He’s right. The burning doesn’t last.
I wait some more.
The bliss that overtakes me isn’t instantaneous, but then, all of a sudden, I come alive.
I’m floating. Floating so high I’m flying.
I’m tingly. I’m senseless. I’m numb.
No more anxiety, no more fear, no more sadness.
No more bad feelings, period. Just a sense of purpose. A feeling that I’m now complete.
I’m somebody, now. Somebody you can see.
And this is what makes me, me.
Hazel
Music fills my head as I get off the bus in the center of town. It’s been five days since the DSGN party, and while Tristan and I have texted a little (yes, mostly dirty stuff), we haven’t been able to . . . hang out. I know it’s best for me to keep busy, which is why I plan to look for a second job.
But I still need to repay Tristan, both for the ride to the baby shower and for driving me home from the diner. So today I thought I’d surprise him before searching for employment.
And OK, it’s really just a shameless ploy to see him.
I walk up to the small construction office, which is nestled between a realtor’s office and a print shop, and breathe a quick sigh of relief that it’s still in the same spot. I pull my earbuds from my ears and tuck them into my bag. Holding a paper bag filled with homemade sandwiches in one hand and running my fingers through my hair with the other, I knock and hear, “Come in.”.
Mr. Turner is sitting behind a big wooden desk. He looks exactly the same as I remember. As he looks up and takes off his glasses I worry he won’t recognize me, but after only a second, recognition passes over his features.
“Hazel Blake?”
I nod and he stands up to greet me with a warm smile.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t remember me.” I chuckle nervously.
“How could I ever forget the girl who used to hang around all the time? Heck, you were around so much I thought I would have to start paying you.”
I smile at the memories of waiting for Tristan to get off work on nights and weekends. We’d sometimes grab a bite to eat, or just go somewhere and talk, but no matter what we did it always felt . . . perfect.
Mr. Turner continues, “What in the world brings you around this old place?”
“I was wondering if you could tell me where Tristan is working today. I brought him some lunch.” I hold up the paper bag as evidence of my claim.
Mr. Turner grins widely. “I should have guessed you’d be here to see him and not me. I didn’t realize you guys were together again.”
I wave my hands, causing the lunch bag to crinkle loudly. “Oh no, it’s not like that. We’re just friends.”
Mr. Turner studies me for a solid five seconds. “Of course. My mistake.” He sits back in his chair, puts his glasses on, and starts shuffling some papers on his desk. “I think he was planning on helping over on Collins Street today. Just a few blocks that way.” He looks up from the papers and points out the right side of the front picture window.
“Thanks so much.” I start to leave, then turn back. I always liked Mr. Turner, and I suddenly feel the need to express my fondness. “You know, I was really happy to hear Tristan is still working here. I know he always looked up to you and this job means a lot to him.”
“That boy was my best worker from the very first day he started. He had an attitude and a mouth on him, but he always worked hard. Not much has changed. Well, except for the fact he now has to sign my paychecks.” He chuckles.
Tristan signs paychecks? “What do you mean? Did he get a promotion or something?”
“I’d say becoming owner of the company would count as one hell of a promotion.” He quirks an eyebrow. “He didn’t mention it?”
I shake my head, trying to keep the confusion and hurt from showing on my face.
Mr. Turner apparently takes pity on me. “Last year I decided this job was becoming a little too much for me to handle. When Tristan found out I was looking for a buyer, he made an offer. I knew there was no one I’d trust more. And ever since, he’s been doing one hell of a job. I stay on part-time, mostly doing office work here, but to be honest I feel sort of useless with how well he has things handled.”
I’m proud of Tristan for being so successful, but I’m also pissed he didn’t want to share this information with me. I guess we’re really not friends anymore.
I swallow the pang of irritation. “That’s really great.” I motion to the door. “Well, I should get going and deliver the boss his lunch.” I smile. “It was good to see you, Mr. Turner.”
