Accidental Tryst (Charleston #1)(45)

He stared at me.

"So, painkillers?" I asked when I could no longer bear the tension.

"Ahem. Yeah." His gorgeous face disappeared and was replaced by the cabinets in my kitchen.

"Walk forward to the cabinets on the left," I started, then took a break to bite my own knuckle. "The end one has pullout drawers." I watched him open the door. "Okay see the third drawer?"

"Yeah." He slid it out.

"At the back is a basket."

He pulled the drawer out farther until the basket was in view. Sitting right next to the bottle of generic brand painkillers was a box of condoms I'd forgotten about.

Nausea swirled through me. How many times could I feel mortified in only a few days? Something about Trystan made me feel like I was operating on some flayed open level of vulnerability that made everything feel embarrassing.

Of course I had to watch as his hand went for the condoms instead of the painkillers.

"Well, well. Good to always be prepared. But why are they in your kitchen, Emmy?"

The camera angle swung around so I could see Trystan's amused face and cheeky eyebrow.

I covered my eyes.

"Don't you think they should be in your bedside drawer? With your other secrets?"

I took a deep breath, refusing to cower under his teasing. "Do people only have sex in bedrooms, Trystan?" I asked haughtily.

His eyes flickered and he pursed his lips. His gorgeous lips. He held up the box to inspect it. "Well, well, well. You haven't been having sex in here that's for sure. These are unopened, and . . ." He narrowed his eyes as if really examining the box. "Oh, Emmy, these raincoats are expired."

I slapped my hand over my eyes again. "Just get your painkillers and stop embarrassing me," I whined.

He laughed, slow and smooth, making my skin prickle. "Okay. Back in the cupboard they go. Just don't forget you need to replace them."

"If you don't need anything else," I started.

"Wait. Don't hang up."

I slowly took my hand away from my eyes.

"Can we?" His eyes flicked away and then back to mine. "Can we just talk?" He put the pills in his mouth then held up his beer before taking a swig. I got a nice long look at his beautiful neck and watched it move as he swallowed down the pills.

My mouth felt dry. I took a long gulp of wine.





22





Trystan





I let out a refreshed ahhh sound and hold up my beer to the small screen that shows Emmy's face staring back at me. She takes a large sip of wine.

"We'll have that drink," I tell her, hoping she'll stay online with me.

I can tell she's nervous. I shouldn't have teased her about the condoms. I almost feel like if I push her too hard she'll scurry away. I prefer it when she's feisty and teasing me back, turning me on.

She bites her lips together, then lets them pop free. "I guess so." She shrugs, affecting a nonchalance that I'm not sure I buy. "And you really shouldn't do that," she says.

My mind grasps around. "Do what?"

"Wash down painkillers with alcohol. Your liver doesn't like it."

"Probably not," I concede.

"There's one condition though," she says and smooths her fingers through her damp hair, "to us chatting on video." Where her hair was dark from water before, it's now starting to lighten and curl. I wonder what it feels like. Her skin is pale and flawless. Stunning. She should have this as her dating profile.

"What's the condition?" I ask warily.

"You tell me about your family."

Oh.

I'm halfway to bringing the beer bottle to my mouth, and I stop. Having an evening of flirting and conversation is one thing. Discussing my family? Not so much.

"I told you about David. About my family. It's only fair," she says.

"I've already told you about how they kicked my mom out. I'd say we're even."

"The math doesn't add up," she says. "You said you've been avoiding them for fourteen years. Correct me if I'm wrong but you're a little older than fourteen. Thirty-one if I'm not mistaken."

I walk across the room, prop the phone up on the coffee table against a stack of books, and sit down across from it. I pulled on jeans after my shower; I may not have fully buttoned them up. I let my legs splay slightly and lean against her sofa back, relaxed as can be.

She's frozen with her wine glass in front of her mouth as her eyes drink me in.

They roam down my bare chest as I'd wanted them to. I spend a lot of time on my abs, it's only fair they should be appreciated. She puts her wine glass down, but her expression is inscrutable. I'm trying to distract her, but I'm not sure it's working.

"And you're twenty-eight," I answer her, confirming what we already know—that we've both checked out each other's dating profiles.

"Correct," she says. "And you don't have a dog, do you?"

"My friends have dogs." I laugh.

"So what did your grandfather leave you in his will that has your grandmother all in a tizzy?"

I narrow my eyes at her. "If I tell you a bit more, can we drop it then?"