I'm Not in Love

CHAPTER14

Remi

I’m all in with Tristan. All. The. Way. In. And it’s not just about the “in and out” with him, like it has been with every man before. This is different because Tristan is different.

No, I am different with Tristan.

I wake this morning with him wrapped in my arms—yes, a new experience for me. I can tell it’s new for him too. As soon as his eyes pop open, he stiffens. (Not in the fun way.) He turns back to look at me—I am the big spoon. And after a brief “where the hell am I?” expression—it is disconcertingly easy to read—I see a distinct “oh, my God, what I have done?” in his eyes. If he’d woken up fifteen minutes earlier, he would have seen an exact replica of that look in my eyes, but I’ve had time to let the shock of “we’re still in bed together the morning after” sink in.

Even if we’re in over our heads, I don’t care. I’ve never been more terrified, but I wouldn’t change a thing.

Tristan extricates himself from my arms with an angsty sigh and slips from the bed. With the greatest of haste, he throws on his clothes.

“Let me drive you home,” I offer, my tone a touch too whiny for comfort.

“That’s not necessary.” His reply is curt.

"Come on, Tristan. We can grab a cup of coffee and, you know…” Yes, I beg some more.

He shakes his head with a fierceness I try not to be insulted by. Tristan probably thinks that since we’re not technically boyfriends—neither one of us is ready for that official label—transportation home after an evening of heavy breathing isn’t a requirement.

“Uh, okay, then. I guess I’ll text you later today.”

“Sure thing.” He nods several times and scrambles to the door without looking back.

I stretch out on the bed, trying like hell not to ache from the loss of the warm body in my arms. The subsequent thirty seconds passes with excruciating sluggishness. Tristan probably hasn’t even reached the bottom of my building’s long flight of stairs—it’s too soon to text him, right?

* * *

Tristan

“How was last night?”Tara asks as I walk through the door. I could live without her waggling eyebrows. I pull up the neck of my hoodie to hide the evidence of how much fun last night was.

“Dinner was fine, thank you,” I reply.

She laughs. “Shy, are we? It must have been… let’s say, tons offun.” More brow waggling. “You stayed all night.”

“Gentlemen never kiss and tell.” I pull off my down vest and hang it on a hook by the door.

“So, there was kissing. I thought as much.” She grins. And winks.

“Things are solid with us now—and that’s all I’m gonna say on the matter.” I stride past her in the direction of the hallway. “I have a job at noon—need a quick shower.”

“Oh… so, you and Remi got down and dirty last night?” Tara is relentless.

“Coach got Uncle Tris dirty?” Tommy—coloring at the kitchen table—is all ears.

I shoot Tara a glare. “No, Remi did not get me dirty—he took me out to dinner. End of story.”

“Did he spill his milk, and it dripped all over you?” Tommy persists.

In a manner of speaking, yes, he did. Still, distraction is my best bet.

“Tommy, what are you drawing this morning?” I lean over the table to check out his paper.

“Uncle Tris, Mom said you got to go on another sleepover at Coach’s loft.” Jared saunters into the kitchen wearing his Halloween costume—he’s kind of obsessed with it. “You’re such a lucky dog!”

“A lucky dog?” Wendy races into the kitchen, juggling an armful of stuffed sheep. “I wanna see the lucky dog!”

This conversation is going downhill fast. “Guys, I have to get ready for work. And do you know what I’m gonna buy with the money I make today?”

“A lucky dog!” Wendy shouts. “Can it be a white one with black spots?”

“A sippy cup for Coach Remi, so he doesn’t spill his milk on you no more!” Tommy replies without looking up from his artwork.

“Pizza for lunch?” Jared’s response is hopeful.

“Silky black boxer briefs,” Tara murmurs into my ear. “Or maybe massage oil—"

“You are all wrong.” I place my hand gently over Tara’s mouth, stifling further inappropriate—however enticing—suggestions. “I’m gonna buy Halloween candy for the trick-or-treaters who come here. And as you know, the Wilder kids get to split up the leftovers.”

“Get Snickers!” Jared bellows.

“But we all like Reese’s,” Tommy whines. “Right, Mommy?”

“Bah-Bah Lamb Baby told me she wants Skittles,” Wendy adds. “They’re pretty.”

“Maybe I can get a bag of each.” I’ve successfully changed the subject from the way in which Remi got me dirty last night.

Wendy lines up her stuffed animals on the kitchen table. “Uncle Tis, instead of candy, could you buy us a puppy named Lucky?”

“Yeah!” Tommy and Jared shout in unison as Tara shakes her head fiercely.

“We’re gonna need to pay big time dentist bills after you kids eat all of that Halloween candy—there’ll be no money left for vet bills,” Tara says. “Now, let your uncle get showered.”

Wendy picks up Bah-Bah Lamb Baby from the sticky kitchen table and wrinkles her nose. “Mommy, my lambie got maple syrup on her paws. Now she’s dirty, just like Uncle Tis.”

There are too many little ears around here for any privacy at all.