I shake my head, trying to clear the tears that are threatening to spill from my eyes. I should've known. I should've listened to my gut when I first felt my feelings grow. I should've reminded myself that Tristan is not a one-woman man. I knew better than to get attached, and I let myself fall anyway. I can't even really blame him, either. I knew exactly who he was when this all started.
I try to think of the signs that made it seem like he had become interested in me.
And then fight the urge to vomit when I realize all of them—every action, every glance, every word—happened either before or during sex. Even asking me to sleep in his bed could've just been so he would have someone to fuck in the morning.
I've never really had a fuck buddy or a one night stand so I have no idea what guys might say when they just want to get laid—no idea what lies they might tell to keep a girl coming back to their bed. Right now, it feels like everything Tristan said must've just been a part of his act to get me into bed. That must be his game with women: to make them feel loved and wanted in order to make them interested.
And I played right into it.
I've never been one to believe in "making love" but I never thought to treat the words spoken during sex as anything but truth. I didn't expect him to fall in love with me just from having sex, but I don't understand how he could say those things—how he could touch me adoringly, how he could kiss me so softly—without meaning it. How could someone lie that well?
I close my eyes, the tears finally spilling down my cheeks. My grip on the banister is so hard that my hands begin to ache, but even that pain doesn't register compared to what’s warring inside me. A quiet, broken sob tears from my throat as my heart surrenders to the pain.
I never should have expected Tristan to be anything more than what he is. And I definitely shouldn't have let myself get attached to him, especially so quickly. I should have listened to the part of my brain that knew this would happen. The worst part about this is the fact that this pain is my own fault.
After a few ragged breaths I realize I need to get out of this house. I need to get as far away from Tristan as I can. Even though part of me wants to cling to him and convince him that we mesh perfectly, that he doesn’t need to look anywhere else and that he should give us a chance, I also know that I will never be the girl that begs a guy to be with her. I have never understood how women could chase men. Why would I want to be with someone that doesn’t want to be with me?
And Tristan clearly doesn’t. If he’s still thinking about other women and treating us like we won’t last, then he’s sure as fuck not interested in being with me in a way that matters. And his feelings clearly aren’t even close to the depth that mine are. If I continue down this path with him, I’m only going to end up in more pain than I feel even now. I need to end this thing between us and get as far away from Tristan as I can.
I hastily brush the tears from my cheeks and stride back to Jax's bedroom. I stuff the last of my clothes in the half-filled box and tape it shut. Before I grab it to take downstairs, I take a quick look at myself in the mirror—and immediately wince at how I look.
My face is white as a sheet and my pink-rimmed eyes clearly show that I've been crying. I dig frantically through my bag for the concealer I rarely use, then apply it quickly to my under eyes. It hides any proof of my tears, but my face still looks like I've seen a ghost. I slap and pinch my cheeks to bring some pink into them.
Good enough. I only need to look normal long enough to rush out of here.
I grab the box and head for the stairs. By the time I reach the landing I realize that Jax is nowhere to be found, and Tristan is the only one sitting in the living room.
A warm smile lights up his face when he sees me. “Hey, I didn’t know you were here. Why didn’t you come grab me? I would’ve helped carry these.” He stands from the couch and walks over to grab the box out of my hands.
I twist so he can't take it from me. "It's okay, I got it," I blurt out hastily. A flash of confusion appears on his face but disappears as quickly as it came. A small frown takes its place.
"Where's Jax?" I ask, refusing eye contact.
"He wanted to run out and grab some groceries," Tristan answers. "He said he wants to do a home-cooked lunch when he gets back."
"Oh, I was actually going to head out. I want to unpack and get settled and I don't want to take up your guys' space anymore," I babble. I glance nervously between the door and the box in my hands, wanting desperately to walk out of this conversation. "Just tell Jax I'll see him later."
Before I can move toward the door, Tristan's fingers grip my chin, forcing me to look at him. My eyes finally meet his and I see that they're flashing with anger. The frown on his face has deepened.
"What is going on with you?" he growls. "Why are you freaking out right now?"
I rip my face from his hands and glare at him. "I'm not freaking out," I snap. "I just want to go home. Ten days is a long time to look at your ugly face and I'm eager to get out of here."
I realize suddenly that my anger is actually making it easier to deal with the pain. So, I stand a little straighter and look directly at Tristan. "Although I guess we knew that nothing good would come of us being cooped up together. Maybe fucking was our way of not killing each other."
I'm being harsh. I know I'm being harsh. But the blade that sliced through me only a few minutes ago has evoked a fight or flight response, and I can't help the frantic fight that's coming out of me.
I study him closely, debating for only a moment if I want to put the nail in the coffin of my heartbroken tirade. When I see the shock and hurt flash across his face I almost don't—but then decide that it's either him or me, and he's already made his choice.
"Thanks for the dick," I sneer. "It's been fun, but I think we're done here."
Without waiting for his answer, I stride down the hall and through the front door.
19
Tristan
I stare wide-eyed at the front door as it slams shut. I'm so shocked at Remy's parting comment that I just stand there, blinking, for what feels like a very long minute.