“You, too, Hazel. Feel free to stop by any time.”
I nod appreciatively and make for the door.
I spend the short walk to the construction site feeling more and more angry at Tristan, ready to give him a piece of my mind. But as soon as I see him, I freeze.
He’s wearing a pair of work boots, ripped jeans and a white tank top, all smudged with dirt. He is standing next to a small group of teenage boys and appears to be showing them how to secure a beam properly. One boy tries to mimic what Tristan just demonstrated, but the beam slides out of his grasp. Tristan catches it easily, and smiles encouragement as he lets the boy try again. This time the kid does it successfully, and all the boys look at Tristan with trust and admiration. He pats the boy on his shoulder, letting him take over. Tristan then hoists a stack of wooden boards over his well-muscled shoulder, which is covered with a glistening sheen of sweat.
He looks solid and strong and I find myself short of breath. Sure he looks hot as hell, but it’s something else that makes my knees weak. The determination and pride that emanates from his every pore is something I never noticed before. I find myself marveling that Charter Hill is lucky to have someone so strong and committed to look after things. Mr. Turner was right to trust him.
Tristan walks toward me and I can barely remember my own name, let alone why I should be mad. He stops a few feet away to drop the boards on the ground, and I’m pretty sure I literally lick my lips as I check out the way his ass looks when he bends over.
“Hey, what are you doing here? . . . Hazel?”
I snap my eyes up to his, embarrassed that he just caught me staring. “I, uh . . .” I go to wipe my forehead, realizing the paper bag’s still gripped in my now-sweaty palm, and silently curse myself for getting so tongue tied when I’m around this guy. All I can come up with is “Food?” as I hold up the bag.
Tristan chuckles and steps forward to take the bag. He leans close to my ear and whispers, “Don’t worry, I don’t mind if you look. As long as you promise to touch later.” He pulls back and winks in his usual damn cocky way, which thankfully is all it takes to break my trance.
“Eh, the view’s not that great, OK? Besides, I have plans tonight, so it looks like you’ll have to sleep alone.” Plans I’d gladly change if he really wants me to. I don’t need to look for a second job that badly, right?
He wiggles his eyebrows. “Sleeping alone is a waste of my bedroom talents. You should know that by now.”
I want to argue just to put him in his place, but he’s not wrong . . .
I settle for crossing my arms and shaking my head.
“I’m just teasing you, Hazel, relax. I’m busy tonight anyway.”
“Really?” I try to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “Anything fun?” I ask, a little too pointedly.
Tristan shrugs and peeks into the paper bag. He pulls out the sandwich and examines it.
“It’s peanut butter and jelly. I remember we used to eat them when we were younger.” I try not to frown. “I wasn’t sure what you like these days.”
He looks at me strangely. A grown man like Tristan probably doesn’t eat PB&Js anymore.
Before he can say anything, someone calls his name from across the lot. He looks relieved and hooks his thumb backward saying, “I should probably get back.”
“Of course. I didn’t mean to keep you.” As I turn
to leave, I hear him say my name and glance back to see him holding up the sandwich.
“Thanks,” he says. “I’ll text you later, OK?”
I nod and smile back, comforted by the hope of making plans with him again soon.
I head into a place called Chaser’s around seven o’clock. I heard they were looking for a new waitress and want to check it out. Working in a bar might not seem like the best place for a recovering addict, but, if I get the job, I’m determined to prove to myself I can handle it. Life is full of temptation and I don’t want to hide from it.
I check to make sure my resume is still in my bag, even though I’m praying they don’t actually want to see it. Even after bumping up the font a few sizes and adding plenty of spacing to the lines, it’s more than obvious I don’t have much experience.
As I walk up to the bar I notice Logan sitting at the far end nursing a beer, alone. I slide onto the stool next to him. “You know it’s bad luck to drink alone.”
