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“Kim said you had a hard time. Is that what she was talking about?”
His gaze lifts to mine for a few seconds before peeling away again.
I’m both relieved and disappointed when he seems to shut down.
“I’m gonna go for a run,” he says, pushing up from the couch.
“Yeah, you’re good at that, huh. Running from people?” I quip before I can stop. I’ve been watching him run from me my whole life. The last time he did it in front of the entire school and humiliated me.
He doesn’t respond as he pulls on his sneakers with rough movements. I see the frustration on his face before he turns toward the door.
“Aren’t you glad I did?” he asks coldly. “Make sure you ice your wrist.”
I’m still fuming when I hear the front door open an hour later. Assuming it’s Tristan returning from his run, I remain hidden in my room, pouring over the atomic physics assignment I’ve been struggling with for two days. Pierce texted three times with more apologies, but I haven’t responded yet, still angry about what happened.
I know Kim doesn’t like him. She never did, even when we first started seeing each other and things were all rainbows and unicorns. She thinks he’s narcissistic and controlling, but she doesn’t see him when he’s sweet. Like the time he paid for the plane tickets to visit my grandmother at her care home in Florida or the time he had flowers delivered to each location I visited throughout the day on our anniversary. I still don’t know how he managed that one.
He comes from a different world, an existence where spoiled privilege has taught him another set of rules and values. I’m not naïve. I know he can be a jerk and sometimes crosses the line, but no one’s perfect. He accepts me as I am, flaws and all, so I do my best to accept his.
But this one… I don’t know. Tonight was different. I have a lot to think about, which is why my spat with Tristan didn’t help my sour mood.
My door is ajar, so my suspicions about Tristan are confirmed when he walks by and enters the bathroom across the hall. He doesn’t glance my way, so I don’t think he realizes I’m here. Definitely for the best since I have no interest in another confrontation.
I swing my feet off the bed to close my door—and freeze.
Motionless, I watch through the opening as Tristan tugs his sweaty shirt over his head. He tosses it on the floor, twisting just enough to show off a torso straight out of any cologne commercial, and not even a creative one. This is one of those cheesy ads with the unnecessary horse and random French phrases. You know, where the dude istoohot to the point of not looking real? Except this one is real. So fucking real.
My lungs constrict when he turns toward the shower and pushes down his shorts and boxer briefs, exposing everything from behind. Did prison make him forget about doors?
You shouldn’t be doing this, Iz.
I shouldn’t but I am. He should’ve closed the door but he didn’t.
And just as I feared, the man is perfection. My god. How is it possible to be so beautiful? Broad, muscular shoulders taper to a slim waist and an ass that has been toned by way more than running.
This is so wrong. You’re such a creep.
Maybe. I’ve also fantasized about this moment my entire life.
Defined ridges flex with even the slightest movements, like when he rips back the shower curtain… and angles to turn on the water.
My mouth goes dry as I study a profile tailor-made for an adult film poster. Tristan Haverford, teenage heartthrob, has become a full-grown masterpiece.
“Hey, is there a trick to evening out the water temperature?” he calls, tilting his head in my direction. Vibrant brown eyes ignite with heat and humor as he meets my gaze through two open doors that should be shut.
Except. They. Are. Not.
I swallow and do my best to form an icy response, but there’s no point. He knows I’m mesmerized. Too on fire for anything closeto the chilly reaction I want.
“You mean, how it’s always either too hot or too cold?” I say.
He nods, straightening and… no.Please, please, please don’t.
He does.
I’m paralyzed as he turns to display a well-defined chest, ridged abdominals, strong, muscular thighs, and every glorious part in between. There’s no protection for my eyes and pounding heart that drink him in like they’ve never seen a naked man before.
Because they haven’t. Not a man like that, anyway.
