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“Making it seem like it’s something it isn’t.”
“Okay so tell me what it is then.”
He sat up, looking me right in the face. “I’m Tristan Grimes. When I was sixteen years old, I met Yvonne, who I thought was the love of my life. When we were seventeen, we fucked up, had a kid. I didn’t have shit else going for me, so as soon as I was old enough, I joined the military as a means to take care of my little instant family. To that end… it worked out, I guess. Me and Yvonne did not – we don’t fit together romantically as adults, but that’s my homie. We do not still fuck around when we get bored, damn,” he chuckled.
“I didn’t even say anything!” I insisted, which only made him laugh harder.
“It was all over your face, as soon as I saidhomie.”
Fine.
Maybe it was.
“I know you have no reason to believe that shit, especially since youjustfound out I even had a kid, but… you asked what it was, and that’s it. You’re interested in me, and I’m interested in you. That’s it.”
“Do you think if you repeat that enough times, it’ll be true?”
He sucked his teeth. “Temp, stop playing.”
“Stop calling meTemp.”
“Do you not likethatnickname, or no nicknames period?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” I countered. “I said stop saying it.”
“Why?”
“Because nicknames are for… lovers, and friends, and family, and hell… people whoactuallyknow each other. And as we’ve established, I don’t know you. You don’t know me.”
“Right, and that’s an error I’m doing my damndest to correct, if you’d stop trying to cut me off at the knees. What’s so wrong with some mutual interest between us?” he asked, his handsome face pulled into an attentive scowl as he waited for an answer I didn’t have.
“I should go.”
I said that, but didn’t move until Tristan nodded. “Let me walk you.”
Once again, I found myself grateful for the hint of coolness in the air – it was what I needed to dampen all the inconvenient feelings this night had ignited. Between that fucking poem, the drinks, and Tristan’s undivided attention, my face was hot and my mind was reeling, and I truly wasn’t sure what to do with myself.
I had no idea what I was doing.
Atall.
“Please tell me you at least had a better time tonight than when ol’ boy put his hands on you?” Tristan asked, speaking for the first time since we stepped outside. The walk across the street had been quiet, which I didn’t mind.
I was still trying to figure this all out.
“What do you meanat least? Do I seem like I had a bad time?”
“Well, considering the way you were suddenly ready to go, I thought I’d said the wrong thing or something.”
I let out a sigh, pressing my back to the little inset frame of the candle shop door. “Thewrong thingis pretty subjective.”
“So what I said was fine, you just weren’t trying to hear it?” he asked, leaning against the opposite side, facing me. “I mean, that’s what I’m hearing.”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “Or… maybe I’m tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Me either,” Tristan nodded. “So we’ve got something in common.”
I huffed. “Somehow, I doubt our reasons for not being able to sleep are the same.”
