Page 55 of The Sweetest Risk

“Tristan, bro, do you need help with the simple task of getting silverware? Or are you too busy thinking of ways to torture my sister to focus?” Bradley’s voice snaps us out of whatever trance we were stuck in.

Oh, he’s torturing me, all right. Just not in the way my brother is thinking.

Completely oblivious, Bradley steps in between us, takes the silverware from Tristan and heads to the table. “Come on, you two. I’m starving.”

Tristan holds out his hand, gesturing to me to step in front of him, his silly smile still on his face. How am I supposed to move when my entire body feels like mush?

Tess ushers both Tristan and me from behind and proceeds to boss everyone around. “Okay, so Bradley and Jen, you guys sit at the ends of the table. Then Oakley, you’ll come sit by me and that leaves Brooke and Tristan on the other side.”

I get extremely flushed and all the butterflies vacate my stomach as I realize that I will be right next to Tristan for the next hour or so, during which time it is expected we act like our normal selves a.k.a. want to obliterate each other. I make a face at Tess because this was not part of the plan. She and I were going to sit next to each other so the undeniable tension between me and Tristan could remain undetected by my brother, or anyone else in this house for that matter.

Tess just wiggles her eyebrows and sits down across from me.What the hell?I mouth to her, but she simply takes the salad tongs and places some greens on her empty plate. “Dig in, everyone. I hope you enjoy it. This is my favorite family recipe. My grandmother made it all the time when I was little! Anyone need more wine?”

“Yes!” Tristan and I both say in unison.

“Okay then.” Tess hands the unopened bottle to Oakley. “Oakley, would you be so kind as to open this bottle for the table.”

Suddenly, I get it. I know Tess. She is totally into Oakley. That’s why she switched up the seating arrangement. I giggle and shake my head. Tess and her larks. Always stirring up the status quo. She has gumption, that is for sure.

“Uh, sure.” Oakley grabs the twist top bottle and in one swift move, it comes off. So easily, in fact, that all of us start laughing. I know Tess well enough that she is crushing hard on Oakley. She is not being subtle about it either.

Unphased, Tess pours wine in my wine glass, then Tristan’s. “Okay, I want to propose a toast!” she says. “Thank you so much, Tristan, for hosting us at your beautiful house here in Telluride. It is seriously such a beautiful place. And thank you to Brooke who won this giveaway at the auction at Casino Night. This was a much-needed vacation and I’m glad we can do it all together. So I guess: to Tristan and Brooke!”Tristan and Brooke!I try not to blush. I love the way our names sound together.

Glasses clink and everyone starts digging in.

I scoop some of the salad onto my plate and as I pass the bowl to my left, Tristan’s hand grazes mine for a millisecond. I feel tingly all over. I need to keep my facial expressions in check and try to cover my already flushed face. Tristan reaches over my plate, grabs the large serving spoon full of chicken and orzo and slaps it onto his own plate. He smells amazing. My favorite Moroccan mint and cedar smell. We lock eyes for a millisecond and that is enough to make me squirm. “Do you want some, Cupcake?”

“Yes, but I am very capable of getting it myself, Hot Shot.” I grasp the spoon out of his hand – a little too forcefully, because I knock over Tristan’s wine glass. His freshly poured wine spills all over his lap. Shit.

“Oh party foul. Way to go, Brooke,” Bradley pipes in.

I grab a napkin and say, “Thanks for the illuminating commentary, Brad.” Without thinking, I start frantically wiping down Tristan’s lap.

Conversation picks back up and the attention is no longer on this side of the table. Tristan’s hand holds onto my wrist, ceasing my progress to clean up my mess. “Stop.”

“What? I am just trying to help.”

He whispers, “You are doing something else to me right now, Brooke. Please. Stop.”

I look down and realize what he meant. He’s right. I need to stop.

I immediately let go of the napkin and turn my body to face the table. I gulp down my wine and successfully get the main entree onto my plate without more hiccups. Tristan scoots his seat back in and I can see his dumb, delicious dimples grace his annoyingly handsome face. He enjoys me being flustered like this. Always has. Except this time, the stakes are different. Well, I guess for me they are.

Apparently it is too quiet for my extroverted brother because he says, “So, Tristan. I am surprised you didn’t bring one of your puck bunnies on this trip. What’s that about, man?”

By some grace of whatever is up there in the universe the timer goes off for the soufflés. I jump up and squeal a little too loudly, “I got it!” It literally could not be more perfect timing since I do not want to hear the answer to this question. Even though I know Tristan hasn’t seen anyone but me since we started hooking up, I still don’t want to hear a fake account of what he might be or would’ve been doing with someone else.

I can feel Tristan’s eyes follow me into the kitchen and despite my efforts to put space between me and that conversation, I still hear every word. “Um, you know man, I just wanted to hang out and not worry about entertaining a girl.”

“Entertaining a girl” huh? What kind of “entertaining”? The same “entertaining” that we have done? I suddenly get hit with the green monster of envy. I open the oven and take out my soufflés. They are perfect. I smile and place them on the stovetop. At least these didn’t turn out to be a complete disaster, unlike where this night might go if Tristan continues to be, well…Tristan.

Completely irresistible. Completely hot.

Completely off-limits – at least, I need to make sure my brother thinks so.

I turn off the oven and return to my seat. “Bullshit. Tell me the truth, man.”For the love of God, Brad, let it go.

“I don’t know man. I’m getting kind of sick of hooking up with the same type of woman. I didn’t want to bring someone here who I don’t really have feelings for. This place means a lot to me. I want to reserve it for someone special.” Tristan’s warm hand finds the top of my knee and gives it a small squeeze. My heart leaps and I stuff my mouth to keep from giving away my elation.

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