Josie ran her nails along Tristan’s scalp, making his eyes close in contentment. The feel of her hot body pressing down on him caused momentary insanity, totally emptying his brain of rational thought. He wanted her more than anything he’d ever wanted before. Not here, not now. There was so much more to say.

“Can I take you out?” Tristan asked, suddenly moving his hands back down to her waist and resuming a neutral position.

“That’s an interesting question to ask while my fucking shirt’s off,” she deadpanned.

Tristan grabbed the garment and pulled it back over her shoulders. Defeated, Josie slipped her arms inside and slid back onto his thighs. She did not look up.

“There. So, can I take you out?” he repeated.

“Out of the apartment?”

“Out on a date,” he clarified.

“A date?” Josie asked, her frightened voice making the words sound foreign.

“You know, an appointment for a particular time, especially with a person to whom one is sexually or romantically attached.”

“Are we attached?” she asked, not really knowing what she wanted the answer to be.

“More than you know,” he answered.

While it would be easy to fall into an intensely wild physical relationship with Josie, Tristan wanted more. He wanted to show her that she deserved more than this shallow life she was treading through. He wanted to lure her out of her protective shell and wrap her in his love. Yes, he knew it was love. Even after all this time, it had always been.

Josie jumped out of his lap. She had never been on a date in her life. She didn’t pretend to know what people even did on dates. She’d always felt the tradition was so antiquated and pointless. It was a meeting of two strangers whose ultimate goal was to have sex. She’d always found it easiest to skip the awkward conversations and formal mealtimes.

“A date? Like in a fancy restaurant with lots of strangers?” she said while pacing back and forth in front of Tristan.

Her arms flailed about as if they kept her balanced on a tightrope of panic. She looked to the kitchen drawer that housed her drugs and back to his waiting face. Josie recognized her need to kill the anxious feelings rising inside of her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She pictured a chain and lock around that drawer, forcing herself to stay present and deal with this.

“Mac.”

He spoke softly as if appeasing a belligerent child.

“No! I’m not her. I don’t do dates. I mean, what do you expect from me, Tristan?” His mouth bobbed open like his jaw was unhinged and broken. “Well?” Josie asked again.

Speechlessness was not something Tristan was used to. Though he tried to form thoughts to comfort her, to find the right words to talk her down from the ledge, he simply could not. So he fell back on things that he knew absolutely.

“‘There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.’”

“Stop reciting shit from your perfect memory, Tristan. Tell me what you want!”

“I want you. All of you. I want to possess you. I want to love you and protect you.”

His heavy words knocked Josie to her knees, their eyes now level again.

“Too much,” she said, her anger dying off and being reborn into something new and delicate.

“Then I’ll settle for a date,” he answered. “Just us. No expectations. No requirements.”

“I don’t know if I can. Besides, what’s in it for me?”

“Riveting conversation and a free meal,” Tristan said.

“You can do better than that,” she hedged, running her fingers down his chest and tugging on his belt buckle.

“Are you proposing sexual favors in exchange for going on a date with me?”

“Tit for tat.”

Tristan chuckled, a dark kind of laugh that drove her crazy.

“Sex bartering is usually reserved for long-time married couples. She wants some ice cream, but she wants him to go get it. She offers something easy first. If the weather is nice and the store is close, the husband might agree.”

“But if there’s a snowstorm and he has to walk barefoot, uphill, both ways, he will want to negotiate for something better,” Josie says, playing along.

“Right. There’s negotiation and analysis involved. Are both parties getting something they want?”

“You want a date. I want to see your O-face. Sounds reasonable to me,” Josie answered.

Tristan took a deep breath and reminded himself of the reasons to hold out on their physical relationship. It was for the best. It would prove to Josie that he wanted her on every level. It would prove that she was more than a pretty face and willing partner. While these things were true, staring into her pleading eyes made him want to abandon reason.

After a long moment, he nodded his consent.

“Okay,” she said, “I’ll go on a date with you.”

He smiled cautiously and reached for her hand. Tristan knew that he already belonged to Josie. He had since he was seven years old. But he understood that the woman in front him was not the same girl she used to be. There was so much more to learn.

“Tomorrow night,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

She nodded and chewed her bottom lip uneasily. Sex she could do. Seduction, conquering, abandoning were her trademarks. Josie figured that she could teach a class on how to remain emotionally unattached and still get what you want. But a date would test her.

Tristan’s thumb slid across her mouth, freeing her lip from its confines. He placed a gentle kiss there before heading off to work.

As Tristan took his place behind the bar, he found Erin, Brandie, and Lee talking. With only a few customers to serve, they were happy to sit idly and gossip about the big tippers or the latest episode of a reality television show. He stood a few feet away as Brandie glared at him, not yet over his rejection.

“Haven’t seen Bundy in a while,” Erin muttered while inspecting her new nail polish.

“Who’s Bundy?” Brandie asked.

“This freaky girl who used to come in here all the time,” Lee answered. “Erin thinks she may be a serial killer.”

Tristan cringed at those words, so careless and cold.

“Yeah,” Erin said. “Maybe one of her victims fought back and took her down.”

“I sure hope not. That bitch was hot,” Lee chimed in.

“What did she look like?” Brandie asked.

“Sort of like Wednesday Addams meets Audrey Hepburn,” Erin answered.

“I bet she was crazy in the sack too. I’d like to bang the freaky right out of her.”

“You’re a pig!” Erin chastised.

When the words left Lee’s mouth, Tristan found himself in motion. In three short steps he was there, twisting Lee’s arm behind his back and slamming his face into the bar. The surge of adrenaline pumping through his veins made him feel like he could crush the man’s skull into the countertop. Tristan leaned down so that his angry breaths were heavy in Lee’s ear.

“Don’t you ever talk about her like that. In fact, don’t ever speak about her again or I’ll fucking kill you.”

Tristan released him and stomped his way outside for a breath of fresh air. He slid down the wall, squatting in place, his hands in his nonexistent hair again. He wasn’t sorry for what he did, he was only sorry that he’d lost his cool at work. Surely this incident would get back to his boss and he’d be job hunting again.

“Hey,” a soft voice called to him. Tristan raised his eyes to find Erin watching with a worried expression. “Are you okay?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking Lee that question?” he growled at her.

Tristan stood and lit a cigarette, offering one to Erin. She declined and leaned against the wall beside him, watching his calm demeanor return.

“Nah, screw that asshole. He had it coming.”

They both chuckled and felt most of the tension slip away.

“So you and Bundy, huh?” she asked.