He told me to stay out of his way.
He said I didn't belong in his world.
He called me a spoiled brat.
Tristan Malone was an a**hat of the highest power. The black sheep of the Malone family, so why had I been crushing on him since grade school? The...
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I was in a T-shirt and nothing else. Not mine, I might add. My eyes closed and I forced myself to take a deep breath. Don't freak out. It's not a big deal. It's not like I slept with him or anything. Slept but not s l e p t with.
Or so I thought.
What a way to lose your virginity. Drunk and with your boyfriend's brother. My memories might be foggy of how the night ended with me in Tristan's room, but I was damn sure I would remember sleeping with the guy I'd hated to love for years.
I wiggled my hips just a hair to make sure I was still wearing underwear. Halle-lu-fucking-lujah. They were intact.
But wiggling my hips might not have been the wisest action, regardless of how slight.
"Ever, what are you doing?" Tristan asked in a low, husky voice, thick with sleep.
My gaze snapped to his face and my body went still. His eyes were closed and he hadn't removed the hand on my bare skin. Why did his voice sound even sexier in the morning? It wasn't fair. This doesn't have to be awkward. Just keep cool, Everly. You can do cool. You're the picture of cool. Was it wrong to want to stare at his face for hours in the morning? He had a ruggedness that Preston could never pull off. "Uh, wondering how I got in your bed." My voice was scratching, courtesy of yelling and puking. Forget about what was going on in my head, the crashing of the waves outside the open doors echoed the thundering in my head.
"Keep your panties on. Nothing happened," he mumbled, causing an irrational ribbon of disappointment to curl within me. "Yet," he added with a devious smirk to his tone as his fingers inched a hair lower on my belly. Then another inch. And another.
My breath hitched, the muscles in my lower abdomen twitching. Any hangover that had been threatening to consume me was pushed aside by more pleasant sensations.
I'd dreamed of Tristan touching my body a million times before, but nothing prepared me for the electricity that sparked over my skin. If a single touch brush of his fingers could steal my breath, I shivered to think what his lips could do.
His fingers stopped their slow exploration and I realized I hadn't knocked his hand away, but in my defense, my brain had stopped functioning. Those ridiculously long lashes fluttered open, ensnaring my gaze with such heat. I could do nothing but stare back. Desire I didn't want flooded inside me.
This wasn't happening, was it?
Tristan wouldn't kiss me.
But even as the little voice inside me tried to rationalize my thoughts, the devil on my other shoulder said, hell yes, he would. Tristan had no morals. He had no shame. Only one of many reasons he hadn't come home these past two years. His parents and Tristan never agreed on anything.
His head dipped and I ran my tongue over my bottom lip, uncertain what I should do or say. A good girl would run from the room and pray no one saw me leaving Tristan's bedroom half-naked. With Preston's room across the hall and mine a few doors down, there was a good chance I'd go unnoticed. That was what a good, smart girl should do, one who was loyal to her boyfriend.
