Sweet Alibi (20 page)

I felt a featherlight touch and saw Tristan's finger drifting across the weathered wood of my chair.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I averted my eyes but when I looked into his I knew he knew where my mind had been. Not a million miles away but a few short weeks ago when we’d been together. I sighed, knowing the remainder of this summer would be hard and I didn't think I had the strength to withstand it. I wanted to crawl back in my bed and spend the day reading, but doing that may send me headlong into a depression. And reading reminded me of reading on the beach with Tristan. Everywhere I looked I was reminded of Tristan. Everything I did, everything I thought. I was drowning in the memories we’d made this summer.

“Are you sure, Georgia?” His eyes searched mine. He’d always been so sweet and attentive with me. Always so concerned, his beautiful, green eyes searching my face to make sure I was okay.

“Yeah, I’m going to call Kyle.” I heard Tristan suck in a quick breath as I stood and walked into the house. If I let my mind travel down that path I’d want to have Tristan’s arms wrapped around me the remainder of the summer.

“Morning, love,” Silas said as I curled myself around him in his bed.

“Morning,” I whispered into the crook of his neck as a soft tear trailed down my cheek.

“Are you okay?” Silas rubbed up and down my back.

“No,” I squeaked.

“Is it Kyle?”

“No.”

“Tristan?”

“I wish it wasn’t, but I think so,” I said.

“Are you having nightmares again?”

“Some.”

“Did something happen with Tristan?”

“Yeah,” I answered, barely above a whisper. “I slept with him, Silas.” The ache in my chest felt like it was crushing me from the inside out. It’d only been a week since we’d been together but I was craving his touch, his body hovering over mine, his lips on my skin.

“Oh my god, was he good?” he continued without waiting for my response. “Fuck, I knew he was good. I need details. I'll die a happy man if you give me details.”

“Silas,” I whimpered.

“Sorry.” He stroked the hair spilling down my back.

“I can't leave him, Silas. I can’t.” I shook my head as tears fell.

“I know, love,” he said. “Maybe you should tell him?”

“Kyle? No.”

“Not Kyle, love.”

“Tristan?” I jerked my head up to look him in the eye.

“Maybe you should tell him everything.”

“No.” I shook my head emphatically.

“Maybe it would help if he knew
―
if he understood why you don't think you can leave Kyle.”

“It doesn’t matter, it's over with Tristan. It never even really got started.”

“Do you really think that, Georgia?” Silas’s brown eyes burned into mine.

“Yes…” I whispered, still holding his gaze. “I don't know.”

“Do you want to know what I think?” he asked gently.

“No.”

He chuckled. “I’m going to tell you anyway.”

“You always do.” I rolled my eyes.

“And it's exactly the reason you keep me around.”

“I need to work on that.” I frowned.

“I think the nightmares are back because you’re torn. I think you’re forcing yourself to stay with Kyle because of the past, not because of the future. And you need to stop living in the past, Georgia. It's poisoning you. If you stayed with Kyle you would have a nice life, boring maybe, but perfectly, normally nice. But if you let go of the past
―
let go of the pain
―
if you followed your heart, you may find something beautiful.”

“I know, but Kyle
―
”

“I know. Kyle was always there, but it doesn't mean you owe him your future.”

“I’m happy with Kyle.”

“If you were happy, love, that night with Tristan wouldn't have happened.” 

“I can't leave him, Silas.” I buried my head in Silas’ neck.

“I know. Promise me one thing?”

“Hmm?”

“Love yourself this summer. Love yourself enough to follow your heart…”

“Silas…” I whined.

“Just try,” he said as he smoothed his hand down my hair. “Just try for something beautiful.”

* * *

IT’D BEEN AN exhausting week between working and nightmares and Kyle and Silas and Tristan and Tristan's whores. He'd been out every night this week. I’d told him to move on and date, and he was doing just that. The only problem was that I’d told him I wouldn’t be upset, and yet every night he didn’t come home I got more upset.

