Page 59 of Paradise in Progress
Tonight is everything I didn’t know I needed. At some point, Tristan moved his chair closer, erasing the space between us. His tan arm wraps around my shoulder and rests on the back of my chair. The weight of his arm is strong and warm, settling as if it belongs there. The rough pad of his thumb traces slow, absent circles on my bare skin, each motion sending shivers along my spine.
I glance up at him, expecting to catch his eyes, but he’s focused, watching the singer with that casual ease I envy. The bright lights of the stage glimmer across his face, casting shadows along his sharp jaw. I want to pepper that jaw with kisses and feel the stubble against my delicate skin.
He’s leaning back in his seat, legs spread wide in that infuriatingly attractive way men seem to own without even trying, everything about him content. He’s completely at ease, like this—likeus—is the most natural thing in the world. But every brush of his thumb tells a different story, one that makes it harder to breathe.
“This place is really cool.” My eyes scan around the bar and land on a group of locals throwing darts.
“You ever play?”
Turning my head, I find Tristan watching the same group. “Darts were never my thing. Pool, I can play, but not darts.”
He hums as he brings his bottle to his lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. His tongue peeks out as he licks the drop that escapes. My thighs clench at the idea of his tongue on me again.
“I never would have pegged you for a pool shark.”
“I’m full of surprises, baby,” I say playfully, flashing him a wink. His chuckle rolls warmly over me like the waves crashing on a nearby shore—powerful and soothing.
“Yes, you are, Firecracker. So many surprises.” Tristan’s husky voice is like velvet as his smooth lips land on my skin. He trails soft kisses around my collarbone and higher up my neck before he’s sucking my flesh between his teeth. With a gentle bite, he laps at the mark before he’s pulling away, and I’m fighting the moan desperate to break free. Then he moves fluidly and positions himself in the same casual manspread, as if nothing just happened.
Meanwhile, I’m a soaked, achy mess, waiting to be devoured. His arm finds the back of my chair as his thumb resumes rubbing against my skin.
“Is this everything you ever wanted?” His question causes me to pause as I look over at him.
My face scrunches with confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Your dream of being an architect. Is this everything you imagined it would be?”
I stare out in front of me as I watch the guy sing a terrible rendition of “Dancing Queen.” “Did I imagine that the company I thought I was going to make me senior architect, with the promise to be chief architect in the next two years, would be swallowed up by my college rival family business? No, this isn’t everything I imagined it would be.”
Tristan’s shoulders slump in the seat next to me.
“But I can’t imagine it any other way. Turns out, I missed fighting with you.”
I feel his deep chuckle reverberate through my body. “Is that so?”
A smile spreads across my face as I nod. I really did miss this. Not only does competing with Tristan fuel my desire to win and be the best, but it gives me a spark of joy.
By the time we’re on our fourth round, I’m feeling the alcohol buzz through my system, my body relaxed in a way that makes everything feel a little lighter as every one of our touches lingers longer than the last.
Then, without warning, the DJ’s voice booms over the speakers. “Next up, Tristan!”
He freezes, his eyes darting to me, and I can’t help my mischievous grin.
“You didn’t...” he starts, but I just shrug, trying to look innocent.
“I might’ve signed you up while I was ‘using the bathroom,’” I say, laughing as he groans, running a hand through his hair.
“You’re trouble,” he mutters. Standing up, he shoots me a playful glare. But there’s a smile on his face, and I can see the excitement flickering in his eyes even though he’s trying to hide it.
I watch as he walks toward the stage, my heart racing for him. I know he’ll be fine—he’s always good at everything he does—but there’s a thrill in seeing him like this, vulnerable in front of a crowd, even if it’s just a handful of locals.
The opening chords of “Party in the USA” start, and Tristan shoots me a scathing look that makes me laugh. The crowd around cheers as they catch on to what song he’s about to sing. Tristan shakes out his shoulders as he takes a deep breath before jumping in. His voice isn’t perfect, but it’s not terrible either, and the crowd seems to love it, clapping and rooting him on like he’s a pro. I can’t take my eyes off him, the way he loosens up as he sings, the way his confidence grows with each note. When he glances at me, eyes locking on to mine, I can’t help but cheer through my laughter. Tossing my arms in the air, I shimmy to the beat as I fully embrace the buzz from the alcohol and the energy radiating around this bar.
When he finally makes his way back to the table, there’s a wild grin on his face, and before I can say anything, he pulls me into a kiss, his lips warm and insistent against mine in a way that has me swooning.
“Payback, baby. Just wait,” he murmurs against my mouth, and I smile, my heart pounding like it’s reaching out to him.
“Bring it on, Golden Boy.”