Logan looks surprised, but seems genuinely happy to see me. “I’ve always liked to push my luck, haven’t I?” He smiles, his adorable dimples on full display. “Good thing you’re here to save me from myself. Can I buy you a drink?”
While Logan and Tristan aren’t identical twins, they certainly share many of the same features: same brown eyes and same square jaw, but where Tristan’s hair is dark, Logan’s is blond, and Logan’s cheeks are dotted with the most adorable set of dimples. Tristan and I had an instant, deep bond right from the beginning, but Logan and I became friends when we were younger, too, just in a different way. He was like another big brother to me, always teasing me and giving me a hard time, along with Ryan and Lucas.
Logan swallows down the last of his drink. His eyes appear glassy, making me think he’s already had quite a few.
“Thanks, but I’m good. You know, recovering drug addict and all that. Drinking is considered a gateway.”
“Right. Sorry.” He grips the empty bottle in his hands. “How is all that?”
“I’m fine, really.” I wave him off, not wanting to get into it. “Is Tristan here?” I look around, getting a little too excited at the idea that this is what Tristan meant by having plans. If I run into him by accident I can’t come across as desperate or stalkerish, right?
“Nah, I’m flying solo tonight. It’s Thursday, which means my brother is otherwise occupied.”
“Occupied?” My heart sinks.
“Every Thursday, Tristan always has plans. I’m pretty sure he has a standing date, if you catch my drift.” Logan chuckles and motions to the bartender for another beer.
My stomach churns at the thought of Tristan with another woman. I know it shouldn’t, but it does. I bet it’s that giggly bitch. Maybe when he said she isn’t exactly his girlfriend he meant she’s really just his Thursday night fuck buddy. “He’s just full of surprises, isn’t he?” I mutter under my breath.
“Hmm?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
The bartender puts a new bottle of Sam Adams in front of Logan before looking at me. I shake my head and wave to say I’m all set, then turn back to Logan. “Did you know Tristan owns Charter Hill now?”
He gives me a look that indicates he has no idea why I’d be asking. “Of course. Why, what’s the big deal?”
“I’m just curious as to why he wouldn’t mention it to me. Seems like a pretty basic detail.” I shrug, trying to appear indifferent, but I think a part of me hoped he was keeping it a secret from everyone so I wouldn’t have to feel so excluded.
“Should he have mentioned it to you? No offense, Zee, but I didn’t think you two were still close. Unless I’m wrong . . . ?” Logan appears both confused and amused.
Shit. My stupid obsession with wanting to know more about Tristan’s life is going to get us busted. “Not really. I mean, other than when he gave me a ride to the baby shower. We caught up a little then, but he really didn’t seem to want to share much about himself.”
“Well you did fuck him up pretty good. At least, I’m assuming you did. Tristan never wants to talk about you, so I know something is up. Care to enlighten me, little Zee?”
Logan smiles mischievously and I look away. No matter how much I wish I could take back everything I did to Tristan, I’m constantly reminded how badly I screwed this all up. “I . . . we . . . uhh . . .” I struggle, trying to find the words, before settling with a truthful, “It’s complicated.” I hate that I’m still too embarrassed to talk about what happened.
He shrugs, giving me the same brush-off Tristan usually does. “Well, sometimes guys just don’t want to share every last detail of their lives. It’s not a big deal.”
I study Logan’s face, seeing now more than ever the resemblance to his brother. “You two are so alike, you know that? So nonchalant about everything. You don’t seem to have a care in the world. I’m jealous, because I can’t ever get my mind to shut up.”
“Well we are twins.” He flashes his signature dimpled smile. “But can I tell you a secret?” He leans in, close enough that I can smell the liquor on his breath, and whispers, “It’s all bullshit.” He returns to a normal volume. “Sure, we joke and have a good time, but it’s only to cover the fact that the rest of our lives are pretty empty. People expect us to party and get laid—which we do because, well, having something is better than nothing, but this sleeping around bullshit is getting old quick. We’re not getting any younger and I don’t know about T, but I’m sure as shit over playing all the games. If I found the right girl, I know I’d be ready to settle down.”
