chapter twenty three

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I'm honestly not sure what was worse; the hangover, the inquisition that I walked into when I got home from breakfast, or the fact that I still can't seem to stop thinking about how good it felt to have my fingers knotted in Tristan's curls while ...

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I'm honestly not sure what was worse; the hangover, the inquisition that I walked into when I got home from breakfast, or the fact that I still can't seem to stop thinking about how good it felt to have my fingers knotted in Tristan's curls while his lips and tongue explored me again.

I knew from the moment that he hesitated in the kitchen that nothing had changed, that I was still just a lust and liquor fueled temptation to him. Except, something had changed-- I had. I didn't care about the title or the meaning of it, or hell, even the consequences, I just knew that I wanted him, and if that tiny sliver of a moment in his barely lit kitchen, slightly drunk, with chocolate tinted lips at 3:00 AM was all I was ever going to get, then I was going to take it.

But now that it's over, and I'm just left with the memory of what his fingertips felt like tracing circles on my back as I fell asleep in his arms, I'm realizing that the high I felt while his lips crashed down onto my own comes with a low-- a low deep enough to keep me dazed and wanting and confused all while wishing that it could happen again, even just one more time.

The daze lasted all weekend, which was mostly spent in the same pajamas that I pulled on Saturday afternoon when I got home from breakfast at his parent's house. After being practically criminally interrogated by Jenny and Nia for the details of my not so PG-13 sleepover-- and the dramatics that came along with them realizing that Tristan Beck is in fact Mr. Big--, I spent the rest of the weekend tucked away in my bed with my trusty family-sized bag of Cheetos and my favorite Netflix shows while I shamelessly wore his hoodie just to smell the cologne still clinging to it.

To make a pathetic weekend worse, while I was smack dab in the middle of throwing myself a pity party for one, I was slapped in the face with the one thing that I didn't even realize would hurt the most until it was said aloud.

"James and I are officially dating,"

It was a tough pill to swallow because the words sparked the jealousy that comes along with the harsh realization that there's a big difference between being the girl that's conveniently there when you're drunk and horny and the girl that you actually want to date.

It didn't take long for James to become an almost constant presence in our apartment. And while I've done a pretty spectacular job of looking happy for the two new lovebirds while I wallow silently in the mess that I made for myself, it's getting harder to not think about what it would be like if it was Tristan and I instead.

I'm usually pretty good at shutting those thoughts down before they can spiral out of control, but it's hard when I walk out to see James and Jenny cuddled up on the living room couch, or when I'm scrambling to find my headphone when their muffled moans echo down the hall in the middle of the night, or the middle of the day, or honestly any time that they venture into her room alone.

Which is why I'm currently sitting here alone in the coffee shop just off campus trying to study with my chem textbook and a ridiculous amount of flashcards sprawled out in front of me. I was hoping that studying the new chapter might help to keep my mind busy, but the compulsive need to check Tristan's Instagram every fifteen minutes is really starting to interfere with my productivity.

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