Tristan’s dating was eating me up inside.

Every night I went to bed and imagined a different, beautiful beauty with her legs wrapped around his narrow waist. I imagined dainty fingers threaded in his beautiful, tousled hair, tugging while she screamed his name. His lips on her body, his hands caressing her skin. My stomach was in a constant state of upset. I was now having nightmares every night and last night I’d made Kyle stay up and talk to me on the phone. Next weekend was Fourth of July and he was coming down, the first time he'd see the beach house. I’d babbled endlessly about the updates on the house, the surroundings, some of the local shops
―
anything to fill my head with thoughts other than Tristan. Finally Kyle had begged for sleep and we'd hung up. But that wasn't it for me. I’d tossed and turned, listening to the rolling waves, trying to time my breathing, willing myself to fall into a dreamless sleep when I heard a car door slam. After a few minutes I heard keys rattling and footsteps, giggles, and bodies bumping into things. My rage peaked in that instant. I threw the blanket off my body and stomped down the hallway into the kitchen. Moonlight washed across the room, making their outlines easy to see.

Tristan stood in front of a brunette propped up on the counter, his hips nestled in between her thighs, her skirt riding high up her legs. His hand trailed high up her thigh, fingertips disappearing under the tight fabric of her skirt. She moaned into his mouth as they kissed. His other hand was wrapped around another brunette at his side, her lips attached to the skin under his ear, her hands threaded in his messy hair. He pulled away from the girl on the counter and moved his lips to the other girl, twisting a hand in her long hair and bending her neck to his sensual mouth. She moaned as he dragged his teeth down her neck while she slid a hand down his back and cupped his ass tightly. Her body writhed against his as the brunette on the countertop arched her body into him and slipped a hand down the front of his pants.

Bile rose in my throat as I watched, unable to tear my eyes from the erotic display in my kitchen. The only thing that had a stronger hold on me was the anger. My rage at him bringing those girls into my house in the middle of the night, letting them writhe all over my countertop with him nestled between their legs.

“Can you take it elsewhere?” I flipped on the light and crossed my arms, my gaze boring into the back of Tristan's head. He turned slowly, his eyes coming to rest on mine, blurry and unfocused. He was clearly drunk. As drunk as I’d ever seen him.

“Georgia.” The heart-stopping smirk that normally made my stomach do delicious flips spread across his face, but tonight it only caused rage to pool in my belly. “Wanna join?” His eyes flared as his gaze trailed down my body. I realized instantly I was wearing a tight tank top without a bra, the cool breeze washing across my skin had my nipples standing at attention. I crossed my arms to cover myself. Tristan's eyes traveled down my legs where my tiny sleep shorts hardly covered a thing. His thumb traced small circles on the thigh of the girl on the countertop. My stomach boiled in anger.

“No, you’re a whore. Take your skanks elsewhere.”

“Bitch,” the girl standing next to him huffed with a hand on her hip.

“You’re always welcome, Georgia. Just say the word. All you ever had to do was say the word.”

I stared at him, my eyes blazing as it registered that he referred to more than just the situation playing out before me.

“I hate you,” I hissed and turned on my heel to leave.

“Georgia, wait. Can you give me a minute?” He turned to the girls. “Down the hall, second room on the left.” He swatted one of them on the bottom as they hustled out in a fit of annoying tittering.

“What are you doing?” I glared as he came closer to me.

“Am I doing something wrong?” he said as he reached me, invading my personal space. I could smell the flowery perfume on him and it made me want to throw up.

“Bringing those skanks here,” I sneered.

He arched a surprised eyebrow at me. “I’m doing what you told me to, Georgia.”

“I don't recall telling you to whore all over town.” I chewed the inside of my cheek.

