My eyes narrow suspiciously. "Wrestling is the biggest weakness in your fight game."
He sighs in resignation. "True. But don't be calling my competition with this information."
I smirk in victory just as the bartender appears with our third round of shots. "Just keep putting them on his tab," I tell the guy with a coy smile. I hear Tristan snort as he shakes his head. I slide one of the shots over to him, thoroughly enjoying the comfortable buzz that’s now running through me. One more drink will put me at my favorite level of just barely drunk.
I clink my glass against his and throw back the shot without a second thought, sighing contentedly at the burn. I ignore Tristan's appreciative glance.
Once he's taken his shot, I take another guess, emboldened even further by the alcohol. "You don't actually enjoy drinking. You only do it for one of two reasons: to shove down negative emotions or to make sex more enjoyable with the plastic fuck bunnies you love so much."
His eyes widen again at my bluntness. Either that or I nailed it again with my first assumption.
He ignores the first one and instead focuses on the second, a grin once again stretching across his face. "You seem to love asking about my sexual activities, Remy. Why is that?"
I glare at him, refusing to dignify that with an answer. "Just answer the question, Tristan," I growl.
If possible, his grin actually grows in its smugness level. "True. I have my reasons for drinking. And amplifying the pleasure of sex is one of them." His eyes drop down to rake across my body, from the subtle exposure of my cleavage to the very exposed length of my legs.
My breath catches at his heated glance. I squeeze my thighs together, desperate to tamp down on the rush of lust that runs through me at the obvious direction of his thoughts.
Something's changed between us in the past few days—Tristan no longer looks past me. Where before I was just Jax's annoying childhood friend, the shower incident seems to have reminded him that I'm a woman. I should've known his male brain would be that predictable.
And although I see him as exactly the same arrogant womanizer that I always have—except maybe a little more protective than I anticipated—I also can't deny that having his undivided sex-gaze on me ignites something deep inside me. I've always known he's ridiculously hot; his athletic body and piercing blue eyes, coupled with his cocksure attitude, melts the panties off of women for a reason. But I've never had the full force of it directed at me.
It's making me squirm.
I draw in a ragged breath, starting to second guess my decision to ask sexual questions in this game. It's getting harder to hide how affected I am from Tristan's blatant once-over.
"Why so interested in my sex life, Remy?" he purrs, leaning closer. His gaze darts across my face, and lands on my lips. "You can say it.”
"I'm not," I blurt out. "I'm just playing your game."
A smile slowly slides across his face. "I'm beginning to think you might actually know how to play," he murmurs. And I think I might combust from the heat in his words.
At that moment I think the last shot finally makes its way through my body because a surge of confidence drives a feline smile onto my lips. "You have no idea how well I can play," I purr.
His eyes widen in delighted shock.
Taking advantage of his momentary speechlessness, I push away from the bar and step off the barstool. "Order another round. I'm going to use the bathroom and then maybe you can do me." I grin when his eyes go even wider. "Make assumptions about me, I mean."
I turn away before he has the chance to say anything else. I couldn't stop the extra sway in my hips even if I wanted to. I’ll just blame it on the alcohol.
I take my time in the bathroom, using the extra minutes to touch up my makeup but mostly to get my heart rate under control again.
As much as I know nothing can happen between us, I can't deny that exchanging drunken banter with Tristan is entertaining. Of course, the clear attraction of a hot guy is a boost to my ego, but there's something extra appealing about that attention coming from the bane of my existence who's only ever looked at me like a little girl. I send a mental thank you to Hailey for my outfit.
As I walk back toward our spot at the bar, I realize from across the room that my seat has been taken over by a very attractive blonde—that is now hanging all over Tristan.
I frown. I was only gone for a few minutes, and he's already replaced me? Annoyance starts to sizzle in my veins, despite knowing that Tristan can’t help that he’s a magnet for women, especially in bars. It makes no difference that we were actually having a decent conversation.
I study the girl. She's easily one of the prettiest girls in the room, with a model's body and the tiniest silver sequin club dress to show it off. Her long legs are further elongated by the stilettos she's wearing. Her makeup is perfect, with dark vampy lips and sultry, smoky eyes, and her blonde hair is pulled back in a high pony that exposes her long neck and thin shoulders. She's taken over my seat and is currently leaning so far into Tristan that her breasts are pressed flat against the side of his chest. She has one arm wrapped around his neck, her other hand tracing patterns on his forearm. She whispers something into his ear.
Tristan whips his head to the side before she can kiss him—and immediately locks eyes with me. I realize then that his body language is stiff—he’s not touching her at all—and that he’s actually trying to lean away from her and back against the bar. When his eyes meet mine, they almost seem to be pleading.
My frown deepens as I look between the two of them. There's something off about her…
And then it hits me. It's his recent ex, Sabrina. The one that's still not over him and that runs into him a little too often for it not to be suspicious.
I rack my memory for what I know about her. I vaguely remember Tristan telling Jax about how she was great in the beginning: she understood that he wasn’t looking for anything and was content with just a physical relationship. He liked that she wasn’t trying to “tame him” like most girls do. But after a few weeks it turned out she was actually playing a very different game. Instead of trying to lock Tristan down, she was trying to hang on his coattails until he made it to the UFC, where she was planning to find a “real fighter” to seduce. She just wanted to be a WAG. Tristan broke it off with her after he overheard her telling a friend as much.