With zero training.
Just because he's a guy.
Which, for the record, he can't. Jiu-jitsu is the skilled person's sport, through and through, and has nothing to do with size or strength. But even if we were only talking about kickboxing, I'd still beat the shit out of Jason. Especially with how angry his typical chauvinistic male argument just made me.
I'm trembling, actuallytremblingwith fury, trying to figure out how to respond to this dumbass without completely driving him out of the bar. Only I never actually get to say anything because just then, I see Jason glance over my shoulder.
"Hey," he says in surprise. "What're you doing here?"
"Well hello to you, too," chuckles a deep voice from behind me. I turn to look over my shoulder and find another professional frat boy in a suit.
Jason stands up with a grin and gives him a bro hug. "I just never expected to see you in this area. You were working in NYC, last I heard. Are you just visiting?"
The suit—albeit a good-looking suit—shakes his head as Jason settles back on the cushion next to me. "Nah, I just transferred here for good. I got sick of the Big Apple, figured Philly would give me a better crowd." His gaze finally flicks to me and slowly, lazily, looks me up and down. He brazenly licks his lips as his eyes meet mine. "The view here is way better."
I shudder and look away, hating my physical reaction for most likely making him think I was turned on by him.
I don't even care. I just want to get this over with. I turn back to Jason and open my mouth, ready to launch into my legal problem.
"Remy, this is my friend Zach. We went to law school together. Zach, this is Remy."
I smile politely at the man now taking a seat across from us. He gives me a grin that probably tends to drop women's panties.
"Remy, huh? That's a sexy name."
I sigh and look around the bar, avoiding eye contact and trying to look bored. Anything to get this over with. "Thanks. I was named after a pornstar."
Jason chuckles tightly next to me. I can tell he feels the awkward tension radiating from me, so he leans forward to brace his elbows on his knees and instead gives Zach his full attention.
"So where are you working now?" he asks his friend.
I zone out as they start talking. I lean back in my chair with a scowl, internally trying to suffocate the scream that's threatening to break out of me. I throw back half of my drink in frustration. In this moment I hate the fact that my job is important enough that I need to wait for Jason to finish his conversation. Resigning myself to the fact, I tear my eyes away from him and turn to scan the bar instead.
And then very quickly wish I hadn't, when I catch sight of Tristan at the bar.
My breath catches, and my heart immediately begins beating a million miles per minute. It's been weeks since I've seen him, but at the sight of him, I'm transported right back to the time we spent together at the house. My heart aches at the perfect vision of him.
He looks amazing. He's wearing jeans and my favorite kind of simple black t-shirt that accentuates his muscular frame. His hair is slightly ruffled and he's laughing at something that Aiden said. He's leaning casually against the bar, just as comfortable and confident in his stance as he always is, looking nothing but carefree and happy.
Looking nothing like how I feel.
I've been trying so hard to make myself hate Tristan—hate being easier to bear than heartache—but I realize now that's nearly impossible when he's actually in front of me. Now, I'm having a really hard time remembering why I walked away from him. Now, at the sight of his smile and natural confidence, I'm only remembering our easy banter on the couch, his genuine encouragement at the gym, his sweet reverence in my apartment. I'm remembering how perfectly we fit against each other, how in sync our chemistry felt once we stopped fighting it.
I'm remembering how much I miss him. My chest actually aches from the intensity of it. I even miss the Tristan I had before all of this, because I realize in this moment that I must have always liked the excitement of our verbal sparring, and our fighting rounds both in and outside of the gym. Our dinners and fight nights at the house, which were comfortable and fun even if I convinced myself I hated the teasing. I must've liked it because right now I fucking miss it.
Maybe I was wrong about Tristan.
Maybe it's worth giving us a shot.
Maybe I pulled away too quickly.
My heartbeat, slow and depressed for weeks, stutters at the thought—at the terrified hope that that's true. That stutter feels like a jumpstart to my heart, and it starts to beat again.
The decision to approach him forms in my head without a second thought. I take a deep breath to steady myself.
But I never even make it to my feet, because an attractive woman joins Tristan at the bar before I can even get my feet moving under me. He wraps his arm around her waist to pull her close, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously and leaving no doubt about his intent. His usual cocky smirk appears on his face.
And I realize in this moment that somewhere along the way I fell in love with Tristan West.