Sick Pleasure (Crazy Beautiful Book 3)

by Jessica Huizenga

  “Look, my mom was an addict. Heroin was her preferred vice, although I’m sure she wasn’t picky. We never knew our dad, but there were plenty of men around to entertain her. She worked two jobs, a convenience store during the day and a bar at night, and we were left by ourselves a lot.”

  “I’m sure she cared about you.” Hazel sounds sincere, but I can tell exhaustion is catching up to her.

  “I guess in her own way.” I pause, wondering if it’s true. I think back as hard as I can to try and remember at least one good memory from my childhood. One time my mom came home early from work and took Logan and me to see a movie. She let us each get our own bucket of popcorn and I remember feeling like the coolest little shit. I saved that bucket for weeks and carried my toys in it. I chuckle to myself at the memory. I haven’t thought about that since . . . well, probably since it happened.

  “I can’t speak for your mom, Tristan, but as someone who once fucked up her own life by thinking being high was the only feeling worth living for, I know how awful it is to later deal with all kinds of regret and self-hatred.” Her voice gets heavy as she continues. “But it’s hard to give up something that lets you forget all the bad stuff that’s happening, especially when it makes you forget to see all the good you have. That’s not an excuse, it’s just hard. It’s hard to face the fact that you have no one to blame but yourself for being so weak. I just want you to know that I bet it hurt her, too. More than you’ll ever know.”

  I want to believe her, but I can’t let go of the fact that I still wasn’t good enough to keep my mom sober.

  That I wasn’t good enough to keep Hazel sober, either.

  I swallow thickly. “It’s hard to feel sympathy when the pain is both selfish and self-inflicted. She made her choice, and that’s fine. I can even understand her being weak. But her priorities were clear when she chose drugs over her own sons. So yeah, maybe she cared, but just not enough.”

  The air shifts and the room goes quiet for a few minutes, except for the soft, sad music still playing in the background.

  “I’m sorry, Tristan.”

  By the way Hazel’s voice is barely above a whisper and the last syllable drops from her lips slowly, I can tell she’s falling asleep.

  I know she’s apologizing because she feels bad about my fucked-up childhood, but something about hearing those exact words at this exact moment feels important.

  Rather than feel that usual sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, instead my chest feels tight and I have the urge to wrap Hazel in my arms and kiss her forehead until I fall asleep.

  But I don’t.

  We admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.

  Hazel

  “Thanks for asking me to grab lunch with you.” I smile at Kinsley as she sips her iced tea across the latticed table. We’re sitting on the patio of a local cafe downtown.

  Kinsley waves her hand. “Thank you for saying yes. Work has been crazy and I needed to get out for a break. I called to see if Kelley wanted to join, but ever since Caden was born she hasn’t been getting much sleep.”

  “Yeah, she and Ryan send me pictures. He’s so cute.” I smile at the thought of my adorable nephew.

  Kinsley puts her glass down, changing the subject. “So how have you been? Anything new? I don’t think I’ve seen you since the DSGN party.”

  I play with the straw in my cup. “I’m good. Pretty much the same old for me.”

  “You and Tristan looked like you were getting along,” Kinsley says suggestively.

  “What? No. I mean, well yeah, I guess . . . We’re friends. Kind of. Maybe?” I stutter.

  Kinsley just smiles. “Care to elaborate on that?”

  I sigh. “OK, fine, but you have to swear not to say anything.”

  She holds up three fingers, scout’s honor style.

  “Remember when you asked if we hooked up?” Her eyes sparkle with a hint of I knew it, so I continue, “OK yes, we used to have a thing that started back in high school and ended before I went to rehab.” I pause, not sure how much of the past I’m willing to share. I look down for a second, then make eye contact and settle for saying, “I . . . well, I hurt him. But ever since the baby shower Tristan and I have agreed on a more casual, physical situation.”

