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His wounded look is killing me, but I can’t let those sad, soulful eyes draw me in again.
“You know where I was last night?” I ask. “I went to see my grandparents. They told me they practically forced you to stay away from me. That’s why you pulled that stunt at the game. It wasn’t just you who thought you weren’t good enough for me.Everyonethought that. It was like some big conspiracy to keep us apart, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, exactly!Everyone thought thatbecause it was the truth.”
“No! It wasyourtruth. It wastheirtruth. It was never mine.”
He shakes his head, every rigid muscle ready to strike as he stands there like a bronze statue. Ihatethat my body reacts with lust instead of fury. I’m so angry, and yet, all I want to do is shove him against the counter and own him. I know what he feels like, tastes like, which makes every second in his presence torture when I can’t have him.
“I was a cancer,” he says in a low, gritty voice. “And now I’m fucking poison. So no, I’m not going to apologize for doing what I did. I’d do it again. Over and over if it meant you’d have the life you’re supposed to have.”
“The lifeyouchose for me!”
“The lifeyoudeserve! Look around you, Isabel. Before I came back, you had everything going for you. A career lined up, a golden ticket to The Hills… For the first time in your existence, all you had to worry about was yourself and your dreams. No toxic parents or unfair burdens and responsibilities. Just you and your incredible potential. You were doing it, Iz. Everything you always wanted, everything we all knew you could if you got the chance.”
I reach for his arm but he pulls away. I don’t think his anger is for me, though. It’s for himself, for the monster he thinks he is.
“Then I show up, and it’s high school all over again. Once again, you’re jeopardizing everything you’ve worked for because ofmydrama,mymistakes. Choosing me over everything else, and for what? What’s the great reward for throwing it all away?”
“You!” I cry, moving forward. “My reward isyou,Tristan.”
His response freezes on his lips as his eyes fill with the opposite of what I want. Not love or joy—pain. That’s what my love is to him—agony—and something cracks inside me. He doesn’t think he deserves me, but I don’t know how to live without him.
“Tristan,” I say softly, approaching him.
He closes his eyes, his chest rising and falling in labored breaths. How can someone look so stunning and tragic at the same time?
“I can’t be your prince, Isabel,” he says in a broken voice. “I’m the reason those fairytale horror stories exist in the first place.”
“No. You’re neither of those things. And I’m not a helpless princess who needs to be saved.”
His expression softens as he studies me. I gaze into his eyes, letting myself get lost this time. It’s all I want. Why can’t he see that? It’s always been him, always will be. It doesn’t even matter which of us is right about this pointless argument.
“This doesn’t end well, Iz,” he whispers in a defeated tone.
“That’s because it’s not supposed to end,” I whisper back.
I reach up and spread my palm over his cheek. Heat and light burst through me when I see him losing the battle with himself.
“Isabel.”
No. This isn’t just his story.
I pull his head down and kiss him before his demons can stop it. His immediate surrender tells me everything I need to know, and I press closer, backing him into the counter. His body is heaven against mine. Warm, hard, strong and vulnerable at the same time. Our kiss intensifies as I skim my other hand over his chest and down his stomach. He’s already so hard, so desperate for this—forus. I know it.
I push my fingers beneath the waistband of his sweatpants and shove them down. He grips the edge of my shirt, and I help him pull it over my head. This is the way it’s supposed to be. Skin-on-skin. My contours tailored to his. Why can’t he see how perfectly we fit together?
His lips, his tongue, I want it all as I devour him, both hands framing his head and guiding him where I need him. He flips us around until it’s my back against the counter, and a slight whimper escapes me at how good it feels to have him pressed into me. He pushes his hips into mine, and I gasp at the blistering surge that’s not nearly enough. I respond with the same motion, again and again, until he’s breathless and desperate as well.
“Let’s go to my room,” I rasp through our kisses.
It seems to physically hurt him as he pulls back and studies me. I trace his cheek, his jaw, his gorgeous lips as he searches my face. Holding my breath, I silently plead with him to give in. After an excruciating pause, he nods, although he still seems hesitant. I push away from the counter and drag him toward my room before he can change his mind.
I close the door behind me, but my excitement fades at the expression on his face.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” I ask.
He doesn’t say anything, just continues studying me like he’s trying to memorize every detail of my face. It sends a chill through me.
