“Is that why you did all that? For brownie points?”
He shakes his head. “No, the guy needed to be put in his place. I don’t think he just suffers from a short guy complex, but I think he might be a little sexist.”
“Okay, that remark just got you one more brownie point”—I make a ding sound, like I’m tallying his points up— “which puts you up to four points.”
He slants his head to the side and strands of his hair fall in his eyes. “Where did the other three come from?”
“One for putting Mister Asshole in his place. One for making me cry happy tears. And one for…” I swallow hard, unable to finish. One for Conner.
And just like that, our moment crumbles.
As if Tristan has super powers and senses my deflating mood, he changes the subject for the second time in five minutes. “All right, are you ready to do this?” He nods his head at the rectangular table that has a jagged blade attached to it.
You just earned yourself another brownie point, my friend.
I nod. “Sure, if you are.”
He circles around me and I think he might be leaving to get something but then he steps up and inches me forward by gently pushing his chest against my back.
“What are you doing?” I ask, half in panic and half in a state of holy fucking hell his sweaty body feels amazing. That thought is followed by holy hell, my body is super deprived.
And lonely.
But I know better.
Just step away Avery.
Tristan doesn’t stop steering me forward until my stomach touches the edge of the table. Then he puts an arm down on each side of me, pinning me between them, and tangles his fingers with mine. “I’m teaching you how to cut a board. That way you can get the upper hand over Mister Asshole if he decides to bother you again.” He acts calm, but there’s a slight quiver to his voice.
“Why would that help me get the upper hand?” I struggle to breathe steadily as his warmth seeps through the back of my shirt. I’m tottering between being completely turned on and utterly horrified by my reaction, straight along the lines of being a virgin again.
I wonder if Tristan’s doing it on purpose, if he knows his touch is driving my body crazy. He seems to have that way about him—super confident and dripping with forbidden sexiness. But he also seems nervous right now too, so I’m not certain what to think about the situation and how he really feels. And really, I shouldn’t be thinking anything about the situation. Or him.
What did I just get myself into?
He dips his mouth beside my ear, his breath deliciously hot against my skin. “Because he doesn’t know how to use the table saw.”
Okay, he has to know what he’s doing to me.
“Thanks.” I grip the table for support before my knees buckle out on me. “But can you do me a favor?”
Another warm breath caresses my cheek. “I’ll do anything you want, Avery.” His voice is hoarse like his words are affecting him just as much as they are me.
It nearly kills me to say it, my body protesting in every way imaginable, but I need to get it out and in a light tone. “Can you lay off on the flirting while we do this? Or I might have to take one of your brownie points away.”
He hesitates then leans away. His face is still hovering near one of my most elaborate and meaningful tattoos branded on my back right above the scars. It’s of a half dead, half thriving tree and is the one he wrote about on the cupboard, the tattoo he never got to fully see. Right now, his lips are close enough he could taste the words and I swear he’s going to kiss the ink. Or maybe the collar of my shirt has moved low enough so he can see the tip of my scars.
Fuck, can he see my scars?
“Still doing the no guys thing?” he asks, his voice coming out in a strangled whisper. “Even after all the brownie points I earned?”
I’m panting. Actually fucking panting. And I have to take several breaths before I can speak in an even tone. “Of course. Why would I ever break that awesome rule? Even for brownie points.” I make light of my words even when I feel squeamish inside.
“All right, fair deal.” He gives me a little more space before he lets go of one of my hands to turn on the saw. “But can I ask, how many brownie points would I have to earn for you to consider going out with me?”
An exhale falters from my lips at the idea of going out on a date. God, it’s been so many years I wouldn’t even know what to do with myself and the last time I agreed to a date led to years of pain and abuse.
“A hundred,” I tell him.
He pauses for what feels like an eternity.
“Two a day,” he finally muses.
“Two a day? Huh?”
“I’d have to earn two points a day while I’m here in order to get you to consider going out with me.”
“That would give you over a hundred,” I say, releasing my death grip from the table. “If you’re going to be here for a couple of months.”
“I’m covering all my bases,” he replies, his voice gravelly. “Besides, maybe I could cash in the extra twenty for something else.”
His words reverberate through my body, but my tone is surprisingly even. “Like what?”
He shifts nearer. “I’ll have to think about it for a while, but I’m thinking maybe I could see that tattoo on your back.”
“No one sees the tattoo on my back.” I turn around to remind him that flirting and breathing on the back of my neck isn’t going to get him any brownie points, but then I realize it might because I like the sound of his voice and the feel of his breath.
