Tryst (9 page)

She slams the door shut before I can get another word in edgewise. I doubt it would matter to her to know I haven’t slept with a girl in over six months, and it was only her for the two years prior. As I walk back across the street, I seriously contemplate the need for psychiatric help. I think if this shit keeps up, some shrink is going to label me a masochist. Stepping into my living room, Dante hands me a beer and we crash in the makeshift getup.

“Maybe you should try a peace offering,” he says.

I look up at him with a look that must have pretty much said
you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
I watch as he raises his hands up in defense, amusement marking his face.

“Just hear me out. So far you’re batting a thousand. And let’s face it, if you keep that shit up any chances of you ever having kids will shortly be nil. You’re about two moves away from her taking her gardening shears to your flesh flute. Maybe you should change up your approach, unless of course you want to be fed your dick in a sloppy joe. I’m not saying go buy a shitload of flowers and lay them on her doorstep. Definitely don’t try to serenade her, because I heard you singing while unloading the truck. You sound worse than a tone deaf drag queen trying to sing Whitney Houston. Keep it simple, she always eats dinner around seven. That gives you two hours. Go pick up some wings and a caramel frappe, and I promise she won’t turn you away. Well at least she won’t turn the food away, I can’t promise she won’t take it and tell you to fuck off.”

As he downed the rest of his beer and tossed the bottle in the bin, I considered his suggestion. I mean who the fuck better to get advice from than her best friend, right? “Can’t I just grab a case of beer? Who the fuck drinks coffee with wings?” I swear…, is everything about this woman complicated?

As Dante heads for the door he turns back to answer me, “If you bring Bentley beer you’re going to end up wearing it. She thinks it all tastes like piss and the only thing its good for is cooking. The girl makes a mean loaf of beer bread. That shit is to die for. Oh, and on the frappe- no whip, extra drizzle. Trust me, it will earn you a few brownie points.”

After finding out just where to get this shit, I head through town to the wing joint.  Funny shit, there’s the florist right next door. While I’m waiting on my order I take a look around, thinking maybe I should have just asked Bentley to come here. I’m pretty sure she would’ve been less than thrilled. I don’t think Bentley would appreciate their type of hospitality around here. I might just be stroking my ego, but I’d like to believe she’d go all hell-cat on the waitresses here. Especially the two girls at the counter trying to undress me with their eyes. Not to mention the one to the left of me, that I’m pretty sure is eye fucking me.

Grabbing my order, I leave the receipt behind, and pretend not to notice the phone number she scrawled across it. In reality, I find the overdone blonde with the painted on smile as fake as the rack that’s threatening to break out of her too small t-shirt.  Don’t get me wrong, I like a nice pair of tits as much as the next guy, but I just prefer them natural and with a few curves to match. Right about now though, there is only one set of curves on my mind, and just picturing them has my mouth watering.

I stop by the coffee shop on my way home and make sure to order the largest size frappe with extra drizzle, no whip. It’s a damn shame, I could think of more than a few uses for that whipped cream. I’ll have to remember that for another time. Who knows, maybe by then she won’t mind me licking it off.

I knock on Bentley’s door for a good two minutes before I hear shouting that she’s coming. I bite my tongue as she answers the door, wanting so badly to tell her she isn’t yet, but I can have her there in a minute. I’m instantly tongue tied. There is no way she was expecting me, because I don’t think she’d ever let me see her like this. I’m pretty sure there’s a bit of drool getting ready to exit my mouth. What the fuck was she doing that has her looking like that? I swear the woman is sex on legs. She’s is wearing a wife beater with a bra that is almost as see through as the shirt, a pair of yoga pants that could possibly be painted on, and her hair is everywhere but in the holder. Her face is flushed and she’s slightly panting. For a split second, a wave of jealousy hits me. I think that maybe I’m interrupting her with someone, until I see a flash of the metal barbell in her hand.

I pick my jaw up off the floor and step through her door, essentially pushing her aside. I figure even with the food, the chances of her welcoming me in are slim to none. I remember a second later this is a peace offering, not a hostile takeover.

“Umm, I thought you could use dinner. Dante mentioned you like wings so I picked some up. I figured maybe we can eat together, and try and be civilized. Maybe we could even enjoy each other’s company.” I know she is about to cut me off, figuring I am overstepping again, so I spit out what I need to say quickly before she rejects me altogether. “It’s just a meal, Bentley. You have to eat don’t you? Nothing more, I swear, no expectations. I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself and be on my best behavior.”

