So tonight is going to be a fuck fest of epic proportions.

“Weren’t Steven and Kelli ridiculous today?” Alexandria asks when I finally break our kiss.

I frown. Why the hell are we talking about them now? Women. They love to gossip. “They were beyond ridiculous. I assumed Steven would take his chance and tell his parents—hell all of us—that he’s been seeing Kelli.”

Alexandria gave me a few deets on what’s happening between Kelli and Steven. Not that I was particularly interested, and she knew it. I’ll leave the gossipy-relationship-type stuff to her.

“I know. It was so weird. I don’t get them.” She shakes her head, her hair spreading everywhere on my pillow.

“I’m sure people don’t get us either.” I kiss her softly. Her pretty lips, her delicate upturned nose, her sweet chin. Her rounded cheeks, her eyelids when she closes her eyes and finally, her forehead. I’d start all over again and kiss her in the exact same pattern but she’d probably shove me away.

Or maybe not.

This could be an analogy of our budding relationship, I’m thinking.

“You think so?” she asks tentatively.

“I’m sure.” How could they not? I’m blown away that she wants to stick around me. I’m blown away that I want to stick around her. Not that she isn’t amazing and sweet and fun and sexy as fuck but this goes against my beliefs, spending time with Alexandria like we’re in a relationship or something.

I’m going against everything I stand for. I threw one and done out the window with ease. It’s fucking insane.

“Well, I get us,” she admits softly. “Do you?”

Aw, hell. How do I answer her question without fucking this up?

I wait for him to say something, my chin resting on his chest, my gaze locked on his face. He appears conflicted, like he doesn’t know which way to go with his answer and I’m mentally preparing to hear the worst.

This is Tristan I’m dealing with, after all.

He settles his hand on my head, smoothing my hair back, almost like he’s petting me. I love it when he does that and my eyes start to close as he lulls me into this false sense of security. As if nothing can go wrong as long as Tristan’s touching me like this.

I should know better. I lived most of my life with a false sense of security. Always believing that everything was just fine when in reality, my entire world had been on the verge of collapse for years. Until finally it actually collapsed—and I was the only one left behind to pick up the pieces.

Well, no more. Reality is my best friend. So if Tristan says the wrong thing, tells me he still doesn’t want anything serious, then forget it. I’m out. Moving on.

Even though it’ll hurt more than I want to admit.

“I get us,” he finally says, his deep voice soft. He runs his hand over my hair until it settles on my back, between my shoulder blades. “It really shouldn’t matter what anyone else thinks, right?”

Opening my eyes, I find he’s watching me, concern in his deep blue gaze. “Do you worry what someone else might think?”

“I don’t worry about shit,” he mutters and I pinch his side, making him yelp. “Jesus woman, what was that for?”

“You don’t have to pull your ‘I’m Tristan fucking Prescott—king of the damn world and can do whatever I want’ act on me.” I pause, hoping he realizes that I need this from him. “Be real with me.”

He skims my hair away from my forehead, traces his index finger over one of my eyebrows, then the other. “I’m the most real I can get when I’m with you.”

I swear my heart skips a beat. Maybe even two beats. “Yeah?”

Tristan nods. “But I don’t want to label it, what’s happening between us.”

“Oh.” Of course, he doesn’t. Meaning, I’m not his girlfriend, he’s not my boyfriend so we’re just…what? Two people fucking? Isn’t that the punch line to an old joke?

Great. I’ve been rendered a punch line. My life couldn’t get any worse.

“You sound disappointed.”

“That’s because I am.” I pull away from him and sit up in bed, tucking the sheet high so it covers my chest. I’m not in the mood to be exposed, especially after what he just said. “Everything comes with a label, Tristan, whether you like it or not.”

“Really? And what’s my label?” He sits up too, frustration clearly vibrating off his big body. I’m pissed at him yet can still appreciate just how damn good looking he is. Hair sticking up everywhere, completely naked, a white sheet bunched around his hips so only his magnificent chest is on display, his expression one of complete irritation. Irritation is still a great look on him, the bastard. He probably hates that we’re having this conversation when we could be having sex—his favorite pastime.

Mine too, but this discussion needs to happen. I can’t float along forever. I need answers. Confirmation.

Of what, I’m almost afraid to find out.

Sitting up straighter, sheet still firmly tucked in place, I contemplate him, tempted to lash out and say something awful. “You’re handsome. Sexy. Rich. Charming.”

He just sits there, doesn’t say a word.

“You’re also arrogant. Cocky. Callous.” I pause before I deliver the last label. “Heartless.”

His eyes narrow but otherwise, still no reaction.

“That’s what I thought when I first met you.” I hesitate and look down, not wanting to see all that anger flashing in his eyes. “So. What are my labels?”

He’s quiet for a moment. So quiet, I finally have to look up to see if he’s still breathing. “You really want to know what I thought that night when I first met you?” he asks.

I nod, nerves making me shaky.

Scared.

“Beautiful. Sexy. Sarcastic. Untouchable.”

Now it’s my turn to remain silent. What can I say? He pretty much nailed me with four choice words.

“Snobby. Gorgeous. Untouchable,” he continues.

“You already said that. Untouchable,” I murmur, not really digging the snobby reference. Though I did call him heartless so…touché.

“That was the label everyone placed on your head. They all warned me off of you.”

I frown. “Who are they?”

“Shep. Jade. Gabe. Lucy. Hell, even Kelli told me to leave you alone, though she also assisted in getting us together, too. Like she couldn’t help herself.”

“I’m guessing that only made you want me more.” I chuck the sheet away from my body and scramble out of bed, frantically scanning the room, looking for my clothes. I can’t listen to his crap any longer. The more he talks, the worse it gets. He doesn’t really care about me. He cares more about the idea of having me. Big difference.

How does a conversation go from so amazingly good to horrifically bad all in about two minutes’ time?

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for my clothes. I need to get out of here,” I mutter, snatching my panties from the floor. I distinctly remember Tristan slowly pulling them off me, his mouth everywhere, driving me insane.

Now he’s driving me insane in other ways and I hate it.

He grabs hold of my arm, stopping my progress and the panties I was clutching fall to the floor. “Why? Because of what I said?”

I glare at him, wishing he would let go. Wishing he would never, ever let me go, too. “You’re only with me because you think I’m some sort of forbidden fruit or whatever.”

Tristan rolls his eyes. “You really believe that?”

“I know it.” I try to jerk out of his hold but his grip tightens. “Let me go.”

“No.” He pulls but I resist. “Ali, listen to me.”

“Why? So you can say more pretty words and trick me into staying? You don’t care about me. You care about the conquest. Wanting something you can’t have. It’s bullshit.” I manage to somehow squirm out of his hold and run, grabbing the first article of clothing I see—one of Tristan’s flannel shirts hanging over a chair. I throw open his bedroom door and run down the hall, jerking on his shirt as I practically trip down the stairs.