  “Wait, let me guess: you two are trying the whole friends with benefits thing, right?” Kinsley looks amused.

  “I guess you can call it that.”

  “But you feel something more?”

  I shift uncomfortably in my seat, confused by everything that involves Tristan. I honestly don’t know what’s worse: loving to fuck him, or fucking loving him. And by the way Kinsley is eyeing me, I wouldn’t be surprised if all of this was written plainly across my face.

  Kinsley looks at me sympathetically before saying, “You know, Hazel, speaking from personal experience, your heart usually wins out in the end. Just saying.”

  “But that’s the thing . . . I don’t know if I want it to. What if I’m not capable of change? What if I just end up hurting him again?”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “First my dad left when I was young, then Ryan hightailed it out of the house as soon as he could, and even though my mother has her very rare moments, she’s not exactly the most emotionally available person. It must be in the Blake DNA or something, to hurt those around you.”

  “I think you’re being a little hard on yourself,” Kinsley says gently.

  I shrug, wondering if she knew the whole story, she’d still think that. “Maybe. But it really doesn’t matter how I feel, anyway. Tristan made it perfectly clear how he feels, and trust me, he’s only in it for one thing.”

  Kinsley thinks about that for a second. “I know Tristan is a huge flirt and the guy likes to have a good time, but when he’s around you I definitely get a different vibe. Hell, all the guys tend to have a rough exterior, but deep down they’re big softies.”

  I think about the undeniable hurt I catch in Tristan’s eyes any time we’re reminded of the past. My mom was right . . . living with that kind of pain tends to harden a person. I of all people understand that. It doesn’t make it any easier that most of it is my fault in the first place. How can he ever move past it, if I’m a constant reminder? I want to be different, for both him and myself, I’m just not sure I can.

  But Kinsley is trying so hard to cheer me up and be optimistic that I don’t want to be a drag. It’s really nice having a friend and I don’t want to screw it up with my train wreck of a personal life, so I just smile and truthfully admit, “I sure hope you’re right.”

  “What’s this?” I ask, as I stare at the paper Tristan just slid across the counter.

  It’s another late shift for me at the diner, and despite our underlying (mostly unspoken) issues, Tristan and I have fallen into somewhat of a comfortable pattern the last few weeks. I know it’s probably not a great idea for me to let myself get in deeper when my emotions are already invested, but ever since I had lunch with Kinsley I guess a part of me really does want to believe that I just need to give Tristan more time. The more we’re together, the more I feel the past slip away. It has to be a good sign that we have some type of regular schedule together, right? On the nights I have to work, Tristan will pick me up when he is done at the job site for the day, then he will hang around and catch up on his emails and paperwork while waiting for my shift to be over. Then we’ll go back to his place, have sex, and then he’ll sleep for an hour or two before dropping me off at home and heading to the office. I worry he’s not getting enough sleep, but he says he catches up on the days I don’t work.

  I squint at the top of the page, not comprehending what I’m reading. It is two in the morning after all, and things just settled down at the diner.

  Tristan takes a sip of his coffee before saying matter-of-factly, “It’s an application for the Red Cross Certified Nursing Assistant Training Program.”

  When I alternate between staring at
him and the paper, he elaborates. “You once talked about wanting to become a nurse, so I thought this might be a good place to start—get your CNA and see if you like it before deciding your next step.”

  The fact that he not only remembered me talking about this, but went out of his way to encourage me has me grinning like an idiot. Before I can stop myself I reach across the counter and wrap my arms around him while whispering, “Thank you” into his ear.

  When I pull back he says, “You can show me just how appreciative you are later.”

  He grins and my panties melt right along with my heart.

  Two hours later, as I’m staring at a spent and satisfied Tristan Sharp lying naked on my bedroom floor, I think I did a good job of proving just how appreciative I am.

  I practically mauled him as soon as we left the diner, and since I know my mother will be away at a spa for a few days, and my place is a little closer than his, we ended up here.

