Auctioned to Him Book 8

by Charlotte Byrd

  “You two haven’t slept together?” I ask.

  “No.” He shakes his head. “Not that’s not any of your business.”

  “Wait, I don’t understand,” I say. “You’ve been dating for awhile now.”

  He shrugs. “The timing hasn’t been right. We’re taking it slow. But it doesn’t matter now. Everything’s different now, right?”

  I want to run up to him and pound him on his chest. What the hell do you mean? It doesn’t matter now. What doesn’t matter? Why doesn’t it matter. What’s different? But something’s holding me back. This isn’t my old Tristan. This person’s different. And our relationship’s different. Fragile, new, to say the least.

  “I guess,” I finally say. It’s all I can say. He looks away disappointed. If you want things to be different then tell me. Tell me what you want. Tell me something, anything, of value, I want to scream at the top of my lungs. But I don’t.

  “I just want to tell you,” Tristan says. I look up at him with hope. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is the moment when he really tells me how he feels about me.

  “I just want to tell you that it won’t happen again.” He finishes the sentences and breaks my heart.

  28

  Tristan and Tea aren’t having sex. At least, they weren’t until today. I can’t believe I didn’t know that. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to Adele. I’m convinced that listening to too much Adele may be dangerous for my mental health, but I can’t help myself. She’s a drug. It took me months to get over her last album, but now she has a new album out.

  Tristan and Tea weren’t having sex. But now that he had seen me with Simon, they will be. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing, I decide after a while. I mean, so what? I thought they were having sex and now they’re going to. So why am I so afraid?

  I take a deep breath. I have so much work to do. I have a paper due in English and a project due in Anthropology. I’ve started neither. Today was supposed to be my study day, but now it’s all gone to shit. Might as well just eat some junk food and watch TV.

  I go out into the living room. When I see Tristan there, I give him a nod and place a packet of popcorn into the microwave. Dylan and Juliet aren’t here, but that’s not going to stop me from hanging out in the living room. Tristan and I are over. We’re dating other people. We’re adults. We’re capable of being friends. Starting with right now.

  Tristan’s watching some sports analysis show on ESPN. Football, I think.

  “How’s it going?” I ask.

  “Worried about USC this weekend,” he says. Tristan grew up being a USC fan. And now that we’re 3,000 miles away from Los Angeles and he’s going to a completely different school, he’s still a USC fan. I like that about him. Loyalty.

  I ask him who they’re playing. He goes into a long spiel about the new coach and the quarterback this season. I’m only half listening, but I’m enjoying our time anyway. It has only been a few hours since the Simon incident, but everything seems to be somewhat back to normal. Friends. Okay, I can do this, I say to myself.

  “Hey, are you listening?” he asks.

  “Yeah, sure,” I lie. That’s enough confirmation for him to start talking again. We watch ESPN together for a couple of hours. I spend most of my time on my phone reading and wasting time on Facebook, but our time together is still nice.

  “So I think I’m going to go to bed now,” I say when I realize that it’s almost 11.

  “Wish I could do that same thing,” Tristan says with a sigh and flips through the channels.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Oh, you see that sock on our door? That means that Dylan’s in there with a girl. They’ve been there almost the whole night.”

  I look at the sock. It’s bright red and so old that it looks like it’s been washed a million times (probably by Dylan’s housekeeper).

  “I thought that was just a cliché. You actually do the sock thing?” I laugh.

  “How else do we know not to barge in on each other?” he asks. “You know, come to think of it, you and Juliet should develop some sort of system like that too. Otherwise, you know, anyone can just come in.”

  We both burst out laughing.

  “I’ll think about it,” I finally say, rolling my eyes.

  “So who’s he got in there?” I ask.

  He shrugs.

  “I bet it’s Peyton,” I say.

  “No, I don’t think so.” He shakes his head.

  “How do you know?”

