by R. K. Lilley
“My nose is running! My mouth is burning!”
It took a while, but when I felt recovered enough, I whirled on him. “That was awful. I can’t believe you made me do that.”
His eyes were twinkling; he couldn’t stop smiling. “You know I adore you, but there are times when I just like to torture you. It makes me happy.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I focused on the obnoxious part and ignored the part that made my stupid heart pound faster. “Well you don’t have to look so satisfied about it!”
There it was, that most Troublesome smile. “Oh, boo, you of all people should know that this isn’t how I look when I’m satisfied.”
I supposed I’d walked right into that one. Infuriatingly, I blushed. “Don’t you use that tone on me,” I warned, but it was so feeble that I knew it didn’t faze him.
We watched our show while the cake baked. He behaved himself, staying on his couch. I didn’t even have to insist. He just did it. I eyed him suspiciously all the while, not trusting it.
We were eating his chocolate cake when I caught him staring at me.
Not just staring. Eating me up. He was gazing at me with an unabashed longing in his eyes that I couldn’t let stand. I could only take so much.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I told him, setting down my fork, my voice turned as cold as I could manage.
He kept doing it, until his faced transformed into a too warm smile, a soft, affectionate stare.
“Like what?” he asked, and I knew that he was toying with me.
Torturing us both just to get a taste of the old feelings.
“You know. I will leave. I mean it.”
“I’m not doing anything. I’ve just…missed you. I’m glad to spend time with you again.”
I knew he was full of it. “We can’t go back, Tristan. We can’t take any of it back. We can’t pretend that you are just you, and I am just me. There is too much bad history between us to pretend.”
Something passed over his face. It was hard to name all of the things I saw there with just one brief glimpse. Pain, regret, hope?
I discounted it all, even while I felt it myself.
“This is nostalgia that you’re feeling. It is transient. It will go away.”
He swallowed hard, looking anguished for one brief moment before he washed his features back into that soft smile. “For you, maybe. But not for me. Want to know how I know?”
I started shaking my head, but the question had been rhetorical. He was going to tell me, regardless. “Because it never went away. Nostalgia suggests that the feelings are coming back, and they can’t do that, when they never went away.”
I couldn’t breathe.
I stood up, then started to look around, trying to remember where I’d left my bag, and what I needed, before I got out of there.
He stood, his hands going out in front of him, as though in appeal. “I’m sorry. That was out of line. I’ll behave myself, just don’t leave yet, not when you’re upset like this, okay?”
“We should make another don’t list, cause this is already getting out of hand.”
He laughed, long and hard.
I didn’t mean it to come out as a punch line, but hell, it was a punch line. I shook my head, and I couldn’t hold back a baffled smile. “I’m doing my level best here, but you need to promise me you’ll get a grip. No more of those impossible looks, okay?
He didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, yes, of course. I can do that. Just don’t shut me out again.”
We finished the cake, and he walked me out to my car. He behaved himself, mostly, not kissing me, instead folding me into his chest for a long hug. He inhaled deeply once, as though he were about to say something, but he held it back.
“I still taste cinnamon,” I said into his chest.
He laughed and I smiled.
I was curling up in my own bed when I realized that I’d still never gotten that tour of his house.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
He came by the gallery the next day, wanting to cook me dinner again.
I put him off. It wasn’t easy. Not to make myself do it or to get him to accept it.
I agreed to share a quick bite to eat with him after my shift and before his show, but not for three more days, and not at his house, but somewhere public.
It wasn’t what he wanted. He was used to bigger concessions from me, but he took it, believing I was resolute.
I was relieved when he did, because my resolution had been wearing more thinly than he’d realized.
I was a little shocked, and not altogether pleased, when I didn’t hear from him for those three days. That messed with my head, and I had to wonder if that had been his intent, because it had me obsessing about him more than ever.
It made me wish I hadn’t said three days. He didn’t have to do a thing but stay away, and I saw the error of my ways.
Why had I thought I didn’t want to see him for three days? That small amount of time with silence on his end had me realizing that I hadn’t expected not to see him for those three days, and that’s why it’d been so easy. He may have been playing some game by staying away, but I’d clearly been playing a game, when I’d told him to. The ‘Who wants it more?’ game is what I would have called it if I had to give it a name.
How quickly we fell back into the old, addictive patterns. The scary part of that? Even looking at it that way, I didn’t so much as consider not seeing him again.
Of course, I went to great pains to look my best those long three days later. Hair—loose, smoothed and then tousled. Makeup—heavy on the dark eye and soft on the pink lip.
I wore an airy, lightweight, sunset orange knife-pleat maxi dress with a slim gold belt. The hem was so long it nearly brushed the floor. It was comfortable, but the thin, gauzy material, and the belted waist made it cling in a way that upped the fit from relaxed to straight up seductive.
It was a very trendy look at the moment, but managed to make me feel sexy and feminine.
