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My phone lit up. I had a bazillion texts from Layana, all along the lines ofyou have to comeandwe’re having so much funandit’s ladies drink free night.
Maybe I should meet her. I needed to get out of here and give myself some space from Tristan.
I grabbed a dress and my makeup bag, and took a quick shower. When I stepped out of the bathroom, Tristan’s face was hidden in shadow and I couldn’t tell if he was still awake.
“Tristan?” I asked softly.
He didn’t answer.
“Do you want to come with me to Pour Decisions? I’ve decided to go.”
He said nothing, clearly the only one of us who wasn’t ready to throw out reason and make all kinds of poor decisions.
SEVENTEEN
TRISTAN
“Ohmygosh,your face!”
Morgan’s animated voice pulled me from a dream I’d already forgotten. My everything hurt from sleeping on the floor. I opened my eyes and found Morgan down on the floor with me, her face hovering over mine.
Her breath was minty fresh. Her eyes crinkled with a barely suppressed grin.
It took all of my self-control not to stare at her breasts, which were only a chuckle away from brushing against my cheek. The collar of her purple blouse hung loose, allowing a straight shot from my eyeballs to her bright pink bra and the smooth swells of skin popping out.
Even with a single glance, my dick stirred to life. I forced myself to keep my eyes on hers.
“What’s wrong with my face?” I asked, shoving my hand down to adjust myself so she wouldn’t notice the effect she was having on me. “Did the swelling get worse?”
Don’t think about swells.I closed my eyes because if I didn’t, a man only had so much self-control.
“It’s better,” she said. “The puffiness is gone, or close to it.”
I opened my eyes.
Morgan rocked back onto her shins. “You have to see.”
An involuntary groan bellowed from my chest as I slowly peeled myself from the carpet and up to a seated position.
Morgan rose to her feet and offered me a hand. I waved her off, not trusting myself to touch her. I was already sporting a semi, no need to go full salute.
She turned on her heel, and I got a full look at her from behind—the intricate braided twist she’d put into her copper hair, the cinch of her waist and flare of her hips. Her toned thick thighs, bare beneath the high hem of her jean shorts.
I followed her into the bathroom, where I finally got a look at my true face for the first time.
It was hard, abrasive, marred with frown lines. I appeared to be in my mid-thirties, and not unattractive. Instead of uncovering a second green eye like I’d expected, I found a brown one. The set didn’t match. It was an unusual quirk, so unusual I should have known.
It was unsettling to stare into a mirror and feel no connection to the person staring back at me. I might as well be looking through a window at a stranger. Somehow this new revelation felt worse than having no memories.
Morgan looked up at me expectantly. “What do you think?”
“I look like I’ve had an unhappy life.”
She dropped her shoulders and said softly, “I think you look great.”
The compliment felt like it belonged to someone else, to the person whose face I was wearing, not to me.
I stared at my reflection, at the man with mismatched eyes and a sour set to his jaw. This was Tristan No-last-name. This was me.