  “When he brought Peyton around before, we always hung out together first. He wasn’t hiding it. But this girl. I don’t know, it’s different. I stepped out for a few minutes and, suddenly, there’s a sock on the door. No, this girl’s different.”

  We laugh again. It’s nice to laugh with Tristan. Relaxing and peaceful. We wait for ten more minutes and then decide to take bets.

  “I bet you $10 that it’s Peyton,” I say.

  “No, no. I don’t want to bet with money.”

  “Why?” I recoil in shock.

  “Because it’s boring. Let’s do chores or something fun.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like, if you win then I have to do something for you. Make your bed, do your laundry, take you somewhere?”

  I think about that for a second. That does sound more interesting than money!

  “Okay, so if it’s Peyton, you have to do my laundry for two weeks,” I say.

  “Deal,” he says. He looks me up and down as if he’s sizing me up for something. “And if I win, if it’s not Peyton, but some other girl, then you have to go to Phi Kappa Beta’s Masquerade Ball with me.”

  “What?” I ask. That was the last thing I was expecting.

  “I’m thinking of rushing next semester. And they’re having this masquerade ball in a few weeks. And if I want to come, I have to bring a date.”

  That’s sort of an explanation, but it doesn’t really explain anything.

  “But what about Tea?”

  He shrugs.

  “I don’t know, okay? Tea and I are complicated. We’re in a weird place. And I just want to bring a hot friend. Someone uncomplicated.”

  I nod and then laugh. I can’t help myself.

  “What? Why are you laughing?” he asks.

  I shrug. “You and Tea must be in a really complicated place if you want to bring your ex-girlfriend. I mean, we’re not in that uncomplicated of a place, you know.”

  He comes close to me. “The thing is that you’re really special to me, Alice. What you and I have…it’s different. And now that we’re friends, I just know that things will work out.”

  I smile. I hope he’s right.

  Tristan and I wait for Dylan and his mystery date until midnight. I fall asleep a number of times and, finally, give up a little past midnight.

  “I can’t wait any longer. I have to get some sleep,” I say.

  “I’ll be out here,” he says as I climb into bed. I decide not to close my door. I want to see who Dylan spent the whole night with. I’m pretty sure I’ll hear them if my door is open, I decide, as I drift off to sleep.

  29

  “Alice? Alice? Wake up,” I hear someone leaning over my bed and whispering. For some reason, I’m crammed and pushed all the way to the cold wall. I also don’t have any of my blankets. It’s as if they’re trapped under something big.

  “Alice?” I hear the voice again.

  “Hey, what the fuck, man?” I’m startled by the voice coming from my bed.

  Suddenly, I realize who it is. Tristan. Tristan’s in my bed. Why? How?

  “I can’t believe you, Alice,” Simon says and storms out of my room.

  I push Tristan out of my bed onto the tile floor.

  The bright lights in the living room hurt my eyes. I catch Simon by the elevator.

  “Simon, Simon! I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know why he was there.”

  “Oh please.” Simon shakes his head. “
I come back here to make things right and I find your ex in your bed.”

  “Simon, nothing happened. Please. I went to bed alone. I have no idea why he’s there.”

  My mind is racing. Why the hell is he there?

  “No, I know. I know why. He can’t sleep in his room because Dylan’s got a girl there.”

  “So he just had to sleep with you? Even though there’s a couch and Juliet’s bed that are both empty?”

  I have no response. I’m going to kill Tristan! Simon climbs into the elevator and presses the button. I helplessly watch as the doors close.

  “I’m sorry,” I say when our eyes meet one last time. But he looks away.

  I go back to my room, furious.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Tristan? Sleeping with me? Have you lost your mind?”

  “I’m so so sorry,” he says sleepily. His hair is a mess and his eyes are barely open. “But the couch in the living room got so cold. We don’t even have a blanket there, did you know that?”

  “Yes, of course, I know that! That doesn’t explain what you were doing in MY bed.” I cross my arms across my chest.

