubbed my hand over my face.

“The last time I saw him, something felt . . . different. Better. More.” I let out a breath, lifting my eyes to catch her gaze. “And I’m not sure what to do with that. Any of it, really.”

She whistled, and I grinned. “That’s . . . your life is like a soap opera, Tris!”

“If only.” I laughed. “A soap opera would be easier. I would know which one to pick, because the other one would get kicked off the show in some dramatic way.”