❝Are you done acting like you care?❞
Tristan's jaw clenches so hard that for a second I'm actually afraid his teeth will disintegrate. ❝I'll ask one more time. Where. Were. You. Last. Night.❞
I lift my chin, wishing the raw command in his voice didn...
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I smooth back a stray lock of my blonde hair rock back and forth on my feet.
It's showtime, Juniper.
I've been standing by my front door for the past five minutes, so that I can whip open the door the second after the doorbell rings. Five long minutes which made no sense since Imogen's text said that she and Tristan were downstairs. Maybe they got lost in this huge apartment complex... even though this is practically Imogen's second home.
I decide to go downstairs in search for them in case they truly are lost. I stuff my phone in my back pocket and head into the elevator in my living room which takes me straight to the lobby. The second the elevator doors open I hear raised voices, a male and female. Curious, I walk into the lobby, ignore the ever-present and ever-ogling doorman, and make a right turn to see a short brunette arguing with a tall guy.
They can't see me since they have mostly their backs to me, giving my nosy self an advantage.
The guy hisses, "I told you I don't need your fucking charity! Jack is being a selfish asshole as always, not wanting to waste money on the stepson he got stuck with. I can afford a hotel!"
"A hotel? For over six months, in New York City, are you insane?" the brunette spits back, frustratedly running a hand through her long hair. Her voice softens and she sounds really upset, "Tris, I don't see why you're thinking it of charity— you're my fave cousin! I just wanna help."
My eyes widen when I realize just who's conversation I'm eavesdropping on. No wonder they haven't showed up at my house yet, Tristan— or at least, who I'm assuming to be is Tristan—clearly isn't happy about this arrangement. In fact, it sounds like he didn't have a clue about it until today.
Imogen's tall companion heaves a sigh, sounding like he feels bad for yelling, "I know, but—"
"Uh, hey Gen." I wanna slap myself for interrupting but they're both already turning around. Imogen quickly plasters one of her everything-is-totally-fine smiles and rushes over to hug me. But I can barely register the feel of her bone crushing squeeze.
Tristan is not the awkward and lanky kid I'd met five years ago. The total opposite if anything. When he turns around to face me, the muscles on his back and shoulders ripple underneath the tight black tee shirt he's in. Skyscraper high cheekbones, a jawline that could probably slice through skin if not handled carefully, and full pink lips greet my vision. His perfectly shaped brows were pulled together into an annoyed frown. But what really got my head swimming was the electric blue eyes meeting mine, surrounded by long, dark lashes, probably longer than any girls'.
I feel an elbow poke my side and blink back to focus. Gen gestures at me, "This is Juniper, your roomie, or well, housemate, I guess." Tristan's frown falters into a look of mild confusion and I don't miss how his eyes scan me up and down. Pursing his lips slightly he glances at his cousin, "Fine. I'll stay. For now."
