by Nikki Castle
I bark out a laugh and grab the shot glass. "You're not wrong." I raise the glass and turn toward Tristan. "What are we cheers-ing?"
He stares thoughtfully at the clear liquid, then turns his soul-piercing gaze back to me. Without breaking eye contact, he lifts his glass and says, "To being willing to gut anyone that fucks with the people we care about."
A shiver runs through me at the possessiveness of his words. In the back of my mind, it occurs to me how different this possession feels from Steve's.
We both throw our shots back. I cringe, then sigh happily at the warm feeling that flows through me with the aftertaste.
I fidget nervously with the shot glass as I try to think of something to say. Now that I've said my thank you, I'm not quite sure how to keep being around Tristan.
"So, uh, any fights coming up?" I ask awkwardly.
Tristan is silent for a moment, then he chuckles. I twist my head toward him. "What?" I snap.
His arrogant smirk is back in full force as he motions to the bartender again. "You really don't know how to have a normal conversation with me, do you?"
I squirm under his curious gaze and turn back to my shot glass. "Nice Tristan is unnerving as fuck," I eventually mumble.
He barks a laugh at my admission. "I can go back to being an asshole if that would make you more comfortable," he grins. "I could tell you that dress is way too short because your ass is too big."
My head snaps back toward him again, this time with the deadliest glare I can muster. "You can go fuck yourself," I grumble. "My ass is fantastic."
I don't miss his lazy, lingering glance down to the bottom of my dress, across my exposed thigh. I tug at my dress self-consciously.
He doesn't miss the motion. His eyes dart back to my face, grin still firmly in place. "Okay, so no-go on that idea, too. We can figure this out, Remy." He turns his body to face me fully and leans his elbow casually on the bar, cocking his head slightly. "How about this: I'll let you be your usual, charming self and give you full reign to insult me however you want. Assume whatever you want about me and I'll tell you if it's true or not.”
My eyes narrow as I study him suspiciously. "How would I know if you're telling the truth?"
He nods at the bartender delivering the tequila shots before sliding one over toward me. "Guess you'll just have to trust me," he answers with a grin. He lets me glare at him for another moment before grabbing his shot and nodding at mine. "What's it gonna be? Wanna play with me?"
I turn toward the new shot glass to hide the blush that flames across my face at his bold words. "If you think I'm going to hold back, you're delusional," I grumble.
His grin widens. "I would expect nothing less." My breath catches as he leans in closer. Clinking his glass to mine, he whispers, "Do your worst, Remy baby." Then he slams the shot without even a grimace.
I throw one last glare his way before downing my own. I can feel the alcohol buzzing its way through my body and I can already tell it's about to loosen my tongue more than it ever should around Tristan. But right now, I can't bring myself to give a fuck. I welcome the return of my confidence. Turning my body completely toward him and taking my time crossing my legs, I lean against the bar and study him thoughtfully. I smirk when he tries to hide his glance at my legs.
"The fighting and arrogance are an overcompensation for a tiny dick," I start with a straight face and way too much confidence.
Tristan's eyes widen in surprise for a split second before he bursts into laughter.
"I'm not sure why I expected anything different," he says with a chuckle after he's calmed down. I raise my eyebrow, waiting for his answer. The cocky grin on his face appears right back where it was a moment ago. "No, I do not have a tiny dick. But good to know that's the first part of me your brain goes to."
I roll my eyes before waving at the bartender for another order of shots. I ignore Tristan's amused glance.
Turning back toward the focus of my assumptions, I take another guess. "Your older brother got all the love in the family, so you got used to demanding attention by being obnoxious and arrogant."
This time he's the one that rolls his eyes. "Again with the arrogance," he mutters. But I frown when I notice the sudden tightness in his body and the lack of his usual flighty grin.
"Not true," he finally answers. But when he doesn't offer an explanation, I decide to take the obvious cue that I've struck a nerve and move on.
"Jiu-jitsu is the biggest weakness in your fight game," I guess again.