I look on in triumph and watch as the wheels spin in her head while she weighs her options. When she spies the frappe I am holding, I know I have at least won this small battle. She gives a small sigh and I swear I may have heard an angel singing. “Fine…, but just wings. I hope you brought yourself something to drink.” Taking the frappe out of my hand she closes her eyes as she takes a long sip, licking her lips to catch the drop left by the straw. It is the sweetest torture I’ve endured in a long time. “This, I don’t share,” she says, while nodding down at the cup. I give a small laugh as she turns from the room. “Dishes are in the top cabinet to the left of the sink. I might have a beer or two left over from dinner with Dante a couple weeks back, but I make no promises. Otherwise, you’re on your own. I’ll be down in a few minutes, I need to change and grab a quick shower,” she says as she bounces up the stairs.

I swear she’s trying to kill me. Trying not to imagine that woman naked under a spray of water is like trying to eat only one chip in the bag. It’s fucking impossible. She’s lucky I promised to be on my best behavior, because I would love nothing more right now than to sneak into that shower with her and show her just how dirty two people can get while washing.

It’s been about fifteen minutes. I’m down half a beer, the wings are getting cold and she’s still not down. I’m rationalizing storming up those steps to see what the fuck is keeping her. I’m pretty sure I could have licked every inch of sweat off of her body by now. I get up and make my way to her staircase just as she floats down the steps.

Bentley is beautiful. She may not realize it, but that sure as fuck doesn’t make it any less true. Right now, she looks like a goddamn angel. She’s got on this little blue sundress, her hair is damp and falling around her face and down her back, and her bare feet are barely hitting each step. I smile at her toes, painted the color of a smurf. Adorable, I can’t find a single thing about this woman I don’t like, other than the fact she seems to hate me. Hell if that doesn’t fuck with my head.

I get it, though. Everyone always says first impressions are the most important, and so far the only impression I’ve left her with is that I’m a self-centered prick who likes to fuck around.  That’s the problem though. First impressions rarely give you the whole story. Sure you get the cover, and if you’re lucky a few choice words to draw you in and entice you.  However, rarely do you see the in-depth, gut wrenching, soul bearing honesty, poured through the pages. I’m not just some jerk-off who spends all of his time half naked, getting pawed at as women eye fuck me. I have a history, a past I’ve never cared enough to entrust anyone with.  So yeah, I can be an asshole, but I can also be a hell of a lot more. If it kills me, I’ll find a way to make Bentley see it.

Chapter 8

Bentley

I don’t really know what I was expecting when I opened the door. Actually, that’s not true. I was expecting my best friend with Ben and Jerry’s and an apology. Instead, I got Tristan with wings and my drug of choice. Okay, so this probably was Dante’s attempt at an apology, along with helping prick boy across the way.  I mentally scold myself for the childish names. If he’s trying to be civil, the least I can do is reciprocate. His timing kind of sucks, but that seems to be a talent he possesses, showing up at the most inopportune times. I’m a sweaty mess, and I am not sitting down eating wings in a white shirt. I’m careful but I’m not a moron.

Since my body has finally adjusted back to the warmth that dominates the weather where I live, after grabbing a quick shower I toss on my favorite royal blue sundress. I’m pretty sure whoever made this was heaven sent. It’s this lightweight cotton that is super soft and feels like I’m wearing a cloud.  While it may not be the most flattering, curve hugging, piece of clothing in the world, it fits me beautifully without accentuating my figure.

I sit carefully at the dining table making sure my dress doesn’t ride up and show off my unmentionables. I don’t really think the color of my panties would make for great dinner conversation.  Following me into the room, Tristan takes the seat across from me, and the room fills with a staggering silence. After hearing the clock tick for forty-five excruciating seconds I break the quiet, “So how are things with Dante? Will you be staying with him long?”

Why did I ask that? Do I really want to know if he will be hanging around? Do I want him to hang around? I’ll admit since the day he stumbled into my life, literally, I’ve been on shaky ground. I don’t know what to expect of him. Just when I think I have him figured out, he completely throws me for a loop. The man is one very sexy enigma. That I’ll admit, even if it’s only to myself.

“Dante is good. I’m not actually staying with him anymore though. I just needed a place to crash for a day or two until the moving truck got here with all of my belongings,” he said, as he picked a piece of chicken off the wing with his teeth.