  “Well, I came into your room with the intention of sleeping in Juliet’s bed. But it was so dark and her bed was full of clothes. I couldn’t figure out where the blankets began.”

  “So you just got into bed with me?”

  “You were all the way over to one side with your head toward the wall. There was so much space. And I was so tired.”

  Tristan shrugs. His hair is all ruffled and out of place, but his eyes are twinkling. I’m mad at him, but I know I can’t stay mad for long. Not over this.

  “How can I make this up to you?” he asks. “What can I do? Do you want me to go talk to Simon?”

  I think about that for a second. Maybe that’s a good idea. Maybe if Simon could hear it from Tristan that we’re really over then he would actually forgive me. But what if it makes things worse? What if Tristan mouths off to Simon (and there’s a very high possibility of that)? What if they get into a fight? That would make things worse.

  “No, I’ll talk to him. It’s fine.” I shrug. “You still shouldn’t have done that. You have no right to get into bed with me.”

  “I know.” He shrugs. I’m disappointed that he’s not putting up more of a fight.

  “You wouldn’t get into bed with me if I were Juliet, would you?”

  “No, but you’re not Juliet.”

  “Or some strange girl?”

  “No, but you’re not some strange girl. You’re Alice. My Alice.”

  He catches me off guard. His Alice? What does that mean? I stare at his face to try to gather any more clues. But I can’t read him. His expression isn’t blank, but it isn’t very revealing either. Tristan’s lips form into a mischievous smirk, which reminds me of junior year. Tristan had the exact same expression on his face when he and his best friend, Tom, broke into the principal’s office, stole her keys, and moved her car from its assigned parking spot to the back lot. Afterwards, they’d returned the keys to her purse and went on with their day. Very few of us knew what had happened, and the administration never found out. When Tristan finally admitted it to me, he had the same smirk on his face that he has now.

  “No.” I shake my head. “I’m not your Alice anymore.”

  Thump! Thump! The sound of something hitting the furniture startles me.

  “Shit, shit,” someone cries out in pain.

  I run after Tristan to the living room. Juliet’s is doubled over in pain, grasping her ankle.

  “Fucking couch!” she says.

  “Are you okay?” Dylan asks. He’s standing in his doorway dressed in a t-shirt and boxer shorts.

  I look at Juliet more closely. She’s wearing the dress that she wore out that evening, but it isn’t zipped up all the way in the back. And she’s barefoot. Her shoes are in her hand. Suddenly, everything becomes crystal clear. I look at Tristan. I can see that it’s pretty clear to him too.

  “You know what this means, right?” he asks. “You need to get yourself a costume for the masquerade ball. Oh yeah, and it’s not in a couple of weeks. It’s this weekend.”

  He won our bet. It wasn’t Peyton in Dylan’s room. It was some other girl. Juliet! All I can do is roll my eyes.

  “What, were you guys betting on who was in there with me?” Dylan asks. For a second I think he’s mad. “That’s awesome! Who did you think it was?”

  “Peyton,” I say.

  “And you bet on Juliet?” Dylan asks Tristan.

  “Not her specifically. Just someone who’s not Peyton.”

  “You guys can go fuck yourselves.” Juliet gets up and wobbles to our room. I doubt that she’s mad about the bet. But she looks like she’s still in pain.

  “What do you think you want to dress up as?” Tristan asks me. He’s actually excited about taking me there.

  “I hate to burst your bubble, but I’m not going. Not after what you did,” I say and turn to walk away.

  “Wait, wait, a second.” Tristan puts his hand on my shoulder. “You lost the bet. You have to go.”

  “No, I don’t. You just jeopardized my whole relationship with Simon with that little stunt of yours. Someone I really liked. So I’m not going to be your date at some stupid frat party.”

  “I apologized for that already. Besides, what does that have to do with the bet? We made the bet way before that. I’d still be doing your laundry for two weeks if it had been Peyton,” Tristan says.

