Zach looked at him. “I don’t want you.”
Tristan touched his own neck. “Then what is this?”
Zach’s eyes skimmed over the hickeys. His lips thinned into a line.
Tristan smiled cheekily. “Ah, I know! The evil twin strikes again? Or maybe—”
Zach slammed their mouths together. Moaning, Tristan grabbed Zach’s hair and yanked him closer, opening his mouth, eager, so damn eager. God. Zach’s lips were hot and rough, his scruff sending shivers down Tristan’s spine. Zach’s lips tasted of resentment, anger and something primitive. It was the deepest, wildest kiss he’d ever had. Zach kissed him like he both hated and craved it, his mouth like a branding iron, searing his lips and stirring his senses into a frenzy of heady desire and want. He wanted—needed—Zach’s lips everywhere, all over his body, sucking on his neck, his nipples, his cock, between his cheeks…
As if reading his thoughts, Zach’s mouth moved to his neck, nibbling and sucking. Tristan gasped, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. He should probably stop Zach—he’d never been a fan of people marking him—but he couldn’t. He wants me, he wants me, he wants me…
Tristan dug his blunt nails into Zach’s nape and whispered, “You want me.”
Zach’s mouth went still, his shoulders stiffening. He pulled away slowly.
Breathing hard, they looked at each other. Zach’s pupils were so blown that his eyes seemed dark.
“No,” he said, his voice barely recognizable. “I don’t want you.” He turned his face away, putting his hand on the doorknob. “This is not want.”
Tristan took a deep, calming breath. At least it was supposed to be calming. “Then what is this?” Because it sure as hell felt like want. It felt like his body was on fire, his whole body alive like it had never been before. He wanted so badly that he was shaking with it, his balls and cock aching. He could barely stop himself from latching onto Zach again and begging him to take him, but the sting of rejection was still fresh in his mind. He’d be damned if he begged him again.
“Weakness,” Zach said testily. “I don’t want you. Not as a person.”
“Ah,” Tristan said. He tried to curl his lips into a smile. It was harder than usual. “You just want to screw me.”
“I don’t—” Zach said before cutting himself off. He clenched his jaw and glared at Tristan, as if it was somehow his fault.
Of course it was.
Tristan straightened up and moved away. “Don’t worry, I get it: this is all my fault. I’m the bad guy, as usual. Get out, tell Jared you quit, and go back to your girlfriend.” He headed upstairs, feeling Zach’s gaze on his back. At the top of the stairs, Tristan stopped and looked over his shoulder. He smiled brightly. “Bye. Try not to think of me when you fuck her.” Whistling a cheerful tune, he resumed walking.
Once he was in his room and out of Zach’s sight, Tristan slumped against the door. There was an unpleasant, tight feeling lodged in his throat and he didn’t know how to get rid of it.
I don’t want you. Not as a person.
“I hate you,” he whispered. “I hate you.”
What was it about him that made him so unlov—unlikeable? Did people look into his eyes and see nothing worthy? Was he such a bad, unattractive person?
Maybe he was.
Blinking rapidly, Tristan walked over to the bed and flopped down. He hugged his pillow and closed his eyes.
“I don’t care,” he said aloud. He had never cared before. He wasn’t going to start now.
He was Tristan DuVal, a football star, and he was—he was…
Everyone loved him. People loved him.
They loved him.
Chapter 11
Jared Sheldon leaned back in his chair and regarded his friend in silence.
Zach met his eyes steadily.
“So, you haven’t changed your mind,” Jared said. “You still want to quit.”
“Yes.”
“And you still refuse to tell me why,” Jared said coldly. He wasn’t exactly happy with Zach right now. Zach was the last person he’d expected to be so irresponsible and quit in the middle of his patient’s rehabilitation process. And on a purely personal level, it pissed him off that Zach didn’t trust him enough to share why he wanted to leave. They were good friends. At least, he had considered Zach one of his closest friends in England.
“Look,” Zach said. The conflict on his face was easy to see. “It’s…it’s personal.”
Jared stared at him. “Personal?”
Running a hand over his face, Zach pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t keep a professional distance. He gets under my skin.”
That Jared could believe. The world knew Tristan as a likable, easy-going guy, but Jared had come to realize how erroneous that impression was. Still, he didn’t believe that Tristan was the devil’s spawn Gabriel painted him as. Things were rarely black and white, bad guys and good guys.