“Neither am I.”
He laughs humorlessly. “Bullshit. You’re nothing but a player. Always playing a game. Everything is a fucking game to you. You don’t take anything seriously.”
His shoulders tense, his jaw clenching, and I realize my posture is much the same. We’re practically facing off.
“You think you’re so perfect, don’t you, Tristan? The golden boy. Well let me tell you something,” I say, “your little act doesn’t work with me. It might work in business. You may convince your clients that you’re this caring guy that has their best interests at heart. But I see right through you. Every deal you make, it’s all about you.”
Tristan narrows his eyes at me. “You can’t take a fucking thing seriously. It’s a wonder you haven’t gone out of business yet. I don’t know how you still manage to get clients at this point because everyone knows you’re unreliable. It’s all a game to you, isn’t it? Life is just one big fucking party, even when some things need to be taken seriously. Treated more carefully.”
This asshole has a lot of nerve acting like he’s so much better than me. So high and mighty. “Seriously, dude? Like you run this perfect business? Like you haven’t fucked plenty of people over too? You’re full of shit, Tristan. You’re only in it for yourself. Always looking out for number one. What’s in your best interest.”
I sneer at him, wishing he’d just get the fuck out and let me finish my workout without his arrogant ass in my way.
“You’re all about what’s good for you, Madden. Don’t act like your motivations are pure. They’re as dirty as they get.”
Is that what he thinks? Because we both know we aren’t really talking about business here. It’s a very thinly veiled conversation about Megan.
I step toward him, hands twitching at my sides, desperate to lay into him for havin
g his hands and mouth all over her yesterday. “You have no clue what my motivations are.”
And that’s the straight up truth. He has no idea how I feel about Megan. Yeah, maybe I’ve been a player. Maybe I don’t usually take heed with women. But he’s so far off the mark on this one it’s not even funny.
He steps up, tilting his chin up and looking down his fucking nose at me. “It doesn’t take a genius to guess.”
“Then I guess you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought. Walk away, Tristan.”
“Fuck no. I’m not walking away from this.” He clenches his teeth. “She’s mine, Madden. Don’t fuck with me.”
“Oh, you mean fuck with you like telling you how good it felt to have my face buried in between her legs, my tongue so deep in her sweet pussy that I—”
The right hook comes out of nowhere, sending me stumbling back a couple steps before I realize what’s happened.
“Motherfucker,” I growl, regaining my footing and coming back at him, fists swinging.
I get in a couple good ones, clocking him in the temple and in the side, but he’s lean and lithe, and he gets just as many in on me. We’re pretty evenly matched, but if he wants to do this, I’m game.
“Bring it, asshole.”
I block his next jab and knock his head back with a blow to the chin, then he’s sweeping his foot under my legs and we both go down, fists flying.
It doesn’t last much longer before Maya and a few other crew members come storming into the gym, breaking it up.
It takes several people to hold us back from each other, and we stare each other down, eyes blazing with anger.
Fuck. What is this house doing to us? Tristan may be my biggest competitor, my quasi-enemy of sorts in business and in life, but he’s also pretty much my best friend. We’ve known each other forever. Been through it all.
Except for this. Is this how it’s going to end? Over a girl?
But even as I wonder over it, I can’t help thinking that when it comes to Megan, she’d be worth it.
Tristan
Sitting at the island in the kitchen, I readjust the ice pack on my knuckles. I didn’t even have my gloves completely on when I lunged. I tossed them aside, going at Madden with my bare fists.
I may regret that because they hurt like a bitch.
Maya strides in, hands on her hips. “What happened?”