"Fuck," Trystan growls. "You're so goddam infuriating. You know that?"

  "Yeah, well, you suck."

  His lips quirk into a panty-melting grin. "Is that the best you can do, princess? I'm disappointed. Your insults usually sting a little more than that."

  "I don't insult you."

  "Bullshit."

  "Whatever." I roll my eyes at him, turned on, annoyed, and just frustrated in general. "Go back to Santa Maria."

  "Hell, no. You go back to San Francisco."

  "No."

  "Why'd you quit your job?"

  "Oh, now you want to know? I thought it was a mess I was running from?"

  He tips his head back, staring up at the ceiling. I see the muscle in his jaw tick. He doesn't say a word, but his silence is loud. He's counting. Definitely to five. Probably to ten.

  Something about that makes me smile.

  "What happened, Chloe?" he finally growls, tipping his head down. When he meets my gaze, his expression is fierce, all stubborn determination and command.

  And, like usual, I find myself desperate to do the exact opposite of what he's demanding. Not because I don't want him to know what happened, but simply because that look makes me weak. And one thing I can't afford to be around this man is weak.

  "I stole a million dollars and skipped town."

  He mutters a curse, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not sure what concerns me more," he mutters. "The fact that you're lying to me, or the fact that it wouldn't surprise me a single goddamn bit to find out that you aren't."

  "Worried you won't have anyone to boss around if I go to prison?"

  He meets my gaze again, his expression severe. "We both know hell will freeze over before I let you go to prison."

  My smile slips, my heart slamming against my ribcage. He means it. I know him well enough to know that much. And I don't even know what to say about that. This whole day has been too damn confusing.

  "I'm going to walk Thanos," I mutter instead of addressing the elephant-sized issue. Better to ignore it than to try to figure out why he cares. That way lies madness…and I've had more than enough of that today.

  "Don't take him to the park."

  I narrow my eyes at him, but before I can even say anything, he holds up a hand. "That's not me telling you what to do. That's me telling you that the Chihuahua next door is a bully, and a cat at the park scared the shit out of him this morning."

  I glance down at Thanos, my expression softening. "Was Tom mean to you again, buddy?"

  "Tom?" Trystan asks.

  "The Chihuahua next door."

  "Jesus Christ," he mutters. "The old lady named the dog Tom?"

  "He chases mice," I say, shrugging.

  "He's a terrorist," Trystan growls, glancing down at Thanos. "Every time we walk by, he loses his shit."

  "Huh. He likes me and Thanos just fine." I bat my lashes at him, sashaying toward the door. "Must be you. Can't really say I blame him for wanting to murder you. You seem to have that effect on me, too."

  "Fucking hell," Trystan mutters behind me. I don't think I'm supposed to hear him, but I laugh anyway.

  Chapter Three

  Trystan

  Living under the same roof with Chloe is hell on my peace of mind. It hasn't even been eight hours, and she's already driving me to the brink of madness. But I'm too goddamn stubborn to leave, especially if it means leaving her here alone.

  I spend half the fucking day replaying our conversation in my mind. Does she really think I stopped talking to her because I was pissed she decided to go to prom?

  Contrary to her memory of events, that's not what happened.

  The night she called me to show me her dress, she looked like a goddess. And then she casually fucking mentioned that some asshole asked her to go with him. All I could think about was that prick putting his hands on her.

  Maybe I said some shit I shouldn't have said.

  Perhaps I didn't call for a few days because I would have lost my mind if I had to listen to her tell me about her perfect night with someone who wasn't me.

  But she's the one who iced me out.

  Hell, she was icing me out long before that. I don't remember when she stopped sharing shit with me the way she did when we were kids, but it was years before her senior prom. She became downright arctic after it, though. And she hasn't thawed at all over the years.

  If anything, she's grown even colder, even more distant. The only goddamn place I have in her life is the one I've forced myself into over the years—not quite a friend, but not someone she can ignore, either. Maybe it's fucked up or immature, but I'm petty and desperate enough to make sure she can't forget I exist, no matter how much she wishes she could. I pop up like a goddamn car salesman, showing up when she least expects it.