I'm rewarded with the return of his trademark smirk. "Not true," he says again.
My eyes narrow suspiciously. "Wrestling is the biggest weakness in your fight game."
He sighs in resignation. "True. But don't be calling my competition with this information."
I smirk in victory just as the bartender appears with our third round of shots. "Just keep putting them on his tab," I tell the guy with a coy smile. I hear Tristan snort as he shakes his head. I slide one of the shots over to him, thoroughly enjoying the comfortable buzz that’s now running through me. One more drink will put me at my favorite level of just barely drunk.
I clink my glass against his and throw back the shot without a second thought, sighing contentedly at the burn. I ignore Tristan's appreciative glance.
Once he's taken his shot, I take another guess, emboldened even further by the alcohol. "You don't actually enjoy drinking. You only do it for one of two reasons: to shove down negative emotions or to make sex more enjoyable with the plastic fuck bunnies you love so much."
His eyes widen again at my bluntness. Either that or I nailed it again with my first assumption.
He ignores the first one and instead focuses on the second, a grin once again stretching across his face. "You seem to love asking about my sexual activities, Remy. Why is that?"
I glare at him, refusing to dignify that with an answer. "Just answer the question, Tristan," I growl.
If possible, his grin actually grows in its smugness level. "True. I have my reasons for drinking. And amplifying the pleasure of sex is one of them." His eyes drop down to rake across my body, from the subtle exposure of my cleavage to the very exposed length of my legs.
My breath catches at his heated glance. I squeeze my thighs together, desperate to tamp down on the rush of lust that runs through me at the obvious direction of his thoughts.
Something's changed between us in the past few days—Tristan no longer looks past me. Where before I was just Jax's annoying childhood friend, the shower incident seems to have reminded him that I'm a woman. I should've known his male brain would be that predictable.
And although I see him as exactly the same arrogant womanizer that I always have—except maybe a little more protective than I anticipated—I also can't deny that having his undivided sex-gaze on me ignites something deep inside me. I've always known he's ridiculously hot; his athletic body and piercing blue eyes, coupled with his cocksure attitude, melts the panties off of women for a reason. But I've never had the full force of it directed at me.
It's making me squirm.
I draw in a ragged breath, starting to second guess my decision to ask sexual questions in this game. It's getting harder to hide how affected I am from Tristan's blatant once-over.
"Why so interested in my sex life, Remy?" he purrs, leaning closer. His gaze darts across my face, and lands on my lips. "You can say it.”
"I'm not," I blurt out. "I'm just playing your game."
A smile slowly slides across his face. "I'm beginning to think you might actually know how to play," he murmurs. And I think I might combust from the heat in his words.
At that moment I think the last shot finally makes its way through my body because a surge of confidence drives a feline smile onto my lips. "You have no idea how well I can play," I purr.
His eyes widen in delighted shock.
Taking advantage of his momentary speechlessness, I push away from the bar and step off the barstool. "Order another rou
nd. I'm going to use the bathroom and then maybe you can do me." I grin when his eyes go even wider. "Make assumptions about me, I mean."
I turn away before he has the chance to say anything else. I couldn't stop the extra sway in my hips even if I wanted to. I’ll just blame it on the alcohol.
I take my time in the bathroom, using the extra minutes to touch up my makeup but mostly to get my heart rate under control again.
As much as I know nothing can happen between us, I can't deny that exchanging drunken banter with Tristan is entertaining. Of course, the clear attraction of a hot guy is a boost to my ego, but there's something extra appealing about that attention coming from the bane of my existence who's only ever looked at me like a little girl. I send a mental thank you to Hailey for my outfit.
As I walk back toward our spot at the bar, I realize from across the room that my seat has been taken over by a very attractive blonde—that is now hanging all over Tristan.
I frown. I was only gone for a few minutes, and he's already replaced me? Annoyance starts to sizzle in my veins, despite knowing that Tristan can’t help that he’s a magnet for women, especially in bars. It makes no difference that we were actually having a decent conversation.
