Bad Things(105)

Tristan wasn’t smiling, but he also wasn’t looking more than mildly annoyed, which was a good sign, considering I’d just been telling his brother how much I loved him.

“How many have you had?” Tristan asked sternly.

For some reason, that made us both giggle hard, clutching our bellies.

“Not more than eight,” Jared said.

“Less than three,” I said at the same time.

We looked at each other, and dissolved into giggles again.

“I’ve got Jared,” Frankie told Tristan.

He nodded. “I’ve got my girl. Talk to you tomorrow.”

Tristan came around my chair, kneeling down in front of me. He studied me, putting a warm hand on my knee.

“Still mad at me?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Not mad. Just hurt, but the hurt is numb now, so that’s good.”

He straightened, tugging me to my feet. He pulled me into his side as we began to walk, taking most of my weight.

“Hurt?” he questioned, sounding confused.

He’s such a guy, I thought. “Yes. Hurt. That night we were together in the rain. I thought it was special, and it wasn’t, and I feel like I lost something important when a night that was special to me lost all of its special.”

His other arm came around, his hand snagging at the back of my head, then cupping, then caressing. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but you’re wrong. That night was special, and whatever stupid f*cked up shit I did before that can’t change how special it was.”

That made me warm all over.

I was so starved for any words from him that I’d take scraps and be happy.

“Jared was trying to tell me that. He’s the best.”

“He’s the best,” Tristan agreed, affection in every word.

“We never should have kissed. I didn’t know he was my future brother at the time.”

That had him stopping, his arms around me tightening.

“When was this?” he asked, his tone very, very careful.

“At the pool party, that night I went out with him.”

“Did you…were you…” He didn’t seem to know what to say, but his voice held a thread of something that had me tensing up, even in my drunken stupor.

“Was I what?” I asked.

“Are you attracted to him?”

I patted his arm. “No, no, no. It’s nothing like that. Please don’t get mad at him.”

He rubbed at his chest as though it were sore, his eyes getting a bit distant. “I’m not mad. I just need to know what happened.”

I waved my hand in the air in a motion that was supposed to be small, but turned big and sloppy. It reminded me just how drunk I was. Like drunk enough to tell Tristan some shit that he’d never needed to know. “We went out that one time. He kissed me. I let him, for like one minute.

“You kissed for a full minute?” He looked queasy, and he kept rubbing hard at that spot on his chest.

“I wanted to like kissing him.”

“What? What the f*ck does that mean?”

“It means that it lasted for a full minute because I wanted to like it. He’s a good kisser.”

His head dropped back until he was looking straight up. “I did not need to know that. That’s so messed up. He’s my brother, and you’re my girl.”

“Listen. He was a good kisser, but it didn’t matter. I told him right then that we couldn’t date. My feelings were too strong for you, and I let him know that. And that was that.”

“Was his tongue in your mouth?” he growled.

My brows shot up at that. He was jealous, which I found to be the most hypocritical thing in the world. “Now that you don’t need to know.”

“Did he touch you anywhere?”

“Don’t be an ass. I just told you everything, and you have no right to be jealous, let alone mad, Mr. Slutty McSlutFace.”

That surprised a short bark of a laugh out of him, but it died a quick death.

He straightened, still rubbing at his chest. “I’m not mad. Really. Just hurt.” He rubbed harder as he said the word hurt.

I put my hand over his, stepping close. It was crazy, but I actually felt bad, even after all of the things he’d done that had been so much worse than my one minute kiss.

“Is this what hurts?” I asked softly, caressing the spot he’d been rubbing. It was right over his heart.