Page 11 of Wait For Me

And maybe did other things. While maybe, possibly, thinking of me.

“Cora,” Tristan says.

Just hearing the sound of my name in his mouth does all kinds of tingly, fluttery things to my insides. The shirt’s probably just stiff from being on me last night—the blouse I left on the ground after stepping into the shower was still crusty from the spilled booze when I kicked it into the hamper this morning.

“Cora,” he repeats, his voice closer this time.

I open my eyes again. He’s at the bed, holding the shirt, squeezing it in his fist.

My mind goes to a dirty, dirty place, one that doesn’t line up with the innocent fantasies I used to have about my brother’s best friend. I remember Tristan being beautiful—perfect, to me. Now, he’s a man, and the feelings I had for him then collide with the physical feelings I have for him now, as an adult. Last night, when Mia asked me if I’d make an exception and kiss Tristan Galloway, I wouldn’t have in a million years expected him to be the man I actually did kiss last night. I’d been furious once I found out it was him. Not because he knew who I was and did it anyway—he’d tried to tell me before I took matters into my own hands.

No, I was furious at myself, for thinking the thousand things I promised I wouldn’t after kissing him.

For picturing everything that would come next.

For me once again making casual impossible.

I move toward the door, head and heart swimming.

“Wait,” Tristan says as I pass him.

Adrenaline shoots through my stomach and I pause.

“Cora, I should have told you who I was last night.”

“You tried.”

“No, I didn’t. Not right away.”

I pinch my lips together. “Is it as bad as finding mein your room?”

He’s still holding the shirt. He tosses it in his suitcase. “Maybe we can call it even.”

I let out a little laugh. That corner of his lip turns up again, just a little.

“You have the same smile,” I say, before I can stop myself.

Tristan meets my eye and something hot and sparking expands between us. “Do you regret what happened?”

For a moment, I think he’s asking about me sneaking into his room, and the answer to that is definitely yes. What a foolish thing. Except for how good it feels to be close to him.

Then his eyes go to my lips.

He means the kiss.

No,I want to say.I want to kiss you again. With every fiber of my being.Instead, I say, “Ask me later.”

His lip goes up again. His smile is so sexy it hurts. “Okay.”

“I really do have to get back to work.”

“What are you doing after?”

My stomach plunges. “Why?”

“George messed up our meeting. He says I can’t take photos of the east wing now, even though I have his permission in writing.”

A little piece of me falls at that. It’s his work.

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