  Family dinner? Surprise, princess.

  Mia's birthday? Can't ignore me now, baby.

  I take any little scrap I can get, because it's better than having no place in her life at all. It's better than just being someone she used to know.

  I want every piece of her, starting with the truth. Why the fuck did she quit her job? Whatever happened, I know it's bothering her. I saw it written all over her face when I asked in the kitchen. But she blew me off, refusing to tell me.

  I've never wanted to spank the truth out of someone as badly as I do her. I am not that fucking stupid, though. Chloe would rip my balls off and feed them to the Chihuahua next door if I even tried it.

  Instead, I cook dinner for her while Thanos supervises from his bed in the corner. I guess their afternoon walk went better than our morning walk did.

  I'm sure we came home looking like we were both done with life after our disaster of a morning. He came home from their walk with his tongue hanging out and his tail wagging. She was smiling.

  I am not jealous of the dog for making her smile.

  I'm also full of shit.

  "Son of a bitch," I groan, grabbing plates to load them up. I barely have the chicken and roasted veggies arranged when her door slams against the wall.

  That's my first indication that she's pissed.

  My second is the way she shouts my name like I put dye in her shampoo bottle again. For the record, I didn't. Wyatt and I only did that shit once, when we were fourteen.

  The possibilities for punishment are never-ending on a vineyard in the middle of summer break. We sweated every minute of the day for two weeks straight over that bullshit. And she pulled up a fucking lawn chair and watched with a smile on her face for the whole two weeks.

  Thanos looks at me like he wants to know what the fuck I did this time. It's a good question. The possibilities are endless.

  She stomps into the kitchen with her hands on her hips, fire in her eyes, and a growl on her lips. Fuck, she's beautiful. Her wavy brown hair curls around her flushed face, and her mossy green eyes shoot off sparks.

  "What's up?" I ask, trying to pretend like my dick isn't pressed up against my zipper hard enough to leave indentations of the teeth all up and down my shaft.

  "You called my dad."

  Well, fuck me running.

  "Figured he should know you were here," I say, sliding her plate onto the table. He seemed grateful to hear that she wasn't alone. He's worried about her.

  "That's not your job," she growls at me.

  "He's your dad, princess. I wasn't going to leave him worried that something had happened to you. We both know you don't want that. So, yeah, I called him."

  She huffs out a breath, spluttering, but it's not like she has an argument here. She knows I'm right. "I was going to call him," she finally mutters.

  "Yeah, but you didn't." I nod at the table before grabbing the bottle of wine I brought for Wyatt. Looks like she needs it more than he does. And whether she appreciates it or not, I'll always look out for her. The last thing she wants is to hurt her parents. I know her well enough to know that. "Sit. Eat."

  She blinks as if just noticing the food on the table or the mess of dishes in the sink. "You cooked?"

  "Figured you were hungry." I shrug like it's not a big deal. Feeding her isn't a big deal. The fact that she hasn't eaten anything except for half of a banana since she got here worries the fuck out of me, though.

  She stares at me for a long, silent moment and then dips her head, hiding her eyes behind her hair. "I feel like a jerk for yelling at you now."

  "Feel free to be pissed while you eat. Doesn't bother me any." It's a lie. I want her laughing and smiling, not growling. But at this point, I'll take whatever I can get. I'm that desperate for five minutes of her time.

  She shuffles toward the table before sinking into her chair. I watch the way she peers at her plate, turning it around like she expects the chicken to jump up and bite her.

  "It's just chicken, Chloe." I plunk a wine glass down beside her, making her jump a little. "I didn't poison it."

  "You might have," she mutters.

  "Out of the two of us, you're more likely to do the poisoning."

  "Why? Because I'm a woman?"

  "I mean, statistically speaking…" I circle the table before sliding into my seat just in time to catch her scrunching up her face at me in a scowl. "But that's not what I meant. You're the one who has been mad as hell at me since we were teenagers."

