Slow Play (The Rules #3)(58)

Oh shit. “As in—they passed away?”

She shakes her head. “They’re not dead. It’s just—it’s complicated.”

I pull her in close, slipping my arms around her so I can hold her tight. She melts into me, her head on my shoulder, her hair in my face, her arms loose about my waist. It’s weird, how well she fits. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s cool. I’m not big on family discussions either,” I tell her.

“Thank you,” she whispers against my neck and I close my eyes, savoring the feel of her in my arms, her breath a warm blast of air on my skin.

I run my hand down the elegant curve of her back, my fingers catching her sweater’s fabric as they sweep back up. I’m trying to be the supportive guy and instead all I can think about is getting her naked. Because I do. Want to get Alexandria naked.

I’m desperate for it.

She lifts her head to look up at me and I think about taking advantage. It would be so easy. I’ve done it before. A girl looks up at you like Alexandria is staring at me, and you just…make it happen. They’re open, they’re a little vulnerable, but they want it.

They always want it. Want me.

There’s trust shining in her eyes. Hell, just seeing her like this makes my heart feel like it’s going to pop out of my chest, grow legs and run away. The emotions running through me are foreign. I don’t know what to do, don’t know how to handle myself. I can’t bail. It’s not fair to Alexandria and I’m not giving myself a chance.

Life isn’t so bad when you fall in love, right? Not that I’m in love with this girl. Hell, no. I do want her. I like her. Fine, I’m f*cking falling for her. But not in a love way.

Definitely not in a love way.

Talk of family holidays and where I’ll be spending my Thanksgiving was the most soul crushing conversation I’ve had in a long time. Lucy’s question was completely harmless. Totally normal. Yet all I could think about was my parents stuck in prison and me, alone without a house to go home to.

I appreciate Steven’s offer that we spend Thanksgiving at his parents’ place. Kelli and I already said yes to his invitation. Tristan didn’t seem to like the idea when I mentioned it, but did he make any offers when the spotlight shone on him thanks to Lucy?

That would be a no.

Not that I expect him to feel sorry for me and take me with him to meet his parents. We’re not that serious. Flirting and a few kissing sessions does not a relationship make.

But still. That entire conversation turned into Awkward City. And I’ve been wallowing in it since we left the restaurant.

What I appreciate about Tristan is he doesn’t push. I’m evasive. Not comfortable talking about my family and what happened to them. It’s embarrassing. He’s curious. I know he wants to help—and find out the scoop. When I throw up a few blocks, he doesn’t dig any further. And I love that. He just offers comfort, holds me close and treats me so tenderly I almost want to cry.

Worse? I almost want to confess everything. My parents are convicted felons who are doing prison time. That they embezzled money from my father’s company—stole the very money so many people trusted them to invest. They robbed so many people of their future and all we had left to show for it was a gorgeous house full of beautiful furniture and designer things.

Nothing substantial. Nothing meaningful. Nothing good. My parents aren’t good people.

Sometimes it worries me that I’ll turn out to be a bad person too.

Tristan slowly lets go of me and I step away, watching as he walks over to his desk and pulls his phone out of his pocket, setting it on top of a docking system I hadn’t noticed before. Within seconds music is playing, some sort of mellow rock stuff that again, I recognize as from the 90s.

“Do you have a grunge thing?” I ask when he turns around. I’m trying to lighten the mood and I hope he plays along.

“We all have a grunge thing. Me, Shep and Gabe.” He ticks their names off of his long fingers. “There’s no quality music anymore. It’s all pop shit.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a huge fan of Demi Lovato,” I tell him with as straight a face as possible. Fine, I am a fan. I almost felt too old watching that Camp Rock movie on Disney years ago but I loved it. Sonny with a Chance, starring Demi? Loved that show too. I’ve always loved her.

“Ugh. Next you’ll tell me you’re a Bieber fan,” he says, looking like he just sucked on a lemon.

“Ick, no way. I prefer Nick Jonas.” Yeah, of course I do. That boy grew up fine as hell. Why wouldn’t I be a fan?

Tristan groans and holds his head like it’s going to explode. “You’re killing me here.”

I laugh and he sends me a rueful grin, his hands dropping to his sides. The smile fades and then he’s just staring at me, making me hyperaware of the fact that I’m here. In his room. Just the two of us.

Alone.

“So.” My voice is artificially bright and I twirl around so my back is to him. I can’t deal with the way he’s watching me. Having him so close, all that potent energy coming at me in thick, heady waves is screwing with my brain. My gaze locks on the giant king-sized bed with its silvery blue comforter and dark brown leather headboard. It’s a luxurious bed. Simple yet masculine. Comfortable looking. A bed. And we know why I’m here. It’s not to take a nap.