“You played football?” I squeak.
He gives me a weird look. “Yeah.”
“I was a cheerleader!” I bound toward him, my feet light as I run. “I was even my class’s homecoming queen my senior year.”
“Get the fuck out.” He stops in his tracks. “I was my senior class’s homecoming king.”
“You were not.” I stop just in front of him, resting my hands on my hips as I try and catch my breath.
“I was. On the prom court too, three years in a row, though I never won.” He makes a face. “Not that I really wanted to. That was such a bogus popularity contest.”
“Meaning you were super popular,” I add. All I ever wanted to do was win. It meant I was popular and people liked me. That’s what I thought, at least. Once my family had their fall from grace, I realized no one really liked me at all. I had no friends stick by me in the aftermath.
None.
“Well, you had to have been too.” His gaze runs down the length of me, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. “I’d like to see you in your cheer skirt sometime.”
My skin heats from his stare. “It was really short.”
“I’m sure,” he drawls, his voice like warm honey oozing over my nerve endings, making me…
Horny.
Yes, God, I keep putting him off the sex thing, but why? Our most recent confessions prove we were almost made for each other. We would’ve been that disgustingly perfect couple in high school land. Though if we’d meet in high school, it probably wouldn’t have worked. I would’ve been too emotional—I was a wreck back then, always giving my boyfriends grief, like some sort of insecure minor stalker—and he would’ve undoubtedly cheated on me.
Not that Tristan’s a cheater but…yeah. That’s what hot football jocks did back in the day, at least in my school. My boyfriend, who was my homecoming king and escort, cheated on me the night of the homecoming dance by getting a hand job from the rival high school’s head cheerleader after the dance was over. He dropped me off, snuck over to her house, and messed around with her.
Talk about a cliché. I dumped his ass. He was snatched up by one of my friends on my cheer team within a week.
I hung around a lot of catty girls back in the day.
“I bet you were sexy in your jersey,” I throw back at him. “And amazing to see playing out on the field.”
“I wasn’t that great.” His smile dies a little. It’s not as bright, not brimming as much with fond memories. “I played to hang out with my friends and get girls.”
I laugh. “At least you’re honest.”
“Yeah, you can never call me a liar,” he says. “I always give it to everyone straight.”
I say nothing. I feel like I’m not giving it to him straight, keeping little pieces of myself hidden from him, from everyone. That’s not fair to anyone, especially Tristan—Kelli and Jade and Lucy, Steven and my roommates, even Shep and Gabe. I’m hiding my past, my family’s problems, my parents and what they did because I’m ashamed of them.
If I told Tristan, would he understand? Or would he think less of me? I don’t know.
I’m not sure if I ever want to find out.
“Well, pick up your pace, Asher. Meet you on the front porch,” Tristan calls, envy rippling through me when he turns and starts to run toward my house. I let my gaze linger, a sigh full of longing leaving me.
Effortless, perfect jerk—though that’s not really fair. He hasn’t been a jerk to me in days. No, he’s been sweet, on his absolute best behavior. After our night of naked times, we’ve been playing it cool. He took me to brunch Sunday and stared at me so hungrily throughout the entire meal I could hardly focus. That had been sort of uncomfortable.
And hot. I can’t deny it.
We’ve texted a lot. Hung out a bit. Kissed numerous times. Long, tongue filled kisses that seem to drug my brain and turn me into a pile of mush. It’s been…nice. It’s felt real. Fun and light, nothing too serious. In the past, I was always so quick to rush headlong into a full-blown relationship. Expecting so much more than the guy I was with ever wanted to give.
Yeah, we’re dancing around it but we’re not in a full-fledged relationship, and I’m okay with that.
Really.
I finally make it to the front porch to find Tristan sitting on the steps, chugging from a bottle of water and looking sexy as sin. I collapse on the step beside him, resting my head against his shoulder as I try to catch my breath. He doesn’t push me away, doesn’t say anything rude or discouraging. Merely drops a kiss on top of my head when he’s finished drinking and waves a new bottle of water in front of my face with a flourish.
The sweet gestures melt me. Something he’s really good at doing lately.
I grab the water from him and crack the top off, taking a long drink before I twist the cap back on and set the bottle beside me. “I’m out of shape.”
“You look in pretty good shape to me.” He nudges me with his shoulder and I really do almost go toppling over. He’s as solid as a mountain, this man.
“Not really. I’m thin but I come by it naturally. When I was in my early teens, they all thought I was anorexic.” I frown. I’d forgotten all about that, though I don’t know how. I hated when my mom took me to the doctor, stressing again and again that I must have some sort of problem.
Which is ironic really, since she’s the one who gave me the problem. She always told me I needed to watch my weight, watch what types of food I ate, was always tugging at my clothes and implying that I somehow looked fat. She’s the one who could’ve made me anorexic in an instant. I’m surprised she didn’t.
“Whose they?” Tristan asks.
“My parents.” I go quiet. I don’t want to talk about them, though I really should with Tristan.
“They were hard on you?” he asks gently.
“Most of the time I didn’t think they knew I existed,” I confess truthfully. “They were always busy.”
“Same with mine, especially my dad.” Tristan stares off into the distance, squinting at the sun. “He’s a workaholic. Has a lot to show for it too, so that’s something.”
“You come from a lot of money.” I state the obvious.
He turns to look at me. “The Prescott fortune is in the billions. Shep and I have a lot to live up to, though we’re not expected to do anything. Not like Gabe. His dad fully expects him to take over their family business someday, not that he wants to.”
“Are you going into your family business after you graduate?” I ask, curious. He never talks about his future either. But neither do I, more so because I have no clue what it might hold.
“If they’ll have me. I guess.” He returns his gaze to the falling sun, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his mouth twisted in this tight grimace. “I don’t know if that’s what I want to do.”’
“What else do you want, then?”
“I know I like spending time with you.” He takes my hand and squeezes it in between both of his. “That was probably fucking sappy as shit, huh. Sounds like something Steven would say.”
I laugh because—and I know this is wrong—I like how jealous he is over the relationship I have with Steven. Though calling it a relationship is a stretch. It’s more like a friendship. “Steven is very sweet.”
“And I’m not. I’m the farthest thing from sweet,” Tristan says, knocking into my shoulder again, more gently this time. “You like ‘em that way? Am I wasting my time here, angel?”
Is he testing the waters to see how I’ll react? How does he want me to answer?
Turning to look at him, I smile, my gaze never leaving his. “I don’t think you’re wasting your time. And sweet’s overrated. I prefer them a little spicy and full of themselves.”
His smile grows. “I’d never think you’re a waste of time. I hope you realize that.”
“I do,” I say sincerely.
I so do.