  She rolls her eyes, reaching for the wine. "You're imagining things."

  "Uh-huh." I cock a brow at her. "Last time I saw you, you told me to go fuck myself. The time before that, you threatened to hit me with your car. The time before that, you said—what was it? Oh, that's right. I swear to God, you make me want to gouge my own eyes out," I say, mimicking her voice.

  Her lips curve into a grin, a soft laugh of protest escaping as she fills her glass to the brim. "First of all, I do not sound like that. Secondly, that is not what I said. And third, it was five in the morning, Trystan. You can't expect anyone to be rational before the sun even rises."

  "I'm rational before the sun rises."

  "That's because you're an actual psychopath." She lifts her glass to her lips, amusement dancing in her gorgeous eyes. "You like getting up with the chickens. You do manual labor with the chickens. That's unnatural, no matter how you slice it."

  "Eat your damn chicken and hush," I say, chuckling. She has never been a morning person. Even as a kid, getting up early used to piss her off. And I always loved waking her up before the sun just to listen to her grumble and growl. I always had her laughing before it crested the horizon.

  God, that laugh made me feel like a giant.

  She takes a sip of wine, and then her eyes widen. I watch in amusement as she drinks half the glass before setting it down.

  "That's good."

  "Yeah? You like it?"

  She nods, her tongue flicking along her bottom lip to gather up every last drop. And I barely bite back a groan. I want to be the one licking wine from her lips. I want to taste it on her tongue. Christ, not even beating off in the bathroom today helped alleviate the ache in my balls.

  I doubt anything ever will. Until she's beneath me, moaning my name, I'm going to be permanently hard. I accepted that shit a long time ago. But fuck my life, you'd think it'd get easier at some point.

  Spoiler Alert: It doesn't.

  "What is it?"

  "What?" I ask, still wrapped up in images of me licking wine from various places on her body, to remember what we were even talking about.

  "The wine."

  "Ambrosia Kisses," I mutter, spinning the bottle so she can read the label. "Ridley crafted it in Italy and imported it when he came home. I guess it's got something to do with Paisley." I shrug, not really clear on the details. Ridley's tight-lipped about the wine, but it's damn good.

  Chloe's expression softens. "I can't believe your cousins are all getting married," she says. "First Jareth, then Ridley. Now, Haven says Bastian will be the next one with an announcement." Her lips curve into a wistful smile. "I still remember all of you having paintball wars on the vineyard when we were kids."

  "Uh, Bastian never had a paintball war."

  "He supervised," she says, her smile growing.

  "You did, too." I take a sip of wine, eyeing her over the rim. "At least long enough to figure out where everyone was hiding so you and the girls could kick our asses."

  A bright peal of laughter spills across the kitchen. "Don't blame me. You're the one who kept falling for it."

  "As if I was going to rat you out," I say, grinning at her. "I fucking loved watching you win."

  She glances away from me, her cheeks pink. And then she grabs the bottle of wine like she isn't sure what else to do with herself.

  "You're going to be drunk soon if you keep drinking like that," I murmur, watching as she downs another entire glass.

  "Maybe that's the point."

  Shit. I am not mentally or emotionally prepared to deal with Chloe drunk. She's feisty on a good day. Drunk, she's a little firecracker. But I bite my tongue when she refills her glass again, refusing to prove her right by telling her what to do yet again.

  We eat in silence for several long moments before Thanos interrupts, peering over the edge of the table like he wants to know why the fuck we're keeping the good shit out of reach.

  "Here, buddy," Chloe says, laughing as she cuts a large bite of chicken and holds it out to him.

  He rolls one eye in my direction as if to tell me to get my shit together and then paces around the table to her. He takes the chicken from her hand, oh so gently, and then pads back to his bed, happy with his treat.

  She's watching him, but I'm watching her. The wine is definitely hitting her hard. Her eyes are a little glassy, and her smile is a touch fuzzy. Her cheeks are flushed.

