Accidental Tryst (Charleston #1)(78)

Annie: Spill girl! Armand told me about some guy called Trystan.

Oh? What did he say about him?

Tricky, tricky, Trystan.

Annie: That he's drop-dead gorgeous. How did you meet him?

At the airport.

Annie: Don't be coy! You know I haven't had sex in what feels like a zillionty years and I need to live vicariously. TELL ME MORE!

Not much more to tell. But . . .

Annie: But? I'm dying. You are slowly killing me.

He thinks I'm stunning, and I crack him up.

I inhaled sharply as I read his words pretending to come from me. Trystan had told me I was stunning last night, but seeing him tell someone else days ago was . . . my insides swirled. And he thought I cracked him up? That was good, right? The ability to make someone laugh? Someone who was going through a family funeral and lots of shit needed to laugh.

Annie: Swoon! Well, it's about time. Yay!

About time for what?

Annie: To meet someone.

I bet that made commitment-phobic Trystan shudder.

How long has it been exactly? Trystan texted from me.

Oh no, he didn't. I winced.

Annie: Stop it. You were the one who told me you were basically “re-virginized.” So if you've finally found a guy you're attracted to then, babe, I'd say this means something. Where does he live?

I pulled my thumb from my mouth as I heard a sharp crack that told me I’d bitten off a piece of my thumbnail. I hadn't even realized I'd started chewing it. At least Annie didn't answer how long it had been. But re-virginized implied years. It had been almost two years. At least. That was an epoch if I thought about how often Trystan probably hooked up. I read on to see what his response was.

He lives in New York. So yeah, definitely nothing serious. Gotta go.

My stomach sank. Of course. Exactly what I knew. God, I was a mess. I watched the warehouses of East Bay Street pass me by on my left.



* * *



The drive out to Summerville in the rental car was easy, and I found the home without any problem. Magnolia Meadows was really pretty. Set in a partly rural area, with beautiful landscaping. Hopefully the staff were as wonderful as they were in Rockaway because so far, the idea that David could be somewhere this beautiful seemed too good to be true. And I didn't dare assume that even with all my begging he might get a bed. Of course I'd already let my pride get in the way on smoothing his path. I gritted my teeth and resolutely steered the rental car into visitor parking.

My meeting with the administrator didn't take long, and she'd already created a file on David from her call with Penny the day before. I nodded along with all her explanations about why the chances of David getting a bed were so slim. Something about budgets and reimbursements and staff. It was all the things I'd heard endlessly. She handed me a brochure, and I had to squeeze my eyes closed hard when I saw the Montgomery Homes & Facilities small print along the bottom.

Back in the car, my conversation with Trystan this morning scrolled on an endless loop through my head. I was so sure he was getting ready to politely extricate himself from whatever had happened between us. Had I really misread the situation so much? Everything I knew about him, especially after his almost freak-out during the night, told me he wouldn't stick around any longer than he had to.

But what if I was wrong?

What if Trystan wasn't as relationship averse as he'd portrayed himself to be?

I thought back to his pictures I'd found in his phone and the ones of him and his “Little Brother” from Big Brothers Big Sisters—he wasn't as commitment-phobic either. Relationships like that took a boatload of commitment.

His admissions about his family, and his mother, and everything he was facing this week suddenly felt terribly important—beyond the fact he'd actually shared them with me at all. I had a horrible feeling I had just done what everyone close to Trystan had always done.

Rejected him.

Trystan Montgomery, maybe unbeknownst to himself, was a man in desperate need of a relationship.

The last thing he'd said before I closed the door on him was “Please don't leave.”

"Shit," I said aloud and had to steer the car to the side of the highway. I couldn't tell if I was nauseatingly hungry from skipping breakfast and lunch or the thought of hurting Trystan was actually making me sick all by itself. I laid my head on the steering wheel and counted to ten.

"Okay," I said to myself and took a deep breath.

First? I needed food to function and think clearly. Chic-fil-A fries and a lemonade. Then counsel from friends while I figured out how to fix this colossal mistake I'd made.

I had to fix it, but I couldn't date him. To start with, we lived in different cities and he'd already broken my trust once by sticking me in his harem hotel and lining me up with all his other women. If I closed my eyes and pictured Trystan Montgomery, he was wearing a crisp, dark suit, arrogant eyes, and a starched white shirt that had my splattered pride all over it. If I didn't walk away from this, he'd likely also end up sponging the mangled remains of my exploded heart off his arctic blue tie.

What I would definitely do, however, after I made him understand my reasons for leaving this morning had more to do with me than him, was date more. Even if I had to get on those horrible apps. It could take me a long while to find someone who made my girl parts all swoony like Trystan Montgomery did, but I had to start somewhere and the sooner I got started, the sooner I might find someone.