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As I finally come down from the high, I break the kiss. It’s not fear, it’s… I want them both, but I don’t know how or when.
Is that how it will always be? Is that how this will work?
I want to make sure that I want to do it. Our panting is the only sound in the apartment. Telling him that I love him feels insignificant to what my heart is sensing at the moment. My emotions go beyond anything I thought possible.
I open my eyes, our gazes lock, and I want so much more. “Coop,” is the only word that comes out.
“Butterfly, we’ll wait, I swear.” He kisses the side of my neck and envelops me tighter, as if trying to fuse us into one person.
I’m about to promise him something, anything, so he’ll continue to touch me as my skin is desperate for it, but the buzz of the intercom makes me jump. The sound doesn’t startle Coop at all.
“Why would he ring the bell?” Coop releases me, walking toward the kitchen.
“He?”
“Matt said he’d try to take a break but couldn’t promise much. I’m hoping it’s him.” When he arrives in the kitchen, he turns on the monitor and checks the lobby camera, but only Joe, the concierge, is there. “Weird, should I call Joe and ask what he wanted?”
I wave a hand. “No, I’m sure he signed for a package or something like that. It happens.”
Matt:Be there soon. Save me some food.
“You’re right. He’s coming.” I grin because even though I have to catch up with my jewelry-making business on my day off, I’d rather spend it with them. Chris likes to close the office on Wednesdays and opens half a day on Saturdays. It gives options to those who can’t be there on weekdays.
“Let’s feed you. I brought Thai food—Panang curry for my lady.” The doorbell rings before he can add what else he brought. I hope he brought Pad Thai, and I can steal some of it.
There’s a knock on the door. “Tristan.” A woman’s voice follows the knock.
“Fuck!” That growl doesn’t sound good at all. Coop drops my hand and opens the door.
A couple stands outside the door. The bony woman with short dark hair and a condescending sneer studies me. I do the same. With her primp, tailored skirt suit, she could be a taller, brunette version of Hilary Clinton.
The distinguished-looking man next to her is clearly an older version of Coop. Grayish hair, hardened eyes. Unlike his son, he’s clean-shaven. The couple could easily pose for a country club ad—a Brookstone catalog.
“Mother, Father, what are you doing here?”
Fuck. His parents.
Seriously, this week should not exist.
What now?
ChapterThirteen
Tristan
My mother calledme several times after Victoria visited and after Feythreatenedme.
Father only emailed me with a warning:It better not be true. You’re moving back to Connecticut at the end of the year and putting that ring on Victoria’s finger soon.
I ignored him, the same way I’ve avoided Mother’s calls.
At the moment, my life is complicated enough. Taking the tightrope to cross to the other side and find happiness is a fucking hard task that I can’t handle when they constantly breathe down my neck.
“What are you doing here?” I repeat as their gaze’s rest on my girl.
I almost snort when I look at her. They’re going to eat her alive. Her wavy hair is all over the place. Yesterday she colored her tips a deep pink, which is just right for my colorful woman. But not for the Coopersons. Her knitted crop top barely covers her torso, revealing the inscription of the tattoo on her right side.
She’s wearing tiny shorts highlighting her long legs. The ones covered in paint, glitter, and gunk from whatever craft she’s been working with today.