  She's so goddamn beautiful.

  Christ, how am I supposed to survive living under the same roof with her for the next several days? I can't. I know I can't. I'll snap, cross the line, and any hope I have of rebuilding our friendship will crumble to dust. She'll realize that I've been in love with her for most of my life, and then what?

  If she doesn't kick my ass herself, her father will. Or mine. Or Wyatt. There are ninety ways this could end, and most of them are disastrous, not just for us but for the bonds our families have forged over the years.

  "You should think about heading back to San Francisco tomorrow," I say, my voice rougher than I intend.

  Her smile slips as she glances across the table at me. "And here we go again," she mutters, her lips pursing. "You're human for all of five minutes, and then it's right back to telling me what to do."

  "That's not what this is, but I know you, princess," I say quietly, holding her gaze. "You aren't the kind of girl who runs from her problems."

  "Who says I'm running?"

  "You ran all the way to San Diego."

  She glances away, her chin thrust out in that infuriatingly stubborn way of hers, the one that says she doesn't want to hear a goddamn word I have to say. But she can't hide the way her hand trembles when she reaches for her wine glass.

  "What happened, Chloe? Talk to me."

  She stubbornly refuses.

  "Please," I rasp, willing to beg at this point.

  "He's been fantasizing about me."

  "What?" My brows furrow. "Who?"

  "My boss." She cringes. "Ex-boss."

  "What the fuck?" Something dark and violent whips through me. From what I remember, that shady motherfucker is at least forty years older than she is. "What did he do?"

  "Sent me a bunch of two a.m. texts detailing his fantasies," she mumbles before taking a big gulp of wine. "And then asked if I wanted to make them a reality so he didn't have to jerk off alone in his office while watching me."

  Jesus Christ.

  My hand tightens around my fork hard enough to bend the metal as rage courses through me. I'm going to hunt the son of a bitch down and kill him with my own two hands.

  "I sent them to his wife and then went in long enough to pack my desk before I walked out," she whispers. "Before I even made it home, he was calling Dad, telling him that I just quit without explanation and that he was so worried about me."

  "That grimy motherfucker," I snarl, breathing hard.

  Chloe looks up at me, equal parts vulnerability and rage in her gaze. "I know how my dad will react if I tell him what really happened, so I came here instead. I figured it'd give me time to figure out what to do so my dad doesn't go to prison." Her bottom lip quivers even though her eyes are dry. "He wouldn't look very good in orange, Trystan."

  "You need to tell him, baby."

  "He's the one who got me that job. Donny was his friend." Her voice cracks. "He'll kill him if he ever sees those messages."

  "Jesus." I drop my fork, reaching for my wine glass. I drain it, trying to think. I know Colton well, and he isn't an irrational man. But he is protective as hell. If the messages are bad enough that she's afraid to even tell him about them, it's a problem. A big fucking problem.

  But it isn't one she should be handling alone, either.

  "Do you want me to talk to him for you, princess?"

  "What?" She gapes at me like she thinks I've lost it. "Why would I want you to talk to him?"

  That shouldn't hurt, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't. It fucking kills me that I'm no longer someone she trusts with her problems. She's only telling me now because she's three glasses of wine deep and I pushed her.

  "You're right," I mutter, holding up my hands in surrender. "It's not my goddamn business. I just thought you might want the help. My bad."

  Her face falls. "I'm sorry."

  "Don't worry about it."

  "Tryst, I…"

  "It's fine, Chloe. Really."

  She bites her lip and then nods, glancing away from me.

  For long moments, neither of us speaks. She picks up her fork like she's going to resume eating, but all she does is push food around her plate instead. Every so often, she peeks up at me, her gaze conflicted.

  I wait her out, trying to figure her out, but she's just as much a puzzle now as she has been for the last eight fucking years. And despite it, she's always had every piece of me. There's never been anyone else, not for a single fucking second. I could never see past her long enough to see anyone else.

 

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