My Heart

Mine.

“It was too tempting,” I go on.

“A date?” she whispers. “What about…”

Now it’s her turn to trail off. She was going to say what about Alexis, but we both know how awkward that would be to discuss.

I glance at her. She’s staring at me, her cheeks that luscious shade of red, her eyes wide in that vulnerable and innocent way.

She looks so ready to be claimed, fucked, taken, owned.

By me, only me.

“You really don’t care?” she whispers like she can’t quite believe it.

“No,” I tell her.

She lets out a breath then asks, “So why did you go all weird earlier?”

“It was a lot to take in. But I swear, I don’t care. I promise.”

She lets out a breath. “Then yes, Triston. Let’s find somewhere to eat. As long as you think it’s okay.”

She’s talking about Alexis again, subtly asking if I think we’re going to run into her.

“It’ll be fine,” I reply.

I know where Alexis is right now – she gave me the address of the restaurant she was going to – and I can take Tamia to a place across town.

The calculation leaves me feeling dirty, like a traitor.

But I can’t tell Alexis anything until Tamia knows the whole truth.

Or is that just an excuse?

CHAPTER TWELVE

Tamia

Triston’s hand is on the small of my back as he leads me through the restaurant. It feels so natural, and yet tingles dance all over my skin. I was planning on staying mad with him during the whole ride home, maybe giving him the silent treatment, to see if he’d even care.

I know it’s petty. I know it’s childish.

But after the way we left things, I didn’t know what to feel.

Now, I find myself softening to his touch, savoring the warmth of his hand.

The restaurant is a small cozy-looking basement, light filtering in from the streets, joining the deep yellow mood lighting. We sit at a booth in the corner, Triston sitting opposite me, making me laugh as he shuffled into his spot.

He smirks, staring down. But his smirk can’t hide the tension in his body, the way his arms and hands flex. The vein throbbing in his neck. He looks like a beast on the verge of breaking free of his chains.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

“Just how big you are. You look like a giant stuffed into a toy-sized chair.”

He chuckles. “Let’s hope I don’t have to get up.”

I look around the restaurant, imagining what would happen if Alexis suddenly appeared. Perhaps we’d be able to play it off and say we were hungry on the way home. She might not question that.

But even thinking that way has me feeling low.

What’s the other option?

Tell her what happened last night, shatter the heart that once belonged to Lisa.

“What are you thinking about?” Triston asks.

“Oh, everything.”

He laughs grimly. “Yeah, I get that.”

The waiter approaches, and we both order water, then he retreats to let us look over the menus. But really I’m more interested in studying Triston, letting my gaze flit over every inch of him, from the tightness in his jaw to the certainty in his eyes.

But certainty of what?

Of how much he wants me? Did he mean it when he said he doesn’t care that I’m a virgin?

His words replay in my mind. He said he cared about me. I have no way of knowing if he meant that, either.

“I get the feeling there’s something you want to ask me,” he says gruffly.

I bite my lip and nod. He makes me feel so vulnerable sitting under the spotlight of his attention. But it’s a good kind of vulnerability, as though he’s going to protect me, stop anything bad from happening to me, to us, to our family.

“You said you cared about me,” I murmur, looking down at the table.

I can’t bear to stare directly into his eyes when I’ve said something like that.

“I did,” he growls. “I do.”

“Because of Lisa?” I guess. “Because my friend saved your daughter’s life?”

I can feel his eyes on me, as though pinning me in place. But my heart flutters whenever I think about meeting the predator’s look in his eye. My whole body is buzzing, sensations firing from my toes to my scalp.

He sets all of me alight.

“I want to explain,” he says, “but it’s difficult.”

I finally look up at him. His lips are pressed tight. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he looks indecisive.

But I can’t imagine Triston being indecisive about anything.

“What do you mean?”

He bites down, staring, looking for a second like he might break down or flip the table. The former seems impossible, and yet there’s so much emotion contained within the steeliness of his eyes, so much fire.

“I guess we could talk about it later,” I say, needing to bring him some comfort, even if I don’t know the source of his agony.