“I’m moving on, Georgia,” he whispered. “Sorry if you don't like the way I go about it.” He cupped my face, smoothing his thumb over my cheekbone. “It didn’t have to be like this, Georgia.” He rested his forehead against mine. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Despite everything, despite the girls and the vile suggestion he’d just made about my joining them, I could forgive him. I knew that I could. This wasn’t my Tristan. This was someone who was in pain, seeking an outlet in the only way they knew how. I ran my hands up his neck, both of my thumbs brushing along his jawline.

He sucked in a quick breath and then touched his lips to mine in a featherlight kiss. “I wanted it to be you. I always wanted it to be you,” he mumbled. I swallowed the lump in my throat. Tears burned my eyelids. I wanted it to be him too. I wanted to give myself to him and only him.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured before pulling back from him. I wiped the tears from my cheeks and watched hurt shoot across his eyes. He shut them as if pushing the pain back from the surface. His eyes opened slowly and he made his way to his room. I watched him and my heart tightened in my chest. The pain he'd left me standing in felt so real, like I’d crumpled on the floor and melted into a pile of tears.

“I hate you,” I whispered to no one but myself, flicking off the light and heading back to my room. I slammed the door and threw myself in bed. I waited for sounds of a threesome to reach me from a few rooms away but they never came.

Twenty

Georgia

“MORNIN’ GEORGIA,” TRISTAN smirked, stepping into the kitchen. He looked wildly sexy in a V-neck shirt and a pair of cargo shorts.

“Hey,” I mumbled as I poured grounds into the coffee filter. I hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, my thoughts consumed with my run-in with Tristan. Drew, Silas, and I were going to the garden store to buy landscaping supplies so I’d need copious amounts of the black brew to get my ass in gear.

“Thanks for making coffee this morning; I was up late last night,” he said as he walked past me, caressing my lower back on his way to the fridge. His touch sent shivers coursing through my body. I gritted my teeth together and concentrated on measuring the right amount of water to pour into the reservoir.

“Vanilla or caramel creamer?” he asked, leaning into the fridge. I only scowled at him.

He waited another minute before turning to look at me. “Grow up, Georgia. Vanilla or fucking caramel?”

“I’ve got it.” I sneered as I reached into the fridge and pulled out the caramel.

“What's the problem, Georgia?” he whispered in my ear as his hand came to caress the exposed skin of my lower back where my shirt had ridden up.

“The problem, Tristan, is that you’re a whore,” I seethed, our faces so close, lips nearly touching before I ripped away from him and a cocky grin lit his lips. The more he smiled the more I hated him for it, yet it was the one thing that made hating him impossible.

“Anything I can do to change your mind about that?” He used his body to push me back into the counter. I bit down on my lip to concentrate on anything other than his hard body pressing into me. “Come on, Georgia. Tell me,” he taunted as he ran his hands up my torso slowly, tantalizingly. His hands made their way up my ribcage, his thumbs brushed the sides of my breasts as my breathing hitched, and butterflies scattered in my belly.

“Stop marching the slut parade through my house,” I whispered as I closed my eyes and shifted, rubbing my thighs together to ease some of the ache that had settled there.

“It’s just sex, Georgia. Two people, or three as it were, looking for a good time.” His thumbs danced softly on the skin next to my breasts, dangerously close, yet not nearly close enough. He ran his nose up the line of my neck until he reached my ear. “I told you I was never good at saying no,” he whispered, his nose ghosting along the shell of my ear. My heart pounded furiously in my chest. “I’m not sure you’re good at it either. I can feel what I do to you: your heart pounding, your chest heaving, your nipples hardening,” he breezed one thumb over a sharp, aching peak, “your legs shifting back and forth, begging me to touch you.” He ran one fingertip between my breasts, down my stomach, past my waistband, grazing high up on my thigh, nearly touching my throbbing center through the fabric of my shorts.

A groan escaped my throat as I arched my neck. I couldn't think straight with this incessant pounding in my chest, the raging thud in my ears. “Aren’t you worried about safety? Catching… something?” I whispered.