Slow Play (The Rules #3)(69)

And hot. I can’t deny it.

We’ve texted a lot. Hung out a bit. Kissed numerous times. Long, tongue filled kisses that seem to drug my brain and turn me into a pile of mush. It’s been…nice. It’s felt real. Fun and light, nothing too serious. In the past, I was always so quick to rush headlong into a full-blown relationship. Expecting so much more than the guy I was with ever wanted to give.

Yeah, we’re dancing around it but we’re not in a full-fledged relationship, and I’m okay with that.

Really.

I finally make it to the front porch to find Tristan sitting on the steps, chugging from a bottle of water and looking sexy as sin. I collapse on the step beside him, resting my head against his shoulder as I try to catch my breath. He doesn’t push me away, doesn’t say anything rude or discouraging. Merely drops a kiss on top of my head when he’s finished drinking and waves a new bottle of water in front of my face with a flourish.

The sweet gestures melt me. Something he’s really good at doing lately.

I grab the water from him and crack the top off, taking a long drink before I twist the cap back on and set the bottle beside me. “I’m out of shape.”

“You look in pretty good shape to me.” He nudges me with his shoulder and I really do almost go toppling over. He’s as solid as a mountain, this man.

“Not really. I’m thin but I come by it naturally. When I was in my early teens, they all thought I was anorexic.” I frown. I’d forgotten all about that, though I don’t know how. I hated when my mom took me to the doctor, stressing again and again that I must have some sort of problem.

Which is ironic really, since she’s the one who gave me the problem. She always told me I needed to watch my weight, watch what types of food I ate, was always tugging at my clothes and implying that I somehow looked fat. She’s the one who could’ve made me anorexic in an instant. I’m surprised she didn’t.

“Whose they?” Tristan asks.

“My parents.” I go quiet. I don’t want to talk about them, though I really should with Tristan.

“They were hard on you?” he asks gently.

“Most of the time I didn’t think they knew I existed,” I confess truthfully. “They were always busy.”

“Same with mine, especially my dad.” Tristan stares off into the distance, squinting at the sun. “He’s a workaholic. Has a lot to show for it too, so that’s something.”

“You come from a lot of money.” I state the obvious.

He turns to look at me. “The Prescott fortune is in the billions. Shep and I have a lot to live up to, though we’re not expected to do anything. Not like Gabe. His dad fully expects him to take over their family business someday, not that he wants to.”

“Are you going into your family business after you graduate?” I ask, curious. He never talks about his future either. But neither do I, more so because I have no clue what it might hold.

“If they’ll have me. I guess.” He returns his gaze to the falling sun, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his mouth twisted in this tight grimace. “I don’t know if that’s what I want to do.”’

“What else do you want, then?”

“I know I like spending time with you.” He takes my hand and squeezes it in between both of his. “That was probably f*cking sappy as shit, huh. Sounds like something Steven would say.”

I laugh because—and I know this is wrong—I like how jealous he is over the relationship I have with Steven. Though calling it a relationship is a stretch. It’s more like a friendship. “Steven is very sweet.”

“And I’m not. I’m the farthest thing from sweet,” Tristan says, knocking into my shoulder again, more gently this time. “You like ‘em that way? Am I wasting my time here, angel?”

Is he testing the waters to see how I’ll react? How does he want me to answer?

Turning to look at him, I smile, my gaze never leaving his. “I don’t think you’re wasting your time. And sweet’s overrated. I prefer them a little spicy and full of themselves.”

His smile grows. “I’d never think you’re a waste of time. I hope you realize that.”

“I do,” I say sincerely.

I so do.

After our enlightening talk on the front porch—who knew going for a run would cause Alexandria to open up so much—we snuck into the house and into her room, thankful everyone that were already inside was concentrating on the game play unfolding on the TV screen versus us.

“We could’ve been terrorists and they would’ve never noticed us,” Alexandria says indignantly once I have the door to her room shut.

“Right, like terrorists are targeting your house,” I joke as I turn the lock firmly into place. I want zero interruptions right now.

“Fine, not terrorists, home invasion people.” She pauses and I give her a look. “What? Those types of crime scare the crap out of me! You’re sitting at home, minding your own business when someone suddenly busts in and demands all your valuables. I can’t imagine how scary that would be.”

“Your home is invaded every day with Conrad’s friends,” I tell her seriously. It’s the damn truth. The living room is currently filled with five guys, three of them I don’t recognize. “Or Kelli.”