I study the girl. She's easily one of the prettiest girls in the room, with a model's body and the tiniest silver sequin club dress to show it off. Her long legs are further elongated by the stilettos she's wearing. Her makeup is perfect, with dark vampy lips and sultry, smoky eyes, and her blonde hair is pulled back in a high pony that exposes her long neck and thin shoulders. She's taken over my seat and is currently leaning so far into Tristan that her breasts are pressed flat against the side of his chest. She has one arm wrapped around his neck, her other hand tracing patterns on his forearm. She whispers something into his ear.
Tristan whips his head to the side before she can kiss him—and immediately locks eyes with me. I realize then that his body language is stiff—he’s not touching her at all—and that he’s actually trying to lean away from her and back against the bar. When his eyes meet mine, they almost seem to be pleading.
My frown deepens as I look between the two of them. There's something off about her…
And then it hits me. It's his recent ex, Sabrina. The one that's still not over him and that runs into him a little too often for it not to be suspicious.
I rack my memory for what I know about her. I vaguely remember Tristan telling Jax about how she was great in the beginning: she understood that he wasn’t looking for anything and was content with just a physical relationship. He liked that she wasn’t trying to “tame him” like most girls do. But after a few weeks it turned out she was actually playing a very different game. Instead of trying to lock Tristan down, she was trying to hang on his coattails until he made it to the UFC, where she was planning to find a “real fighter” to seduce. She just wanted to be a WAG. Tristan broke it off with her after he overheard her telling a friend as much.
From across the bar, I watch her press against Tristan, and I realize that she clearly hasn't given up on that idea.
He looks at me again, still pleading. When he mouths 'help me,' I roll my eyes and throw my hands up in defeat.
I don't know if it's because I feel grateful for how he protected Hailey or if I just hate the sight of Sabrina hanging all over him, but I decide to play along.
I saunter up to Tristan. Ignoring Sabrina completely, I straddle Tristan's hips and wrap my arms around his neck.
"Baby," I pout dramatically. "I thought we were leaving."
Tristan's expression is equal parts shock and amusement, but he contains himself enough not to let it show. He slides his hands over my hips and pulls me a little closer, forcing me to arch my back. A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.
"I'm sorry, baby," he responds, and I can hear the sarcasm in the endearment. He knows I'm the last girl to ever call a guy baby. "You're right, I promised I'd take you home."
I smile seductively and lean forward, brushing my lips against his cheek. "Good, because there's something I want to try tonight," I purr, just loud enough for Sabrina to hear. I hear Tristan's sharp intake of air and feel his grip tighten on my hips. I smirk and lightly nip his earlobe before pulling away.
His eyes still sparkle with delight but now there's an intense fire smoldering behind them, as well. His stare tries to burn through my charade to see what's behind it, and for a moment I forget that I'm faking it all. I get lost in his gaze. For a few seconds, it feels like we're the only two people in the entire bar.
"Umm, who the fuck are you?" I hear from beside me. I turn startled eyes to a very angry looking Sabrina. Her arms are crossed and she's willing me to drop dead with her eyes.
"Oh. Hi. I'm Remy," I offer sweetly. "His girlfriend."
Her eyes narrow and I can practically see the steam coming out of her ears. "He's never mentioned you," she says tightly.
I shrug and turn back to Tristan with a sexy smile. "It's a new thing. But when it's this good…" I purr softly as I shift closer to him, "...you forget about everyone else."
As I watch, the fire in his eyes becomes a blazing inferno.
"Listen, slut—" Sabrina starts. But without waiting for the rest of her threat, I unwind myself from Tristan and step back. I grab his hand and tug gently.
"Come on, baby, let's get out of here," I whine. "The vibe in here is way too plastic." Tristan is one joke away from outright laughing at my poorly concealed insults, but he stands anyway.
Sabrina, on the other hand, reaches a whole new level of infuriated when I cut her off. She rips our hands apart and steps between Tristan and I, putting herself right in my face.
