“I was going to see if you wanted lunch, but . . .”
“No, she’s having lunch with me,” Tristan asserts.
My eyes flick to him. “I’m fine for the moment, Marley. Thank you.”
Marley’s wide eyes dart between Tristan and me, and I can almost hear her brain ticking . . . just great. How the heck do I explain this?
Tristan glares at Marley and raises an impatient eyebrow.
“Oh,” she stammers, all flustered. “I’ll just be at reception.”
Tristan’s nostrils flare in annoyance. “Okay.”
She points outside with her thumb. “If you need me—”
“Thank you, Marley,” he interrupts her.
She smiles broadly and closes the door, and his eyes come back to me. “Where were we?”
I smile and rub my hand down his arm. “Tris. We can’t see each other anymore.”
He brushes my hand off. “What?”
“We can’t see each other.”
“You’re dumping me?”
“Nobody is dumping anybody,” I say softly. “I really, really like you. The guy I went away with was perfect.”
“So why can’t we see each other?” he scoffs.
“Because of the obvious.”
“Like what?” he snaps. His anger is building.
“Tristan, because you are Tristan Miles, and I’m too old for you. I have children and responsibilities, and you like young blondes who are into fashion.”
He narrows his eyes. “Don’t be fucking funny, Anderson.”
“I’m not. You told me that yourself.” I take his hand in mine. “Tris, if circumstances were different and you were . . .” I pause as I try to articulate what I want to say. “If you were older than me and say . . . had been divorced and had a few kids, we could maybe try and see each other.”
“What?” he snaps again. “You won’t see me because I don’t have children? That’s fucking ridiculous, Anderson. Can you hear yourself right now?”
“Don’t raise your voice at me,” I warn him.
“Shut up, and come to lunch with me.” He takes me into his arms, and his lips drop to my neck. Is he for real? “Tristan.” I sigh. Jeez. “Stop it.”
“Don’t tell me you don’t like me, because I know you do.”
“I do. I’m not denying it. I adore you.”
“So?”
“I don’t like you . . . like that.”
He stares at me, as if trying to process my words. “Like what?”
I’m just going to have to come out with it. “Tris, you aren’t exactly boyfriend material for me.”