I roll my eyes at his arrogance finally making an appearance. I let out the tight breath I was holding, feeling much more comfortable with this version of Tristan that I know so well.
Just then, the bartender appears with two shots of tequila. I look quizzically at Tristan.
"Isn't tequila your preferred drink?" he asks, sliding one of the shots in front of me. "I figured we both need it after that bullshit."
I bark out a laugh and grab the shot glass. "You're not wrong." I raise the glass and turn toward Tristan. "What are we cheers-ing?"
He stares thoughtfully at the clear liquid, then turns his soul-piercing gaze back to me. Without breaking eye contact, he lifts his glass and says, "To being willing to gut anyone that fucks with the people we care about."
A shiver runs through me at the possessiveness of his words. In the back of my mind, it occurs to me how different this possession feels from Steve's.
We both throw our shots back. I cringe, then sigh happily at the warm feeling that flows through me with the aftertaste.
I fidget nervously with the shot glass as I try to think of something to say. Now that I've said my thank you, I'm not quite sure how to keep being around Tristan.
"So, uh, any fights coming up?" I ask awkwardly.
Tristan is silent for a moment, then he chuckles. I twist my head toward him. "What?" I snap.
His arrogant smirk is back in full force as he motions to the bartender again. "You really don't know how to have a normal conversation with me, do you?"
I squirm under his curious gaze and turn back to my shot glass. "Nice Tristan is unnerving as fuck," I eventually mumble.
He barks a laugh at my admission. "I can go back to being an asshole if that would make you more comfortable," he grins. "I could tell you that dress is way too short because your ass is too big."
My head snaps back toward him again, this time with the deadliest glare I can muster. "You can go fuck yourself," I grumble. "My ass is fantastic."
I don't miss his lazy, lingering glance down to the bottom of my dress, across my exposed thigh. I tug at my dress self-consciously.
He doesn't miss the motion. His eyes dart back to my face, grin still firmly in place. "Okay, so no-go on that idea, too. We can figure this out, Remy." He turns his body to face me fully and leans his elbow casually on the bar, cocking his head slightly. "How about this: I'll let you be your usual, charming self and give you full reign to insult me however you want. Assume whatever you want about me and I'll tell you if it's true or not.”
My eyes narrow as I study him suspiciously. "How would I know if you're telling the truth?"
He nods at the bartender delivering the tequila shots before sliding one over toward me. "Guess you'll just have to trust me," he answers with a grin. He lets me glare at him for another moment before grabbing his shot and nodding at mine. "What's it gonna be? Wanna play with me?"
I turn toward the new shot glass to hide the blush that flames across my face at his bold words. "If you think I'm going to hold back, you're delusional," I grumble.
His grin widens. "I would expect nothing less." My breath catches as he leans in closer. Clinking his glass to mine, he whispers, "Do your worst, Remy baby." Then he slams the shot without even a grimace.
I throw one last glare his way before downing my own. I can feel the alcohol buzzing its way through my body and I can already tell it's about to loosen my tongue more than it ever should around Tristan. But right now, I can't bring myself to give a fuck. I welcome the return of my confidence. Turning my body completely toward him and taking my time crossing my legs, I lean against the bar and study him thoughtfully. I smirk when he tries to hide his glance at my legs.
"The fighting and arrogance are an overcompensation for a tiny dick," I start with a straight face and way too much confidence.
Tristan's eyes widen in surprise for a split second before he bursts into laughter.
"I'm not sure why I expected anything different," he says with a chuckle after he's calmed down. I raise my eyebrow, waiting for his answer. The cocky grin on his face appears right back where it was a moment ago. "No, I do not have a tiny dick. But good to know that's the first part of me your brain goes to."
I roll my eyes before waving at the bartender for another order of shots. I ignore Tristan's amused glance.
Turning back toward the focus of my assumptions, I take another guess. "Your older brother got all the love in the family, so you got used to demanding attention by being obnoxious and arrogant."
This time he's the one that rolls his eyes. "Again with the arrogance," he mutters. But I frown when I notice the sudden tightness in his body and the lack of his usual flighty grin.
"Not true," he finally answers. But when he doesn't offer an explanation, I decide to take the obvious cue that I've struck a nerve and move on.
"Jiu-jitsu is the biggest weakness in your fight game," I guess again.
I'm rewarded with the return of his trademark smirk. "Not true," he says again.