“Oh, well then I guess you won’t be in the neighborhood as much. That’s a shame. Dante could use a friend to hang out with. I mean, sure he’s got me, but I can’t stand that prima donna he insists on dating. The guy is a complete drama queen who thinks every straight person is out to get him, and every straight man just hasn’t been brought to the dark side. He actually took a vow to enlighten straight men on the benefits of, shit, how did he put it… ah, of tucking your wiener into a back door barbecue. The man is completely certifiable.”

I laugh as he chokes on his beer trying desperately not to projectile it across the room. His throat bobs as he swallows the liquid down. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard anything… uh, no that’s just fucking disturbing. Anyway, I’m not actually leaving the neighborhood. Dante mentioned he was looking for a partner in his gym, and since I don’t really know the area to scout out a place of my own, I took him up on the offer. Before I moved he had mentioned the house across the street from you, and the sweet lady who owns it made it a steal. I couldn’t refuse. So I’ll be leasing it for at least the next year,” he casually stated.

No fucking way, a year. He’ll be living across the street for a year. What the hell kind of cruel joke is fate playing on me? There is no way I’ll be able to keep my sanity with him across the street for a year, let alone training at the gym every day. I might be isolated, but I’m not fucking dead. The man has a body that would drive even a nun into a frenzy. Under the ink, every inch of his skin is taut and defined. A year of that kind of temptation- someone fucking hates me. I must have really pissed someone off in a past life, because I’m seriously paying for shit now.

We spend the next few hours talking casually about any and every impersonal thing we can think of. While his taste in music is spot on, there is no excuse for having such poor taste in movies. I won’t even get started on his odd food obsessions. Who the fuck eats fried chicken with maple syrup? It isn’t until the old grandfather clock in my living room chimes, that I realize we have been talking for a whole five hours without any hiccups. No bullshit what so ever, no stupid pet names, no snarky sarcasm from yours truly, just honest conversation. Although he still insists I call him Tryst, I am not to a point where I feel the need to put things on any kind of a personal level.

As I walk him to the door, I can’t help but wonder if this is a one-time deal or if he may be genuinely decent. He walks out the door, but turns around planting a light kiss on my cheek. “Good night Bentley, sleep sweetly.” It almost sounds like an exhale in the breeze. I can’t help the smile that crosses my face before I close the door and head to bed.

I spend the morning packing for my trip. It’s another signing in the middle of some city I won’t be venturing out into. I know it should be fun, but knowing she’s out there and looking for me, leaves an unsettling feeling that overshadows any excitement I would normally feel.

I usually invite Dante to come along on these trips. Unfortunately, with him transitioning the gym, and his new partnership, I think it will be best if he stays behind. I know he’ll call me screaming about how irresponsible it was to leave and not tell him where I was going. He still hasn’t come to terms with the fact that I’m not some fragile little girl anymore. I’m a twenty-five year old woman, and I live pretty cautiously, so he’s going to have to get over it. That, and I’m still pissed off at that fucked up little stunt he pulled. Fucking pansy still hasn’t put on his big girl panties and sucked up for the ass beating he so deserves. That little bitch even has someone else training with me to avoid the confrontation. So I think a small break is for the best. It’s not like I won’t be back in two days.

Tristan

They say kill them with kindness. While I didn’t think I’d ever get through to Bentley, I think maybe a few niceties went a long way. Granted, when it comes to her personal life her lips are sealed tighter than the Pentagon, but she did manage to refrain from calling me an Asshat even once this evening. So, I say that’s some fucking progress.  After walking back home I bee-lined straight to bed. I have an early morning at the gym tomorrow, then I plan on spending some more time getting to know Bentley.

As I arrive at the gym the following morning, Dante is fuming about something. “Have you talked to Bentley this morning? She didn’t show up for training and her fucking phone is off,” he practically screams in my ear.

“No, but she was fine when I left her last night. Maybe she slept in late. She’s entitled to that shit every once in a while, you know.” I figure the way I see it, she’s a grown woman. If she doesn’t want to work out, that’s on her.

“Her phone is never off, no matter how pissed off she is at me. She always fucking answers. I don’t like this shit. Something isn’t fucking right.” He’s seething, and if he doesn’t calm the fuck down he’s going to have a damn coronary. I get he’s concerned, but holy shit. At least give her a chance to respond before going bat shit crazy.

“If you want, I’ll head over there and make sure she’s ok.”

I didn’t really think he’d take me up on the offer, yet here I am pulling into her driveway like a fucking stalker about to pound on her door and demand an explanation. When I go to knock I catch the note on the door.