I was happy I’d gone to the trouble when Tristan set eyes on me, and his face went a touch slack. He was in my personal space in a flash, restaurant forgotten, outside world forgotten, even though it was just the briefest hug. Still, the embrace lasted long enough for him to get a few hits in.
“Still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever set eyes on,” he said into my ear. He turned his head, kissed my cheek, then took a step back, his face set back into neutral lines.
We were seated instantly at the casino’s upscale steakhouse instantly. This restaurant fell on Tristan’s side of the casino, and the hostess knew him on sight.
I ordered a small cut of prime rib, and he ordered a large one. And then we just looked at each other.
I studied his tailored suit, wondering what the hell was up with his wardrobe. I’d seen plenty of pictures of him over the years, and he was never dressed the way he’d been dressing every single time I’d seen him lately.
Hell, even his billboard out front had him in his signature poured on T-shirt and edible jeans.
“Are you dressed like that for your show?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Sure. I can dress however I like for that. I’m in charge.”
I gave him a level stare. “Okay, what is up with your clothes? You’ve been dressed up every time I’ve seen you.”
“So have you.”
“I dress like this for work. I don’t have a choice.”
He shrugged again. “I can dress professional, too.”
Something he’d said before came to mind. “You said something, a few days ago, about me going out with professionals. Is that what this is all about? Are you dressing like this just for me? Tell me I’m imagining that.”
“You’re imagining it.”
I glared. “Tell me if you are or not. Don’t just parrot what I said.”
He tugged at his collar, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “It’s not a big deal. I’d just like for you to see that I can be accommodating and understand that
I’m not the guy I was six years ago.”
I sucked in a few deep breaths, my face getting so stiff that it felt like it might crack. “Tristan…”
Our food arrived, and I began to cut into my steak.
“Like I said, it’s not a big deal. Let’s drop it.” He paused. “You should come see my show tonight.”
I chewed on my lips. “No, thank you.” I couldn’t even come up with an excuse.
He took a few bites, looking up to watch me while he chewed.
Finally, he wiped his mouth and asked, “Aren’t you the least bit curious about it?”
I debated for a minute. “I’ve seen it. It’s very good, amazing in fact, but you know that.”
He just blinked at me, and then stared for the longest time. “You really came to see it? That’s unexpected, I have to say. When was it, and where did you sit?”
I stared back. “You ask the oddest questions. What does it matter where I sat?”
“It will tell me what kind of a show you got, and it can be a very different show, depending on where you sit. And the when, well, of course I want to know how long it took for your curiosity to get the best of you.”
“Center stage, three rows back. It was nearly a year ago, just a few months after I moved back into town.”
He studied me for a minute, then went back to eating.
“Those are great seats. I’ll have to put you in the balcony next time, though. That’s a different experience altogether.”
We were nearly finished before either of us spoke again.
“Were you alone?” asked Tristan, a tense thread in his voice.
I took a long drink of water and finished chewing my food. “Excuse me?”
“When you came and saw my act.” He spoke very slowly, tasting the words, as though he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know. “Were you alone, when you watched me, three rows back, center stage?”
“No.” I watched him when I said it, felt his flinch with him.
I was familiar with what he was thinking and feeling right then. I’d thought and felt the same, when I’d watched his show, performing parts of it with a woman he’d been sleeping with for years.
“I don’t suppose I should assume that you went with Bev or Frankie, huh?”
Why did it feel like a betrayal, when I looked at it through his eyes? Why did I feel like I needed to explain myself?
Because I’d known, even then, that he’d want me to see him perform, but also, I’d known very well, that he wouldn’t want me to be with another man when I did it.
I suddenly felt just awful about it. Which was so stupid.
The feeling was not rational, but it was powerful. Enough so I felt the need to offer him an excuse.
“He surprised me with tickets. That’s the only reason I went to see you with him.”
His jaw clenched, and he tossed down his napkin, nostrils flared. “And by him, you mean…”
“Yes, Andrew.”
“Don’t. Please, don’t say his name to me.”
That had me bristling. “Tone it down, will you? Don’t ask the question if you don’t want the answer. You haven’t been an angel yourself. In fact, if we’re keeping score, you have a lot more names in your column that I don’t ever want to hear you utter.”
He didn’t say a word, but his eyes screamed at me. This was a hurtful subject, for both of us, and we needed to get way better at avoiding it.
When he finally spoke again, his face was composed, his voice calm. “Well, you need to come see the show again, alone. That’s all there is to it. I’ll snag you a balcony for tonight.”
“How about this? I’ll come see you, but not on a night when you’re performing with anyone that you have fucked or are fucking.”
It came out harsh, but that was how I meant it. This was harsh stuff, for both of us. And I was not going to sit through another one of his shows, with fucking Mona assisting him.
He took a deep breath. “Jesus. I’m not fucking any of the assistants, if that’s what you mean.”
I set my jaw hard before I could say her name. “Not even Mona?”