I open my mouth to say… Well, I’m not sure what. Nor do I get to find out because he starts in on a short instructional on how to cut a board. After he’s done explaining, we get to work, guiding the long piece of wood through the saw blade. By the time we’re done splitting, I’m feeling better than I did this morning, the burdens of finances and responsibilities getting drowned out by the loud humming of the saw.
We cut about five boards before Tristan shuts off the saw and steps back to add the cut boards into a pile. As the silence sets in, I find myself missing the loud humming.
“So why are you here this late?” Tristan asks casually as he drops a board onto the stack. “Is it because you had to leave early that day and you’re still making up the hours?”
I nod as I adjust my ponytail. “Yeah, I’m still working on making that up. I have a hard time staying late and stuff. And I haven’t been getting very much sleep the last few days.”
“You shouldn’t work yourself so hard.” He dusts sawdust off his hands. “And Wilson’s not so hardcore that you have to make up the time.”
“I’m fine and I need to make it up—it’s important,” I tell him and he shoots me a doubtful look. “What? What’s that look for?”
He shrugs then bends over to scoop up another board. “It’s just that I saw you sleeping in your Jeep earlier… and you looked really out of it, so I asked Nova to go wake you up before anyone else found you.”
I grow uneasy again at his kindness and end up cracking a joke to break the tension because things are so much less complex when we’re joking. Easy even. “Wow, pretty boy’s got a sweet side to him. Who would have thought.”
A grin tugs at his lips. “You’re one interesting person, Avery…” He trails off as he stands back upright with another board. “What is your last name anyway?”
“Hensley.” I almost slipped up and said Wellings, which isn’t my name anymore, but it was for four years and it’s hard to break that kind of habit—to break any habit. “What’s yours?”
“Morganson.” He deliberatively pauses. “So can I ask why you haven’t been sleeping very well?”
“I had finals online the last couple of weeks but they’re over now, so I should be good.” I wait for him to set the board on the table, but he keeps staring at it.
“So you’re tiredness has nothing to do with Conner?” He finally looks up at me and his intensity makes me wish he would have k
ept his gaze directed on the board. “Your ex-husband?”
And there it is.
Broken.
Silence.
“No, it’s not him.” I shift my weight uncomfortably. “I actually haven’t seen him since that… thing happened at the bar.”
“And that’s a good thing, right?” He probably wants me to give him more of the details, but I’m not going to—can’t.
“Yeah, it’s a good thing. I promise.”
He relaxes his hold on the board. “Good. You shouldn’t be hanging out with a guy like that.” He drops the board onto the table and lines it up with the blade. “So school, huh? I thought I was the only one crazy enough to do classes online.”
“Yeah, well, I kind of have to, otherwise I’d never have time,” I reply. “I only have two semesters left. I’ll be super glad when it’s over.”
He glances over his shoulder at me. “What are you majoring in?”
“Something ridiculously boring. What about you?”
“I asked you first.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to tell you because you’ll probably think I’m boring.”
He faces me, faking being wounded by my words. “I’m kind offended that you think that way of me, Avery. Seriously, I would never think you’re boring.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh whatever. You’re flattered by the conversation we’ve been having.”
“Why would you think that?” Amusement dances in his eyes.
I give another exaggerated eye roll. “Because I’ve been flirting with you and you know it.” The truth escapes under no control of my own.
His expression mixes with shock and desire, his penetrating graze scorching my skin.
This isn’t the time to go back to dreamland, Avery. You have your life on track. You’re going to school. You’re sober. And you have a purpose for why you’re here, if you can ever figure it out.
But what if it’s here?
As Tristan opens his mouth, I find myself way too eager to hear what he’s going to say next. I never get to find out though, because he unexpectedly lets out a fake cough. Seconds later, Nova and Quinton appear beside us, looking drained yet happy.
“Hey Avery,” Nova says while Quinton gives me a small wave that I return.
Then Nova focuses on Tristan. “We were going to head back to the hotel and get cleaned up to go out.”
“Shit, what time is it?” I glance up at the sky, which is neon pink from the sunset.
“Five-thirty,” Quinton says as he looks at the clock on his phone, scratching at a long, rough scar on his chest.
“Shit.” I unbuckle the tool belt and toss it on the ground. “I’m supposed to be to work in half an hour.”
“Where do you work?” Tristan asks. “At that Vibe place still?”
I nod distractedly as I text Jax. “Yeah… that’d be the place.”
