“What do you think about me and Lizzie?” Tristan asks carefully, his voice like velvet, his smell like cinnamon. His warmth transcends the distance between us, making me shiver.
“What do …” I start, thinking about the way he used to look at her, like she was his long-lost love who'd galloped away on a different knight's horse. But … that was the way he used to look at her, right? I try to think of the last time I saw his gaze soften in her direction. It’s been awhile, that’s for sure. “What do you mean?”
“Do you want me to get with her? Do you ship me and Lizzie for some reason? Because I swear to God, it feels like you do sometimes.” He stares at me so hard that I feel like all my inhibitions are being shed like a banana peel, stripping right down and leaving my pale yellow flesh quivering. Whoa. That was a totally weird metaphor. Scratch that. Pretend I never said anything at all.
“Why would you think that?” I whisper as Tristan breathes in and out, big, harsh, angry breaths. He presses in even closer to me, and I feel myself coming apart at the seams.
“Look, I hate Zack as much as the next asshole, but what you said to him, about how you wanted him to fight for you … do you ever take your own advice, Marnye?”
“I …” My throat feels too tight to talk, like it's impossible to breathe in without sharing a breath with Tristan, without getting two lungfuls of his beautiful scent. He's enticing, a little dangerous, exactly the sort of man I should stay away from. And at the same time … when I think about going to the same college as him, studying together, building a new life together … I get the chills in the best possible way. “We could really have something, me and you.”
Tristan growls at me. I kid you not. He seriously growls under his breath and clenches his teeth.
“Right. So why are you so pro-Lizzie?” he demands, and I blink back in confusion. “And why do you smell so damn good?” he adds, almost under his breath, glancing to the side for a moment before looking back at me.
“I'm not pro-Lizzie,” I tell him, and there it is. All these feelings come rushing to the surface, and I can't seem to hold them back. “I've … I wanted to be friends with her. And I felt selfish. She loves you so much, and I'm dating five guys, and …”
“So fucking what?” Tristan slams his palm against the bookshelf, still clinging to my wrist with his other hand. “You're dating five guys because we all refuse to let you go. What does that have to do with Lizzie? You want to trade me like a baseball card, so she doesn't feel left out?”
My jaw drops open and Tristan takes that moment to sweep in and kiss me. Hard. His lush mouth against my parted lips. His tongue dives in, taking complete control, encouraging me to tilt my head back and give into him. He's the cruelest boy I know. He really is. He'll never be perfect. He'll never even be good. But maybe … he's just right for me?
I move my free hand to the side of his face, and he grabs my wrist again, pinning me to the bookcase. One of these days, I'm going to be up to no good in this library, and I'm going to get caught. My cheeks flame with embarrassment, but that color soon darkens to the heat of lust when Tristan bites my lower lip.
He pulls back just a bit and looks me hard in the face, still panting. He's so strong, I'm completely trapped there, my arms out on either side, my chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.
“I just wanted you to choose me,” I whisper, and I see his silver gaze move from my mouth back up to my eyes. “That's all. I was just … waiting to see if you'd pick me.”
“Maybe I was waiting for the same?” he whispers, and I close my eyes. Tristan makes a frustrated sound, and I open them back up. He releases me suddenly and steps back, pushing his hair from his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Fucking hell, Marnye.”
I bring my arms in close to my chest, trying to work the numb feeling out of my fingers as Tristan glances back at me, his face full of shadows.
“You were waiting for me …” I start as he looks up at the tin ceiling tiles above us.
“I was waiting for you to fight for me,” he says, turning back to look at me, his gaze slashed through with violent heat that seems to ripple in the air between us. “What's that old saying? Don't be so sweet that people will eat you up, and don't be so bitter they spit you out?” He pauses and exhales. “Sometimes I think you're too sweet. But then I wonder if it's my job to be your bitter.”
