A Lot Like Perfect

Resolute all at once and very determined not to think about how desperately she needed to be unavailable like yesterday, she threw on a sundress that wasn’t her prettiest because she still had principles, and tore out of her apartment to clatter downstairs to the second floor where Tristan stayed.

And Isaiah. But she carefully kept her eyes from straying toward the door at the end of the hall. At Tristan’s door, she knocked softly. Her pulse was pounding in her throat loud enough that he’d hear that before the door. Be bold. The heroines in her books didn’t balk in the face of challenges.

A gap appeared and then the man did, tall and beautiful and…she blinked. “Your hair is down.”

Tristan grinned and winked, running his long, slender fingers through the blond mass that fell to his shoulders. “Now you see why I keep it up. Unruly mess, this is. My hair band broke and I was just looking for another one, but I’m afraid I might be out. You don’t have a spare, do you?”

“I, um…do.” Dear heaven. Was she having a conversation with a man about borrowing and lending ponytail holders? “Can I get it for you in a minute?”

“Sure?” Confusion wrinkled his brows as he eyed her and it made his face look even weirder than his long hair did. “Is there something wrong with now?”

“I came to talk to you. I was hoping to, you know. Do that.”

“Here’s an idea.” He winked and smiled, his signature move. Which he’d already done once. “Why don’t we walk upstairs and you talk while we’re walking.”

Oh, well sure. That made too much sense. He’d thrown her off by mentioning ponytail holders and coupled with him being less perfectly groomed than normal, she was just…not thinking. Tristan wasn’t ugly with his hair out of its typical topknot by any stretch, but his usual look gave him a debonair flair with a hint of the exotic. All that hair around his face made him seem less angelic somehow, as if he’d gained mortality strictly by virtue of a broken rubber band. What kind of shallow was she?

Squaring her shoulders, she stepped back. “We can walk and talk. No problem.”

And then she turned herself into a liar by stumbling over an invisible imperfection in the plank flooring that caught her toe somehow. Instantly, Tristan’s hands shot out to catch her before she hit the ground, holding her steady with his unmatched grace.

His palms covered her bare shoulders. She glanced up to see genuine concern etched into his fine features.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Fine.” Her voice should be squeakier or something, shouldn’t it? Tristan Marchande was practically holding her in his arms, his lithe body a mere inches from hers. And all she could think about was how his touch did nothing to her insides.

Not like what had happened while dancing with Isaiah last night. Not like the slick, needy heat that had arced through her when he’d cupped her jaw. She’d died a dozen deaths in those scant precious moments between realizing he was going to kiss her and realizing she had to prevent that from happening.

It had taken a really cold shower to get her functional again after that. And then she’d put herself right back in that floaty netherworld about half a second after climbing into bed.

“Really? You don’t seem okay.”

Talking. Someone was talking. Who wasn’t Isaiah. With a fierce headshake, she focused on Tristan, the man she should currently be swooning over.

“I was just…thinking about something else,” she muttered and glanced away, but the telltale burn in her cheeks had probably tipped him off that there was more to it than that.

He didn’t press her on it though and let his hands drop from her arms. “Okay, then. Let’s try again, shall we?”

She ducked past him, successfully this time, and led him to the stairs leading to the third floor. Half way to the landing, she groaned. Havana and Ember had been arguing about something in the kitchen when she’d breezed past a few minutes ago on her way to Tristan’s and she’d have to parade him past her sisters while flirting him up. Or whatever it was she planned to do. Which was basically the problem—she had no plan.

Skidding to a halt, she wheeled on one foot to face the man following her up the stairs, barely avoiding being clocked with his forehead when he didn’t stop in time.

“Whoa,” he said with a laugh. “Didn’t know we were switching directions on a dime.”

Since she stood two steps up, they were almost the same height for once. Weird. He wasn’t so attractive as a short man.

What was wrong with her? The man was gorgeous, all the best parts of Chris Hemsworth and Thor mixed together and brought to life in her little corner of the world.

“I just remembered that I wanted to say something before we do the hair thing,” she told him with a decisive nod. Yes, that was how she needed to play this. Take charge and let him see who she really was. “I like you.”

To his credit, his expression didn’t change as he registered that. “I like you too. Glad to have that established.”

“No.” Flustered, she waved a hand in the air for emphasis. But she’d have to say the words instead of drawing air pictures that didn’t tell him anything. “I mean that in the broader sense. The dating kind.”

Oh, man. It was out there now. Kind of. Hopefully he’d pick up the reins and she’d be saved from having to elaborate any further.

“Okay. Wow.” Tristan ran a hand over his head, a habit she’d noted he did frequently when he was trying to think of what to say. Which didn’t bode well for the next sentence out of his mouth. “I did not see that coming.”