Page 62 of Heart to Heart
“Avery,” he greeted me with a hug that felt like he was wrapping his entire body around mine. His sandalwood colognegave me goosebumps. Between that and the natural smell of Tristan, I wanted to bottle it all up and take it home with me. Because that didn’t seem creepy at all.
“A spa?” I asked, stating the obvious.
“Yeah, great choice, huh?” he said loud enough to be picked up by the cameras. His nose slid across my cheek, resting near my ear, where he whispered, “I was hoping you would be the one chosen to go on this date.”
Goosebumps of the horny variety this time sprang across my arms; my legs became useless lumps of gelatin. It all seemed genuine. His smile. The whispered message. The way my entire body reacted to him. It all had to be real, right? This couldn’t just be him acting to revive his career.
“Come. We’ve got a lot to fit in.”
He means today, Avery. To fit into today.
I securedthe soft terry cloth towel around my naked body, wishing like hell that I hadn’t been the one selected for this date. A couples massage with Tristan Tate? Yes, please. A couples massage with Tristan Tate while my naked rear was lying there, only covered by a thin layer of cloth while being filmed and watched by everyone and anyone I’d ever encountered? Hard. Pass. Yet, here I was, getting ready to do just that.
After giving myself a mental pep talk in the locker room mirror, I walked down the hall to the room where Tristan would join me. Much like the rest of the room, the room had a rustic flair, complete with wooden floors that had a less polished appearance and more of a weathered look, matching the wooden beams in the ceiling. Hanging from the ceiling,over two massage tables, was a wagon wheel chandelier lit with candles. Candles were also placed strategically around the room to provide a romantic ambiance and were the only source of light.
As I stood, taking in the atmosphere, a door on the opposite side of the room opened, revealing Tristan. His bare torso was on full display while his bottom half was covered by the same type of white terry cloth towel that concealed as much of my body as I could make it conceal. I gasped way more audibly than I would have liked as I took in his—Jesus, was that an eight-pack? Holy hell, I didn’t even know that was possible. There wasn’t a soft spot on the man, which shouldn’t have surprised me, considering he was an action star, but still, seeing him in person was far different than on television. Even the bold, black lines of the Chinese zodiac snake he had tattooed around his left upper arm looked more vibrant than they did on television. As though seeing one of the Seven Natural Wonders in person, I was in awe.
And from the look on his face, he was equally as in awe of me. No, that couldn’t be right. Could it?
“Fancy meeting you here,” I said, breaking the ice. “Too bad I didn’t bring my laundry with me.” My eyes dropped back down to Tristan’s abs as I playfully stared at them.
He laughed, shaking his head. “You know, maybe I’ll take back what I said earlier about being glad you were the one chosen for this date.”
“Okay,” I said, matching his playful tone. “Maybe I’ll just go then.” I turned to walk to the door but was stopped by two women wandering into the room. In true California fashion, they were just as gorgeous as every other woman in Los Angeles. All tanned skin and perfect balayage, they instructed us to lie on our stomachs on the tables. My masseuse maneuvered my towel, pulling it down until only my backside was covered, leaving meon much the same level as Tristan. I turned my head to face him, locking eyes with him in what was a simultaneously sexy and awkward situation.
He grinned, reaching out a hand to me, which I took without even thinking about the tremendous amount of side boob I was probably showing. The optics of this date would be enough to satisfy the viewers at home, which made me question Tristan’s actions as much as I tried not to. I knew he wasn’t here for love, but was he like this with the other women, too? Keeping up appearances for the camera for the sake of ratings? I didn’t know him well, but the man I’d gotten to know didn’t seem like the type to placate anyone.
I groaned as the masseuse began working on me, rubbing sweet almond oil into the muscles of my back and making her way down my body. When I opened my eyes again, Tristan lay staring at me like he wanted to jump off his table and make me groan himself. My pulse sped up, every fiber of my body becoming electrically charged. Maybe being aware of Tristan and the way he was looking at me made my body ultra-sensitive, or maybe my masseuse was just that good, but as she ran her hands back up my upper torso, she hit a particularly tight area in my neck and the moan I made was damn-near sexual.
I couldn’t be certain, as his voice came out so strangled and contorted as though in pain or ecstasy himself, but from the table next to me, I thought I heard Tristan growl, “Fuck, Avery.”
I walkeddown the hall in my bikini, once again utterly self-conscious of my body and the camera that followed me down to the hot tub where Tristan was waiting for me. From listening toKiki when she read theHeart to Heartfan pages every week, I knew contestants were routinely judged on their bodies, and the comments made by men—and women—were so misogynistic and disturbing that it made me nauseated to think about how I was going to be judged.
The sooner I got in that water, the better.
A door was opened for me by one of the spa’s staff members, and I walked out onto a patio overlooking the hillside and the lavender fields surrounding the building. It was a camera-worthy view. Had I not been standing in a skimpy bikini I bought during a period in my life when I must have had slightly more self-esteem, I may have stood there and taken it in longer.
I rounded the corner to find Tristan lounging in the hot tub, so enamored with the natural beauty around him that he didn’t notice I was in front of him. If only I could take a picture of this moment, him staring out at the horizon, contemplative, appreciative. But I would have to settle for the snapshot in my head and the serenity surrounding us.
“Avery,” Tristan called my name, drawing my attention away from the fields of lavender and back to his face. His eyes raked appreciatively down my body as I stood exposed to him without a towel to provide me with coverage. Acutely aware of the fact that I was in two thin pieces of fabric, I threw my arms across my chest.
“Why are you covering yourself?” he asked. Tristan had to be used to women wanting him to take notice of them with as little clothes on as possible. Me standing here in front of him, secretly wanting him to notice me, but also not notice me, was confusing to the both of us. When I didn’t answer him, his face softened. “You never have to cover yourself with me, Avery. There isn’t a part of you I wouldn’t want to see.” Stunned, I allowed my arms to fall back to my side as he drank me in again. “My God, you’re beautiful.”
A million people could line up in front of me and tell me the same thing, and I wouldn’t believe a word they said, or even care for that matter. Only there was something in the sincerity in Tristan’s voice and the way he looked at me, his eyes penetrating my soul, that made me have no doubt in the world that he meant every last word.
“Come in,” he said, motioning for me to join him in the hot tub.
Not needing to be told twice, I padded across the patio. Tristan stood up from the water to greet me, revealing the body that had won him the cover of fitness magazines worldwide. His swim trunks hung low on his waist, revealing V-cut abs and an image I would be filing away in my memory bank. If it was any lower, the show would have to insert an eggplant censor block for viewers at home.
And if that weren’t mesmerizing enough, he reached out his hand for me to take like a vision from a dream.
Please don’t let me wake up. Please. Don’t. Let. Me. Wake. Up.
All kinds of internally flustered, I took his calloused hand and stepped down into the hot tub, with Tristan keeping a firm grip on me as he guided me over to where he’d been sitting. When we sat down together, our bodies were so close that it felt like they were being welded together.
Eighteen-year-old Avery would be positively deceased right now.
Us taking a seat must have been the cue for a server to hustle out a bottle of non-alcoholic champagne and two glasses, which he poured and delivered in record time before hustling back inside. It reminded me of the pit crew at a NASCAR event. The less time spent doing their job, the better.