Me: Running late. Will drop off the car ASAP. Things going to be okay?
I feel bad that I have to ask Jax and again, I wish I didn’t rely on him so much. But I don’t know what else to do.
Jax: Yeah, everything’s good here. I’ll hold down the fort.
When I look up from my phone, Tristan keeps nodding as they make plans to go out for the night, but his attention is fastened on me. I’d wonder why, but I don’t have time to get caught up in the wonders of the opposite sex and the inner workings of their minds.
“See you tomorrow.” I wave then dash off, part of me wishing I could stay behind with them, making plans, going out, having fun. But at the same time, I’m glad I have to go, glad I can run away, glad I have a life to run away to.
And that’s what I hold onto thirty minutes later when I start my night by showing up to work late. Thankfully my boss, Benny, likes me and doesn’t get too upset.
“You doing okay, Avery?” He motions for me to come into his office.
I don’t really want to talk to him, but at the same time I did show up late so I step inside. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
“You just seem distracted lately.” He sets a stack of papers aside on his cluttered desk and leans back in the swiveling chair, putting his hands behind his head. “Is it about the dancing thing? Because you don’t have to do that. You just won’t get a raise if you don’t.”
I like Benny and everything, but lately he’s been irking me with this dancing thing. “No, it’s not that. I just... Well, I’ve had a lot of things going on.”
His hands lower to his lap. “It’s not Conner, is it?”
I shake my head. “No… I haven’t heard from him in three months.”
“Good.” He nods then rises from the chair. “If you need anything, you can always come to me.”
“I know.” But I never will. Not with the way he’s looking at me right now—like he wants to rip my clothes off. It’s not that he’s bad on the eyes or anything and in another life, I probably would consider dating him. But I have the no guys rule and unlike Tristan, Benny isn’t tempting enough for me to even consider breaking that rule.
He rounds the desk toward me with a smile. “Are you going to stay late to do the books?”
“Maybe,” I say and when he frowns, I add, “I was actually thinking about doing it tomorrow. Today has been an off day and I really need to catch up on some sleep.”
He grazes his finger down the side of my arm, causing goosebumps to sprout on my skin and not in a good way. “Well, let me know what day and I’ll make sure to stay late with you.”
This isn’t the first time he’s touched me like that and I’m sure it won’t be the last, but I can handle it because I don’t want to have to find another job that fits with my very inflexible schedule.
“All right, I will.” I leave the office then duck into the bathroom to take a quick paper towel bath to try and clean myself up so that my stench doesn’t scare away customers.
As I’m heading out of the bathroom, I look at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is pulled back into a tangled bun, my makeup nonexistent, and my shirt has a stain on it. My messy appearance makes it easier to remind myself that this is my life.
This is your reality.
Nothing else.
Nothing more.
What happened today with Tristan can’t happen again.
And I’m reminded just how much truth my thoughts carry when I go out to the counter and Charissa pulls me aside.
“I’m not sure if I should tell you or not, but I’m going to anyway,” she says with a heavy sigh. “Conner was here… and he was looking for you.”
Chapter 10
This is Reality. This is my Addiction.
Tristan
It had been such a good day, hanging out with Avery, joking, flirting. It’d been a long time since I had a day that uncomplicated. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced something that simple. But then I return to the motel that evening and just like that, the shittiness of the night starts as my phone rings.
Always does.
“Tristan, I need you to come home,” my mother says when I answer my phone. I’m sitting at the table in the motel room with the blinds shut, the entire room dark, dusky, and silent except for the shower running. “Right now. It’s super urgent.”
“I can’t.” It’s my typical response when she says this to me, always the same, stuck on auto repeat. “And besides I was just out there less than a month ago.”
“So? You need to come home again,” she replies anxiously. “Ryder needs you here when we put flowers on her grave and then I wanted to do something else for it... I’m not sure what but I figure that you might have an idea. Like maybe you could make one of those vases you used to do in art class.”
Those vases she’s referring to were actually pipes but I’m not going to tell her that and push her closer to the edge. “I don’t know how to make those anymore.”
“Well, what about a card?” she asks. “I know you love to write.”
“Actually, that was Ryder.” I sigh exhaustedly. “Look, Mom, I h
ave to go.” This is how things have gotten. A vicious cycle. One I’ve been stuck in for years with her. And she seems to be getting worse with each passing day. But instead of getting caught up in the endless circular pattern, I end it. “I have to go. I’m working,” I lie, getting up from the chair and crossing the room toward my bed.
Wreck Me (Nova #4) Page 10