  He looks up at the ceiling with wide eyes. “That thing you did with your . . . and my . . . wow.” He lets out an astonished, satisfied sigh.

  I peek over the edge of my bed and giggle. “You’re welcome,” I beam from directly above him.

  Tristan closes his eyes, looking like his mind has been thoroughly blown. I admire how perfect he is, and wish I could keep this moment . . . keep him . . . forever.

  I reach over and grab my Nikon from the desk. I hold it out in front of me, putting one eye to the viewfinder while squinting the other shut. I focus on his strong, square jaw and frame it with a portion of his delicious lips. A small nick is present right at his jawline, probably a cut from shaving. I press the shutter, which produces a soft click.

  Without opening his eyes, Tristan smirks. “See something you like?”

  “Mhmm,” I breathe, zooming in on his long eyelashes that rest gently over his pinch-able cheeks. For the first time I notice the mild swelling and gray tint under his eyes, no doubt from lack of sleep. Click.

  “Open your eyes for me,” I softly command. He obeys without question, and as soon as his big, brown eyes come into focus, I snap another picture. They shine with amusement, but I can’t help but notice the hint of torment buried deep inside them.

  He reaches out and I let him pull me from the bed. He positions me to straddle him, a leg on either side of his well-defined stomach. His hands grip my thighs, his calluses a proud symbol of all of his hard work. Click.

  I next aim the camera toward his right arm, capturing the pale yet toughened skin that is a physical reminder of all his suffering. I bend down and press a soft kiss to each mark.

  Tristan tucks his arms behind his head, puffing out his chest so he’s fully bared to me. “I’m sure there’s another part of me you’re just dying to document.” He grins and flexes his hips, pressing his growing hard-on against my ass.

  I exhale an excited breath and slide down his body to line him up at my entrance. Click. He reaches across the floor to his jeans and pulls out a foil packet. Click. He rolls the latex down his thick, impressive length. Click.

  He grabs himself with one hand, steadying me with his other. I balance on my knees over him as he rubs against my slick core. Click.

  Right before he pushes inside me, he takes the camera from my grasp. He holds it to his face with one hand, keeping the other planted firmly on my hip.

  I arch my back and slide onto Tristan’s cock at the same moment he thrusts upward. I hear the steady tempo of a click, click, click, accompanying my rhapsodic moans.

  Needing to taste him as much as I feel and see him, I lean forward to press my lips firmly against Tristan’s as I ride him, powerfully and intensely. He stretches his arm out to the side, angling the camera to capture the meeting of our mouths. Click.

  I buck my hips faster and harder, reveling in our naked display of pure, unadulterated passion. It’s the most erotic experience of my entire life, and I’ve never felt so raw, so seen.

  So beautiful.

  I wrap my arms around Tristan’s neck, holding us together.

  When his lips brush my ear and I hear him whisper, “Let’s come for the camera, baby,” every fiber of my being melds with his and we explode in perfect unison, our bodies emptied and aching amidst a barrage of clickclickclicks.

  Although I barely hear the sound of the camera, because the pleasure ringing in my ears is almost deafening. I collapse onto Tristan’s broad, heaving chest. I stay there until my world stops spinning.

  When I finally roll off him to curl into the crook of his shoulder, the steady beating of his heart makes me feel at peace. I hear him place the camera on the floor with a gentle thud and he reaches for a tissue to quickly clean himself up. When he’s finished he wraps one arm lazily around me, kisses my forehead, and falls fast asleep.

  After a few minutes I gently slip out of his grip, careful not to wake him. I grab my camera off the floor and crawl to the opposite side of the room. I adjust my lens to zoom out, framing Tristan’s entire body. I take my final picture of the night as I inhale a shaky breath.

  Pieces of this man may be flawed, but as whole, he is perfect.