He winced, and I had to restrain from shouting out an immature, ‘Ah hah’.
“Not even her.”
Well that was something, but certainly not everything. There was so much wiggle room in ‘not fucking.’ It could mean he’d only stopped yesterday, for all I knew. “I said, have fucked, too.”
He looked unhappy. “Okay, I’ll get you set up in the balcony on another day, when she’s not working, but I want to come by your house when I’m done tonight.”
“No.” I didn’t elaborate or offer any excuses.
“We’ll play a round of ‘tell me something.’”
That was tempting, but not quite tempting enough. “God, I almost forgot about that stupid game.” I fought not to smile. “But no.”
“I want to see your house. I want the tour.”
I snorted. “Not likely. I’ve been to your house twice, and I haven’t even seen the second floor. You aren’t getting a tour of mine until I get one of yours.”
“Okay. Come by my house tonight. I’ll give you a key, and you can let yourself in and wait for me.”
“No.”
“Okay. Back to the original plan. I’ll be by your place later tonight.”
“I work in the morning. If you want to come by after a performance, at least do it when I’m off the next day.”
He smiled big. “Tomorrow night then. That’s perfect.”
I glared at him. He’d done it again. That tactic seemed to work on me every time. “You can only get away with that trick so many times before I stop falling for it.”
“I can live with that. I’ll just move onto another one. You’re forgetting just how many tricks I have up my sleeve.”
I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t seem to stop smiling.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
DANIKA
I found myself challenged with the issue of non-dressing up for his visit to my house. Obviously, by the time he showed up after his show, it would be late at night, and I’d look like I was trying too hard if I was still dressed up for work.
I changed my clothes four times in the hours I waited for him.
Also, I typed out three texts to him, canceling our plans, because what were we thinking? This wasn’t even dinner, which was bad enough.
This was straight-up booty call hours.
In the end, no texts were sent.
I was only human, and I wanted to see him.
Why did he have to be so much fun on top of everything else? It was just so unfair. And so addictive.
I put on a pair of gray sweatpants and a slouchy, off the shoulder gray sweatshirt. This was outfit number one, my ‘It’s past my bedtime, and I’m not even trying to be sexy for you’ getup. I put my hair up in a messy ponytail, put on makeup that made it look like I wasn’t wearing makeup, and then stared at myself in the full-length mirror in my bedroom for a solid five minutes.
I went into my home office and caught up on work for less than ten minutes before I headed back into my closet and changed.
I switched into some white cheer shorts, but left the sweatshirt on. This was outfit number two, my ‘I’m dressing down, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be a little bit sexy’ getup.
That one lasted less than five minutes.
I changed into a half shirt that barely covered my breasts (I had to dig deep in my closet to find this one) and rolled the waistband of my white shorts up, making them miniscule. I took my bra off and my hair down. This was outfit number three, my ‘Let’s see how long you can last until we’re fucking tonight’ getup.
That outfit lasted nearly an hour, and my vibrator got some serious attention just because of where my mind went when I thought of how he’d react to seeing me dressed in it.
I buried that outfit back into my closet after I took it off.
Next I changed into a loose, pale pink, lace edged camisole with a built in br
a, and found (after much digging) my favorite old pair of shorts. The ones that read ‘sassy pants’ on the butt. I’d had them forever. Tristan loved them, I knew. This was outfit number four, my ‘Yes, it’s sexy, but at least I didn’t have to masturbate for a half hour after I put it on’ getup. This one ended up being the winner. I left my hair down, and glossed my lips up three times in the five-minute window when I was expecting Tristan, before he actually showed up.
I opened my door to him with trembling hands and a racing heart.
We smiled at each other, him looking too devastating, still dressed in his suit, me in my thoughtful loungewear that I could tell he appreciated at a glance.
He stepped inside without a word, heading straight into my living room, which was directly accessed from my small entry hall.
He shrugged off his jacket, his back to me, and tossed it on the back of one of a set of armchairs. He rolled up his sleeves as he turned back around, then, looking up at me, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt. It was baby blue today.
“How was your show?” I breathlessly asked.
He strode to me, hands going to my hips. It was so unexpected that it made me jump.
He smiled that heart-stopping smile. “Relax. I’m just saying hi.” With that, he pulled me closer, putting his arms over my shoulders, and kissed the top of my head.
Since my face was already there, I let it rest against his chest, rubbing my cheek against the swollen flesh of his pectoral. I kept my hands at my sides, attempting some form of restraint, no matter how feeble.
He pulled back, then stepped back, shoving his hands in his pocket. He watched me, keeping his expression neutral.
I wasn’t sure what to do. “You hungry?” I asked him.
“If you’re cooking, yes.”
I led him into my kitchen, and started pulling various items out of my fridge. I knew how much he ate, so I’d planned for feeding him, though I’d only prepped, not cooked, just in case.
He made an appreciative noise when he realized what I was planning. He went and preheated my oven without having to be asked.
