“Want to get out of here, darlin’?” he whispered from behind her, while his hands came to rest on her hips.

Monica could feel his body against her back, his warm breath sliding down her neck and settling over her skin. Every touch felt undeniably right.

Without another word, she nodded and signaled to the bartender to close her tab. There was no uncomfortable air as they shared a cab in silence. Within the confines of her modest yet impeccably decorated apartment, they discussed her passion for changing the world and his passion for burning it.

Monica delighted in Rob’s daredevil approach to life and his lilting drawl. Among hours of conversation, they kissed until breathless and held each other tight. By the time the morning sun’s rays filtered through her curtains, Monica Templeton had fallen in love. She never knew it would be so easy.

On the other side of the city, Tristan stirred from his sleep. He rolled over and found a book pressed into his back. He reached beneath him, pulled it out, and marked the page. He wondered if its sharp dialogue and methodical plot had spurred the fantastic dreams of sexual banter and foreplay in a sleek limousine with Josie. He could still picture her straddling his lap with her hands braced on the roof. Soft lighting highlighted her face while the black windows blocked out the bustling world. He could almost hear her voice chanting his name in pleasure. Tristan groaned at the memory and willed away his morning wood.

He worked the early shift today, and that meant that he’d see Josie soon. He ran his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit developed years ago, but his hair was gone. A couple weeks ago, he’d needed a change, so he’d shaved it off. While liberating, it had left him with nothing to calm his anxiety. His hand passed over the fuzz, but it didn’t have the same effect.

Tristan’s theory was that this new coif would make him less recognizable to his former associates. Those people were tainted by Fiona and her father’s manipulations, not to mention they held all his secrets. When he left the business, Tristan assumed they would come for him, but apparently he’d overestimated his worth. Still, he slept with his cold steel piece tucked safely beneath his pillow each night.

Smirking up at his ceiling, Tristan considered what his pompous father’s reaction would be to the black oxide Desert Eagle pistol that had saved his life too many times to count. He pictured rolling up to the Fallbrook estate in his 1967 Impala and mowing down a few of the perfectly manicured hedges. Parading his branded skin, he would shove bars through his flesh, filling each pierced hole just for the reunion. His poor, docile mother would have a stroke and his father would call the authorities before he even recognized his own son. Tristan laughed at the absurdity of it all.

Some days, he missed them. He missed his mother’s hugs and the way she sang church hymns as she cooked that evening’s dinner. Even though he’d read them all, he missed his father’s library and their afternoons of “man time” spent fishing or watching football. The country singer Kinky Friedman had said, “A happy childhood is the worst possible preparation for life.” Tristan couldn’t agree more. He hadn’t been prepared for any of this.

He found his nerves frayed and anxious for Josie again. His chest seemed to vibrate with the need to see her, touch her. Soon, the need to move, to fly took over, and he flung himself from the bed.

Tristan threw on some shorts and a T-shirt while trying not to glimpse his pathetic face in the mirror. He laced his running shoes and stretched his hands toward the ceiling before heading outside. Mornings on the California coast were so different from back home. The air was cool and welcoming. His steps sounded off left, then right, left, right. He emptied his head and pushed himself harder, sprinting up every hill until his lungs screamed for more air.

Every piece of graffiti caught his eye. Every colorful scene, every line of illegible text brought him back to her. He wondered if any of them had been done by Josie. By the time he made it back to his block, he was exhausted. He felt emptied and exorcised.

A young couple passed him on the sidewalk. Their joined hands swinging between them as if love could not nail them down. They barely noticed Tristan there, huffing and puffing.

It was easy to imagine a different life, playing out in an alternate universe. He would be graduating from college about now, then moving on to law school. Nothing but pride would reflect back at him from his family.

Dreams were something his parents encouraged. For a long time, Tristan had dreamed of McKenzi. In all the times he’d imagined a bright, shining future, he’d pictured her by his side.

Tristan had always been the most accomplished student, the shining example. He’d won science fair ribbons, academic awards, and scholarships to the nation’s most prestigious universities. Through all his accomplishments, Tristan never disclosed, not to his jealous classmates or his adoring teachers, the secret behind his success. It was his ace in the hole, the one thing that guaranteed a future. However, when it had come time to cash in his chips, he’d thrown it all away for the love of a girl. Perhaps if McKenzi hadn’t left him with an expansive pit of sadness and hurt, he would have never sought out the company of Fiona Moloney. He wouldn’t have been dragged into Fiona’s world and her crooked family. He wouldn’t be a shadow of his former self.

Though he may have been misguided and misled, he’d made every bad decision on his own. He didn’t blame McKenzi or her father, Earl. Tristan understood now what he never could as a child. McKenzi was taken from him by a father who wanted only to provide a new beginning for his little girl. After suffering the loss of his wife, he was hurting and wrecked and needed to distance himself from everything familiar. He doomed them by trying to save them.

Tristan took the stairs to his apartment two at a time. He thought of a cold shower, then falling back into bed and more dreams of Josie. But the thought of seeing her in the flesh kept him motivated. Today, he’d be a half hour early for his shift.

Josie approached the Darkroom knowing that Tristan would already be a couple of hours into his shift. She walked down the sidewalk, flitting between other pedestrians. She slid down the urban hill, watching the sun disappear into the bay. The orange hues looked like flames on the water. Soon the night would come, that purple-blue polka-dotted sky that embraced her like nothing else. Josie turned the corner and sighed at what she found there.

Tristan was leaning against the brick, smoking a cigarette like it was his last before execution. She watched as his eyes squinted when he inhaled and the long fingers of his free hand tapped against his thigh. When finished, he threw the cigarette into the street, letting it roll downhill and out of sight. She stepped closer, finally gaining his attention.

His lips volleyed between a half smile and nervous frown as he took in her appearance. Every curve of her body called to him, every nerve ending felt frayed and drawn to her. Free from the oversize hoodie, she looked amazing, and he instantly felt the familiar stirring of lust.

Silently, Josie made her way over, grabbing his hand to tow him along. She didn’t shy away from his shocked expression. They ducked into the alley and she pushed him against the wall. Her small, frenzied hands ran from his belt buckle, up the hard planes of his chest, and around his neck. His eyes flicked back and forth between her mouth and her cleavage, while he denied the temptation to return her touch.

Her slight pucker hovered just below his, her heels giving her the perfect height to reach him. Their ragged breaths washed over each other while the heat radiating between their bodies created an almost visual aura of need. She had always taken her conquests with no apologies, but with Tristan it was different. More than she wanted him, she wanted him to want her too. Josie hung there, just out of reach, waiting to make sure he would not reject her. She wasn’t sure if he gave in or gave up, but she moved forward when his eyes fluttered closed.