  Tristan

  Ten years ago

  “Tristan! You made it, bro. Hey, I was just telling these guys about the time we totally wrecked the Smith brothers in that basketball game. They were practically in tears. I sure am going to miss high school.”

  Logan throws his arm around one of our classmates as a few others laugh. They’re all wasted beyond belief, celebrating our graduation, but I don’t have time to deal with them. I need to find Hazel.

  We were supposed to meet at our spot an hour ago, and when she didn’t show I knew she’d be here instead. She’s been blowing me off more and more lately, and it’s all that fucker Dougie D’s fault.

  For the past year Hazel and I have gotten a lot closer, but I still can’t seem to stop her from doing drugs. I’ve tried to reason with her but she refuses to acknowledge she even has a problem, and I can’t approach Ryan because he’s usually so shit-faced himself I’m not sure he’s in a position to think clearly. He already thinks I’m involved in this shit, too, but there’s no point in arguing with a drunk Ryan Blake. Not to mention he’d kick my ass if he found out I deflowered his sister. Not knowing how else to help her, I’ve been trying to keep her distracted by hanging out with her at our secret spot, but lately I can feel her slipping farther and farther away.

  Ignoring my brother’s drunken enthusiasm, I look around the crowded room for any sign of Hazel. This wouldn’t be the first time I have to pull her out of a party.

  Not seeing her in the living room or the kitchen, I head down the hallway and start checking all the rooms. I’m having a serious flashback to the last time I found her here—she was wearing a too-tight black dress, snorting lines with Dougie, and when I tried to get her out she screamed at me.

  When I finally get to the last door, I hear someone laughing on the other side. I don’t even hesitate.

  What I find makes me want to throw up.

  Hazel is lying on the bed, topless, and Dougie is bent over her with his pants around his ankles. His dirty, disgusting dick is in his left hand while his right moves under her skirt. Two guys are sitting on the other side of the room, getting high and watching with a nauseating air of amusement.

  Before I know what’s happening I’m tackling Dougie to the ground, screaming “Get the fuck off her!” as I bash my fists into his face.

  Hazel tries to pull me off him, yelling, “Stop, Tristan, Stop!” over and over again.

  All of a sudden I feel another set of fists pummeling my back and am surprised when I see they’re Ryan’s. Considering Hazel is half-naked and crying for me to stop, I can see how he might get the wrong idea, but that shit is going to have to wait—I have another asshole to deal with, first.

  I shrug Ryan off, which isn’t hard since he’s obviously tanked. He falls drunkenly to the ground.

  Only when Dougie’s face begins to look as bloody and battered as raw m
eat—and my hand screams in pain—do I relent.

  I grab Hazel’s shirt off the floor and press it to her so she can cover herself up. When it’s on I grab her arm and, without looking back, pull her through the party and out to my car. I peel out of the driveway so fast a cloud of smoke billows behind us.

  I don’t say anything as I pull into our secret spot and cut the ignition. My jaw hurts from how hard I clenched it the entire ride here.

  I’m so fucking pissed and heartbroken and sick about the entire situation that I’m afraid I might lose it.

  But when I look over and see Hazel curled into a ball against the passenger door, tears streaking her face, my anger melts away.

  I gently reach my hand out to brush her shoulder. “Are you OK?”

  She sniffles and looks at me with regret in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I . . . I . . .”

  She drops her head and her shoulders convulse in sobs. I reach around and pull her as close as I can to my chest. “It’s not your fault, Hazel. That asshole should have never put his hands on you. I swear to God I wanted to kill him. I should have.”

  She sobs louder before shifting to look at me. “But it is my fault. I let him do it, Tristan.”

  I shake my head in protest, but Hazel nods, seeming embarrassed as she looks to her lap. She sniffles again before admitting, “My mom and I had another fight. She told me I have no chance at a future, that nobody will ever want me. I just wanted to forget everything for a while so I went to the party looking for Dougie. I didn’t have any money with me, so he suggested another way for me to pay.”