Page 8 of Absinthe Dreams
Holy shit.
He's coming with my name on his lips.
My hand tightens on the handle, the urge to storm into the bathroom ripping through me. Except, I don't even know what I'd say.
Take me, I'm yours?
You're an asshole?
I'm in love with you?
I can't say any of that.
I can't tell him that I was eavesdropping, either. He'll be furious.
"Jesus," he mutters from the other side of the door. "Get it together, man. She doesn't want you."
Except…she does. She always has.
I am so confused.
I stumble away from the door as silently as possible, not sure what the hell just happened, what it means, or what I'm even going to do about it. But I do know one thing for sure: Trystan Goodson is far more complicated than I thought.
I'm not sure whatto expect from him after what I heard in the bathroom. Honestly, I think maybe I'm an idiot for expecting anything, because when I finally materialize from the guest room, there is no new and improved Trystan waiting for me. He's the same cranky, domineering jerk who drives me nuts.
"You're still here," he says, gorgeous gray eyes narrowed as he stares at me over the kitchen island.
"And you didn't drown in the shower." I pluck a banana from the bowl in the center of the island, holding his gaze. "You were in there long enough. I was sure you'd died naked. Pity."
I slowly peel the banana, watching every shift of emotion across his face. He tenses slightly, a tiny flicker of guilt flaring in his eyes before he manages to school his expression, shutting it away behind that infuriating mask he always wears around me. The one that's all irritating self-possession and dominance.
"Sorry to disappoint, princess," he says, voice rough. "But if being here with me bothers you so much, you're welcome to go back to San Francisco."
"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" I scowl at him.
He shrugs, which frustrates me.
"Of course you would. Your life is complete when I'm someone else's problem." I take a big bite of the banana, but it tastes likesawdust in my mouth. He is so damn confusing. An hour ago, he was getting himself off with my name on his lips. Now, he's as irritatingly standoffish as ever.
"You don't know anything about my life, Chloe," he says, leaning against the cabinet across from me. "You stopped wanting to know anything about it a long goddamn time ago."
"Uh, no. That was you," I remind him. "You're the one who decided you didn't want to be friends with me anymore. You preferred telling me what to do, instead. And when I didn't just bow to your demands, you decided I wasn't worth the effort." I stomp to the trash before tossing the banana in. "Don't rewrite history now, Tryst."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Oh my god." I whirl to face him. "You don't even remember, do you?"
"Remember what?" His eyes scan across my face.
"The day we stopped being friends."
His brows furrow in confusion, and a little part of me wants to cry. Or scream. Or maybe I want to strangle him. He doesn't remember the day he broke my heart.
"You know what?" I shake my head, reaching around him to grab the leash for Thanos. "It doesn't even matter now. We can coexist without speaking to each other for a few days."
He grabs my arm before I can pull away. "Tell me."
"Let me go."