  “I’m not so sure,” I say. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to go.”

  “That’s the point. If you lose the bet then you have to do something you don’t want to do.” Tristan looks at Dylan for support. “Talk to her, man.”

  “Yeah, Tristan’s right, Alice. You lost the bet.”

  “So?” I ask.

  “A bet’s a bet,” Tristan and Dylan say almost in unison.

  “So?” I ask.

  “So, if you don’t go, you’re going to get some bad karma or something,” Dylan says.

  “I already have bad karma.” I shrug. “I’m living with my ex!”

  30

  I go to my room and slam the door. It’s 5 am and I have class in a few hours. I need more sleep, but there are more pressing matters.

  “So? Are you going to tell me what happened?” I ask Juliet.

  “I’ve been dying to tell you,” she says and climbs into my bed.

  “I first saw Dylan at a club a few days ago. He was dancing and drinking, but then he saw me and started moaning about Peyton. That girl really fucked him up. She’s in love with her R.A. now, did you hear that?”

  I nod.

  “Anyway, I got tired of his complaining, so I kissed him.”

  “Just like that?” I ask. “Where? How?”

  “We were standing at the bar waiting for our drinks. He was talking on and on about Peyton. I told him that he needs to move on. That the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Then he started complaining about dating and how hard it was, blah, blah, blah. So I asked him what dating had to do with it. He just stared at me like I’d lost my mind. And then I leaned over and kissed him.”

  “And?” I wait with anticipation. “How was it?”

  “It was good. He’s a really good kisser. Well, you know that, already,” she says nonchalantly. I’m glad that it’s pitch black and she can’t see me blush.

  “And tonight? What happened tonight?” I ask.

  “I saw him out, again. I wasn’t going to come over. I wanted to party and dance and let loose. But he came over to me. Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” was playing and everyone was going wild. He said that he liked kissing me. And kissed me again.”

  “Oh my God!” I squeal like a little girl.

  “We made out for awhile, and then decided to come back here. I was going to sneak out of his room sometime later, but you two were out there forever! What the hell were you doing anyway? And then I fell asleep. Can you believ
e it? I actually slept over at a guy’s place? This is big for me.”

  “You live here,” I say. She shrugs.

  “Still a big deal,” Juliet says.

  “And?” I ask. “What happened between you and Dylan?”

  “I’m not telling you that,” she says. “It’s private!”

  “No! You can’t leave me hanging like this!”

  She shrugs again. She gets out of my bed and climbs into her own.

  “I need to get some rest.”

  “Did you guys do it? Tell me that, at least.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” She rolls away from me.

  I can’t believe she’s leaving me hanging like this. It must only mean one thing. She really likes him.

  “Fine.” Juliet turns back around. “I’m just going to tell you one thing about tonight and that’s it.”

  I wait impatiently.

  “If I were Peyton and he did to her what he did to me tonight, I’d never let him go.”

  I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling for a few moments. I listen to Juliet’s breathing and I know that she’s not asleep yet. And even if I’m wrong, I don’t care.

  “So, what does this mean then?” I ask. “Are you two, like, dating?”

  “No. I can’t date him! He’s a mess. Plus, I don’t date,” Juliet says.

  “Oh, c’mon. I think you like him.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do!” I insist.

  “Well, you like Tristan. Are you two going to date again?” she asks. She shuts me up and falls asleep.

  I flip over on my stomach and stare out of the window. The sun won’t be up for a bit, and New York is still asleep. I’m not much of a morning person; I can barely drag myself out of bed at 9 o’clock. But I no longer feel the least bit sleepy and I decide to go for a walk.

  I’ve never seen New York at this hour. Riverside Drive is wet from last night’s rain and it glistens in the morning sun. There are a few joggers and dog owners out braving the world, but otherwise the park is empty and feels like it’s all mine. I sit down on the bench and search my purse for a pen and a new thank you card.