The Arrangement Anthology 2(97)

"Avery, dear, stop drinking tar." He finally smiles sincerely and I see his shoulders lose some of their slump. The tension that was held deep within him begins to fade as we sit and talk about nothing.

Finally, I say, "You weren't asleep, were you?"

Staring into the bottom of an empty cup, he sighs and tosses it aside. "What makes you say that?"

"You were sitting up before I opened my eyes. I remember." I go to tap my temple and poke myself in the eye. I blink once, shocked that I missed. "I don't drink much."

"No kidding." He laughs, and then adds more seriously, "Yeah, I was up. This place is Hell. There's no peace here." He looks around like he can actually see demons crawling the walls. "That's where he smashed my head into the wall, and over there, that's where he—"

Shivering, I reach over and my fingers touch his bare skin. Trystan stops speaking and looks over at me. I feel so lost, like I'm in a freefall that will never end. I can't stand it. I need someone to hold me and whisper words of comfort in my ear. Something inside me stirs from the intensity of his gaze. When Trystan places his hand over mine he doesn't speak and neither do I.

Maybe it's the drink or maybe it's me, I can't tell, but I don't want him to let go. I want his soft, tender touches. I want him to be Sean. I want so many things that they float through my mind in a myriad of flutters, as gently as a butterfly's wing. I'm drawn to him, to those lips, and that mouth. Trystan never pretends, but this is make believe. This can't happen. We're both in love with someone else, but he doesn't let go and I don't move away.

Slowly, Trystan slides his palm up my arm to my shoulder. He tips his head to the side and says, "Come here." When his arms wrap around me, I tuck my head under his chin—the way I've wanted to with Sean so many times. As I'm held to his chest, I can hear Trystan's heart is beating hard. His skin is so warm and perfect. I stay, tracing the muscles of his bare arms down to his wrists.

Trystan assumes nothing. He steals no kisses and his hands don't roam. He's a good man and I wish I could mend his heart, but the most I can offer is a brief reprieve.

I feel the cold chain against my arm, and pull away slightly to look down at it. I lift the object and turn it over in my fingers. He watches me, saying nothing. When I put it down, the ring falls into place against his chest. Trystan presses his eyes closed and wraps his fingers around the ring. "Here I've been telling you to let go of the past, but I wear mine around my neck." He yanks at the chain and tosses it to the floor.

Worry rushes through me. I know how hard that must have been. I want to ease his pain and forget mine—just for a moment. It's an innocent thought at first, something meant to be soft and caring. Before Trystan can speak, my lips find his, but things are different this time.





CHAPTER 8

We aren't on a couch and I'm not sober. The world is tipping sideways and it feels like I'm about to fall off the edge and be devoured by monsters. Trystan is my anchor so I cling to him, holding on tight like I'll die if I let go. He does the same and that soft kiss, that simple sweeping of lips changes.

Trystan's hands find my cheeks and he traces the lines of my face, learning the curves of my mouth as he does it. His kisses are tender, though he holds me firmly. I know I'm desired and there's no question that I'm his in that moment, but he doesn't hurt me. There's no pain, not with him, it vanishes and I feel steady for the first time in months.

The way Trystan touches me, the way he tastes me—every aspect is unique to him. The way his tongue strokes my lips and tangles with mine is all his own, the tender touch of his hands on my skin, and the way his thumb pulls my lower lip out ever so slightly so he can suck it into his mouth. My stomach twists as I forget myself. The pain and worries recede as I let him slide his hands over my curves, leading him with my own. The kisses grow hotter and more demanding, more breathless until they aren't enough.

My shirt disappears and I shut my eyes. He lets me move how I want, touch where I want, and take what I want. We forget for a while, and the world that pains us washes away, lost in a drunken lust. I'm not bound or told to face away. He lets me roll him onto his back and cover his chest in kisses before I straddle him. He unbuttons my jeans and slips his hands under the waistband as our hips rock slowly. No one speaks. I hear him sigh or maybe that's me, I'm not certain anymore. Then he digs his fingers into my back, guiding me—showing me what he likes—where he wants to be kissed.

For a moment, I'm lost and I've forgotten, until her name slips from his lips in a whisper almost too quiet to hear. I don't think he knows he's said it. I don't stop and neither does he. Trystan's beautiful body is covered in sweat when he finally rolls me over and pushes up one of my legs. My jeans are gone but my panties are still on. I blink and smile. The haze grows thicker and I can't stop thinking about Sean.