Dante,

Have a signing in Atlanta. Be back in a couple of days. Sorry I didn’t tell you but I needed to head out, and you’ve been M.I.A. lately. Hope everything goes well with the gym. See you in a few days.

Xoxo, Bentley

Aww, fuck. I don’t want to be the one to break this shit to him. I know he’s going to be pissed. Hell, I’m pissed. What the fuck is she thinking going off on her own? She knows damn well that crazy bitch is looking for her. It just takes one lucky guess and Bentley is fucked. This is fucking stupid even for her.

As I pull back into the gym lot, I debate how to break the news to him. I guess just handing him the note is the best way. Then stand the fuck back. I have a feeling some shit is going to get broken. I watch as he reads it, and see his face growing a deep shade of red. He turns, slams his fist into the wall and walks away. I glance at the wall, catching the new indentation caused by his moment of rage.

Two days… two fucking days and not a word. I don’t know who is more pissed off, him or me. I’m stalking her fucking social media but its dead. No idea where the event is being held. I guess that makes sense, since advertising that shit is like putting a flashing “here I am” sign on her forehead. Still, it doesn’t make waiting any fucking easier. I damn near took out a punching bag this morning trying to control my anger. Why the fuck this girl is so deep under my skin is beyond me. She’s fucking imbedded, and I swear I will track her the fuck down myself if her ass isn’t home in the next hour or two.

I’m pacing the living room when I hear a car engine cut. Throwing the door open, I don’t even bother putting on a shirt or shoes. I open her car door before she even has a chance to unbuckle her seat belt.

“What the fuck were you thinking? Dante is going fucking nuts. Did it even occur to you that someone might actually be worried about your ass?  Answer your fucking phone once in a while.”

She gets out of the car, shuts the door, and turns to me to speak. Before she can hand me some half assed explanation, I have her up against the car, crushing her lips against mine. I had planned to be sweet about it but that shit went out the door with my impulse. I need to feel her, to taste her. I want to leave her breathless and unable to stand.

I slide my tongue between her lips, invading her mouth, and the taste of cinnamon tingling my tongue as I brush it back and forth against hers. I push into her even further digging my hands into her ass, pulling her up until she wraps her legs around my hips. I am at war with her mouth, needing to possess and dominate it as she fights back for control. I suck on her tongue each time she pushes back into my mouth, biting lightly on her bottom lip, and swallowing each small moan.

When I pull back to catch my breath, I am lost in the image before me. Her lips are swollen from my assault, her breathing heavy and erratic, and her eyes half lidded.

My dick is saluting her as it pushes up against her core. Before I can claim her lips again, a very loud and pissed off Dante interrupts us. As I set her back down, brushing my lips against her neck, I whisper a warning against her skin.  “We’re not done princess. Just because your little queen interrupted, doesn’t mean I’m finished with you, not even close. And if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll tie you to my fucking bed and spank that ass until you can’t walk. You understand me, Bentley, don’t pull that shit again.”  Her eyes grow wide as she processes what I had just said. Biting her lip she nods in concession.

I watch, in reckless abandonment, the train wreck that unfolds in front of me as Dante throws a hissy fit that would put a three year old to shame. I can tell by the way Bentley keeps opening and closing her fists that this isn’t going to be pretty, and I am more than happy that for once I am not her target.  I damn near choke on my own spit when the words fly from her mouth. “Look here pecker pilferer, just because you decide to be a fickle twat doesn’t mean I’m going to up and rearrange my agenda. Don’t stand here bitching at me about your panties all up in a twist while you’re douche-canoeing the seven seas. You fucked up, not me. I’m not the one who got all flustered over a fuck nut and decided to verbally vomit all of my best friend’s secrets. You had no fucking right, so do not stand here acting as if I somehow did you wrong. You can go suck on a big fat donkey dong if you think I’m about to apologize to you. Keep that shit up and I’ll bitch slap the glitter right out of your fairy princess ass.”

I have to wonder where the fuck she comes up with this shit. I can’t say I’ve ever heard half the shit she’s just called him, although even that last bit has me laughing. Only because Dante is the least fairy looking dude I’ve ever seen. The notion of him as a fairy princess ranks up there with seeing The Rock in a tutu… it just isn’t right.

I vaguely catch on to the sad attempt for an apology he feeds Bentley, and I busy myself by snatching her keys and grabbing her bag out of the car.  It’s a shitty move leaving Dante to dig himself out of the hole he’s digging even deeper, but I have plans that I’d rather not waste trivial time getting to.