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Time didn’t seem to move at the same speed as it once had. Yesterday felt like forever and tomorrow didn’t hold much weight at all. Not when the forest green eyes she loved so much stayed steady on hers and they had a plate of extra-hot chicken wings and a steaming mushroom and pepperoni pizza between them.
They polished off half of both, though Tristan ate more than she did. Not by much. She’d been starving, and everything tasted wonderful.
“You have some stomach, Sachs,” he said with a grin, wiping his mouth with a napkin, then tossing it aside. In the light from the stubby candle he’d unearthed, he looked even sexier than usual, shadows dancing over his chiseled jaw and firm lips. “Always love watching you pack it away.”
“We didn’t have much lunch.”
“You haven’t eaten much in days,” he said, picking up his longneck beer. He’d cracked open one for both of them, saving the two beers they had left for their “ceremonial toast at midnight,” as he’d called it. What they were toasting, she didn’t know.
One thing she did know? That the more time she spent in his company—especially since he was back to acting like the man she knew and loved—the more likely it became that she’d greet Christmas without her clothes on.
“We’ve been so busy,” she said noncommittally, peeling off a slice of pepperoni and shoving it in her mouth.
“Not that busy.” He leaned back in his chair and toyed with the label on his bottle. “You haven’t reconsidered.”
She wanted to say she had. What wouldn’t she do to keep him looking so relaxed? Her own muscles were more loose than they’d been in days, and it wasn’t due to the beer. Living with that much tension wasn’t good for anyone.
The worst of it was that she missed him and Matt. Missed the woman she became when she was in their arms. She was so tired of worrying all the time, always trying to measure up to some invisible standard. With them she could just be herself.
They made her happy. Wasn’t that all that really mattered? So what if they had a nontraditional situation. They weren’t hurting anyone, and love could never be anything but beautiful. People were going to say things regardless.
Hell, some people already did because she lived with two guys. Why not really give them something to talk about?
She wet her lips, half tempted to just say to hell with it and put it all on the table.
Yes, I’ll give us a try. I want you and Matt. I want all of it. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out.
Only an idiot would turn away from love and passion to stay alone in her empty bed at night. She wasn’t an idiot. But the words refused to come.
“Okay,” he said when she didn’t answer, rising to clear away the paper plates.
She rose to help him clean up, that unnerving tension building again as they wrapped up the pizza and wings for Matt. He’d bitch that they’d ordered hot wings, knowing he hated them, but that was half the fun.
Together they straightened up the kitchen. When they were finished, he drank the last of his beer and stood rolling the bottle between his palms.
“Guess I’ll go to bed,” he said finally, setting his presumably empty bottle on the counter.
“Yeah. It’s late,” she said, though it wasn’t even ten yet. They hadn’t made their toast. But maybe forced distance would be good, although a thin wall wouldn’t exactly separate them much.
“It is. I’m tired.”
“Me too.” She yawned and reached for her own beer, intending to put it in the fridge. But he grabbed the bottle before she could. “Hey, that’s mine,” she said.
He held it against his chest with a gleam in his eyes she recognized too well. “Come and get it.”
Chapter 11
She shouldn’t.
She had to.
Cait’s pulse spiked as she closed the distance between them. She kept her eyes on Tristan’s, letting him know she was all too aware she was walking into the lion’s den. But whether she was the lion or the prey, she still wasn’t sure.
She circled her fingers around the bottle he held, her gaze landing on his mouth. It remained there as he moved down and swept his hand into her hair, dragging her head back so he
could lay claim to her lips. Their mouths enmeshed, his tongue driving hers back in a sensual battle she was all too happy to lose.
The bottle clattered to the floor and rolled away. It could have broken and glass shards embedded in her bare feet for all she cared.
