Page 40 of The Sweetest Risk

I roll my eyes as the hockey talk is about to commence and last for the remainder of the night. I head to the kitchen to get wine glasses out. It’s going to be a long evening of my dad, Tristan and Bradley talking all things hockey. At least I can chat with Jen about wedding stuff tonight. And I am grateful Tristan brought a bottle of wine. I am going to need some to get through tonight, pretending to hate the man I spent the best night of my life with a week ago.

I glance at the bottle and it happens to be my favorite type of wine. Peach moscato. I smile that Tristan remembered that small detail from years ago. I’ll have to properly thank him at another time.

I open the drawer and take out the wine opener. I feel someone’s body heat up against my back and sleeves of tattoos trap me against the counter. Tingles travel up and down my body. It is taking everything in me to not turn around and make out with the man standing behind me.

Tristan brushes my hair from one side of my neck, rendering it exposed, and whispers, “Did I get the right one, Cupcake?”

Goosebumps appear on my body.Keep your composure, Brooke. “Mmhmm,” I succinctly respond, trying to focus on screwing in the wine opener correctly.

“Here.” Tristan’s hands cover both of mine and a jolt of electricity permeates me. Tristan begins to twist the corkscrew and even that simple act makes me hot. He presses his body up against mine and I can feel how his body is responding to my presence. This night is going to be interesting to say the least. How the hell are we supposed to get through this charade when we both want to rip each other’s clothes off? The cork finally pops off just as the doorbell rings, making us both jump and come back to the reality that we are not alone in this house.

Unfortunately.

“It must be Bradley and Jen,” I say as I place the cork on the side of the bottle and grab a glass.

“Yeah, must be.” Tristan leans against the counter and crosses his arms as he watches me pour what is probably half the bottle into my wine glass. “Woah, slow down slugger. Save some for the rest of us. Are you planning on getting shitfaced drunk at your parents’ house on a Sunday night?”

“Whatever it takes to get through this doomed evening.”

“Let’s be positive about this, Brooke.” He takes my wrist and brings it up to his lips and softly kisses it. “At least we get to see each other. I missed you all week. Did you miss me?”

My mouth turns dry and I part my lips, about to respond, “Of course I did!” when Bradley’s voice seems to be getting closer. Iyank my hand out of Tristan’s and smile toward the entrance to the kitchen.

“Hey bro! I didn’t realize you were already here!” Tristan and Bradley make the loudest sound with their handshake, more like a clap, and give each other a one-armed hug. Why are men like this? Just hug like normal human beings!

“Damn,” Bradley yells over his shoulder, “I am surprised the kitchen is still intact. And that Mom and Dad allowed you two to be alone in the kitchen. Let me check to make sure all the knives are in their proper places.”

“Brad, leave them alone.” Jen embraces me and then Tristan. “Although it is a little suspicious that you two aren’t at each other’s throats right now.”

“The night is still young,” Tristan pipes in. “Anything can happen. Right, Cupcake?” The way he said “Cupcake” is unlawful. It is laced with lust and my wet panties are proof of the effect Tristan Lawson now has on me.

I decide to respond with equal lust, “Right, Hot Shot.”

We endup sitting next to each other. Tristan insisted since Brad and Jen would probably want to sit next to each other. “We can be civil, I promise, Mrs. Beckett,” he reassures my mother as she shoots us a “you better not destroy my house tonight” look.

Just as I predicted, my dad, Bradley and Tristan talk about hockey and the upcoming games they still have left before playoffs. Apparently, they are in a really good position to make it to the playoffs this year. I can sense the excitement in both my brother and Tristan.

“So Brooke,” my mom chimes in. “How is everything looking for opening up your little bakery?”

I hate when my mom says “little bakery” like it’s some sort of silly wish that will never come to fruition.

I clear my throat and push a piece of chicken to the other side of my plate. I can feel all eyes on me. “Well, Tess and I saw a place that would be perfect in Uptown that is available for rent.” I shrug as reality hits me all at once as I decide to not tell them how much it could possibly be. “But I still need to call them and find out more details.”

Bradley butts in, “You know B, I can always spot you the money for a bit until the business starts making a profit, I don’t mind.”

I shake my head vigorously. “No, absolutely not. Thank you, but you have your wedding and your own life to worry about.”

I can see my mom’s head shaking in my peripheral vision. “I don’t understand why you don’t take your brother up on his offer. He’s trying to help you, Brooke.”

I stab the poor piece of chicken in front of me. “I don’t need his help,” I say curtly and look at my mom, whose eyes go wide. I rarely talk to my mom like this, but I can’t take the infantilizing comments anymore. I am an adult and I don’t need my older brother to take care of me. We aren’t kids anymore. “I’ll figure it out on my own. This is my dream and I’ll open my bakery when the time is right.” I need to change the subject. “So, Jen, how was the cake tasting the other day? Bradley doesn’t update me on anything wedding-related.” I know I am being stubborn but I have been living in Bradley’s shadow ever since he scored his first goal when he was four years old.

Thankfully, the conversation shifts to the cake tasting. As I place some baked chicken into my mouth, I feel a strong hand grip my thigh. I glance over at Tristan, who is still actively involved in the conversation about his best man duties. He’s evil for doing this to me right now. With my family surrounding us. But maybe that’s also the fun of it all.

I purse my lips and lift my glass. As I take a drink of wine, Tristan’s rough, huge hand starts traveling up my inner thigh, causing the hem of my sundress to rise up. I choke slightly on my wine, but not enough to draw attention. Tristan must be the only one who noticed because he gives my thigh a little squeeze and keeps inching closer and closer to where he wants to end up. My skin is on fire from his touch and he is dangerously close to finding out what he is doing to me. A couple more inches in fact.

He takes a sip of his own wine and smirks. He isn’t even looking at me and I can tell his eyes are becoming ravenous. He is distracting himself with the wine and so am I. His fingers graze my cotton underwear. I would’ve worn sexier panties if I had known he was coming over tonight. Not that I was expecting us to do anything in my parents’ house. He starts rubbing against my panties and I have to take another drink of wine to distract myself. I plaster a smile on my face and pretend to be invested in all the wedding talk. Even though all I can think about is Tristan. And what he is doing to me right now. And what he did to me a week ago.

It is getting too intense. I subtly reach down and swat his hand away. I stand up and say, “Excuse me, I need to go to the restroom. Be right back.”

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