"You have no idea who you're dealing with," she snarls. "He would never pick an ugly dyke like you over someone like me. Just stop embarrassing yourself and go home."
Over her shoulder I see Tristan's nostrils flare with anger. He opens his mouth to say something, but I stop him with a slight shake of my head.
A crazy smile stretches across my face—as if I'm happy for the confrontation. "I know exactly who I'm dealing with," I tell her. "You're hardly the first attention whore that's tried to attach herself to his career. And trust me, honey, you're going to need more than fake words and a plastic rack to keep his attention." I hear snickering from around us. Shocker—our cat fight has drawn some attention. "I would recommend trying for one of the idiot narcissists in the amateur circuit. They're probably the only ones your act can fool."
Sabrina's eyes flare with anger and she opens her mouth to snap back at me. But once again I cut her off. "Stay the fuck away from Tristan," I snarl. "I don't want to see your desperate ass stalking him ever again. And if I do, or if you ever lay a hand on me again…" I step close enough to her that our noses almost touch. I don't even care that she's a few inches taller than me—I know how to straighten my shoulders to make myself seem dominant, even from below. Her eyes widen in fear. "…I will fuck you up so bad that you'll never be pretty enough for anyone, ever again."
I hold her terrified gaze, waiting patiently for her to look away first.
She takes a shaky step away from me, her eyes darting between Tristan and I. Then with a final attempt at appearing dignified, she straightens with a huff before turning and walking away. I watch her leave with a victorious grin plastered on my face.
"Holy shit," I hear Tristan whisper in shock. He looks at me with awe. "You actually got rid of her. I've been trying to do that for weeks."
I roll my eyes and take my seat at the bar again, trying very hard to forget how close Tristan and I were just a few moments ago. I try to will my heartrate to slow down. I even flag the bartender down for two shots, hoping that'll do the trick.
"Poor Tristan," I coo mockingly. "Too many women fawning over him." I flash a tight grin at his scowl.
"It's not funny," he grumbles. He sits down on the barstool next to me. "She was awful. I couldn't figure out how to get rid of her without an actual restraining order." He grins at
me, still looking impressed. "I had no idea I just had to sic Remy on her. I might need you to do that for a few other girls, too."
I glare at him before downing the double shot of tequila that just appeared in front of me. "You're a pig," I growl, wincing at the feel of the liquor's comforting burn. "I should've just let her have you."
I feel Tristan's body shift to face me. "Yeah, why didn't you let her have me?" he muses. "That's now the second woman you've driven away from me. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous."
I don't know if it's a placebo effect or if the tequila really has hit me already, but the extra dose of alcohol settles me into the category of perfectly tipsy—which is my favorite level of drunk, since I just end up happy and unable to give two shits about anything else.
Emboldened by the buzz running through my veins, I turn to study Tristan thoughtfully. "Maybe I was just trying to repay you for helping my sister," I answer honestly. I lean a little bit closer to whisper, "Maybe, out of the two of us, I'm not the one that's doing the chasing."
There's no longer any amusement in his eyes—the inferno from only a few minutes ago is back in full force. I suck in a breath at the intensity of being enveloped by his fire, unable to look away.
His eyes dart to my lips. The hunger in his gaze makes my heart start to beat faster.
I try to say something, anything, to break the spell, but no words come out. I lick my lips and try again.
At the sight of my tongue running along my bottom lip, a low growl slips from Tristan. His grip tightens around his shot glass. My breath catches when he starts to lean in.
"Damn, you two are just magnets for bar drama."
I jump, startled. Tristan and I quickly pull away from each other as we turn stunned eyes toward a very drunk Aiden.
He just chuckles. "First that guy went after Remy, then today Tristan's stalker shows up. You guys should be each other's bodyguards." And with that, he claps Tristan on the shoulder and walks away, completely oblivious to his interruption.
Fortunately, his intrusion is enough to shake me from whatever spell I was just under. I glance nervously at Tristan as I stand up. I'm about to be actually drunk in a few minutes and I feel like I need to get out of this bar.