By the way some of his words slur a little, I can tell for sure Logan is tipsy at this point, but something about the look on his face indicates there’s a painful truth about what he says. And it makes me feel sad.
I know what it’s like to have people judge you based on how you look and act, without ever really knowing the whole story. I realize I’ve done this myself, assuming things about Tristan without ever having the courage to ask him straight out. I guess I’ve been afraid the truth would somehow hurt more than not knowing.
I know something has to change between us, because as much as I don’t want to lose the physical stuff Tristan and I share, I also need him to give me something more. I’m not asking for an exclusive relationship, but I at least need him to be able to talk to me as a friend if we’re going to continue to be around each other.
I just hope I’m ready to hear what he has to say.
Hazel
I get off the bus at 9:45pm and check my phone for the bajillionth time since last night. After I made sure Logan got a cab home and left my resume with the bartender at Chaser’s, I sat up half the night, hoping Tristan might still text me after his . . . date.
The thought continues to make my stomach twist, but not as much as the fact that I haven’t heard from him.
A wave of disappointment washes over me when there are still no message notifications on my screen, so I shove it back in my bag along with my earbuds and open the door to the diner. Nan is already inside. We occasionally work the same shift on Friday nights, which tend to be busy, and the place is already crowded. While I’m not exactly in a chipper mood, one saving grace about a busy shift is that it will give me something to distract me from my misery.
I hang my sweater and bag in the back and tie on my apron before heading up front. Nan is busy refilling coffee cups for the people sitting at the counter, but when she sees me she smiles warmly. Then it turns into a frown. “Hey sweetie. Is everything OK? You look like somebody just drowned your kitten.”
Am I that obvious? “I’m fine, just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” Not a lie.
She comes closer and bumps her hip against mine. “Well perk up, buttercup. It’s a busy night and there’s someone waiting at table nine. He looks like he’ll be a real good tipper.” She winks and I try not to roll my eyes. I love Nan, but between her and my mother always trying to set me up it get
s a little exhausting. Not to mention I’m taken.
Well, kind of.
I grab an order pad and walk over to the table. I don’t even bother looking up from the pad when I ask in a fake happy voice, “Do you know what you’d like?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
As soon as I hear his flirtatious voice my eyes dart up and I almost drop my pen. I couldn’t have stopped the giant grin from spreading across my face even if I’d wanted to. “Are you sure it’s on the menu?” I ask, trying to hide a relieved smile.
“It better be.” Tristan grins devilishly and I have to resist the urge to fling my arms around him and kiss that look right off his face.
“What are you doing here?” I try to remember I’m mad at him. He tends to make me forget that.
“I really had a hankering for pancakes?” He lifts his brow, seeing if I’ll buy it. I don’t, so he admits, “I didn’t want you to be here alone late at night like the last time I was here, but I guess it’s a little busier than I remember.” He looks around the crowded room.
I chuckle. “Yeah, your timing is a bit off. I don’t get off until three.”
He looks at me then relaxes back into the booth. “Well then, I guess I’ll have those pancakes while I wait.”
I try to see if he’s joking. “You know that’s, like, five hours from now, right? Seriously, Tristan, you don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m already here.” He shakes it off like it’s no big deal and adds, “Besides, I think Nan missed me.” He grins and lifts a messenger bag from the seat next to him. “I’ve also got a lot of paperwork to catch up on for work, so I might as well have food and an endless supply of coffee while I do it.”
I laugh, not sure how else to react. I’m trying not to read too much into the situation, but Tristan’s motives sure are as mysterious as ever. I still want to ask him about a million questions, but knowing he came here just to see me makes it easier to push them aside. At least for now. “I’ll be right back with those pancakes, then.”
Sick Pleasure (Crazy Beautiful Book 3) Page 8
