I lift my chin defiantly, cutting off his words. “You’re not my husband yet. My current sex life is still none of your business.”
“Current? So, there is someone?” he murmurs as he leans in, lips inches from mine. I’m aware that his free hand is resting on my hip, and it’s almost like a gravitational pull as my body moves closer to his.
“Why are you so invested?” I ask, not shrinking away from whatever game he is playing. He was not going to make me hang off his arm like Blip. I wasn’t going to drop my panties and beg for his attention, and I certainly wasn’t going to make it easy on him.
His lips brush against mine, and I feel his smile as he says, “Because, you’re mine.”
Tristan freezes as I snake my hand up his chest, fingers dancing over the exposed skin of his neck, until I’m cupping his face. We both stand perfectly still, caught up in a moment as I follow the lines of his cheekbones up...and shove my fingers into his bruised injury again, pushing hard enough to bring him to his knees.
“Not yet, I’m not,” I growl, watching him glare at me on one knee at my feet.
I’ve avoided Tristan as much as I can, but he always seems to be lingering, watching with his intense stare, and I know he’s just waiting for another opening, but I don’t know why. I make it to Friday, barely, and feel like I need to crawl out of my own skin to escape. The pep rally tonight has been a huge thing on my list, and I’m glad it’s finally out of the way so that I can focus on the violin. I gave it my all during our routine, cheering and shouting until my throat felt raw, but I was far from exhausted. I still needed to dance after this, I still had too many things on my mind that I had to untangle so that I could get through the next week. Dancing was like my drug, and I practised through the week, but Friday was my day to blow off steam. No rules, no expectations, I just felt it. I moved without planning, without thinking, and sometimes without music. I craved that.
I feel eyes on me again, and I know without turning that Tristan is somewhere in the crowd, watching and waiting. He’s like a hunter, but I refuse to be his prey.
“That was great! I’m so pumped, there was so much energy!” Serena says as she grabs her towel from the bag next to mine. “Are you coming to the party with us tonight?”
“Nah, I have somewhere I need to be,” I say apologetically. I rarely go to the events afterwards, be it house parties, yacht parties, lake parties, or trips to the diner. They were just excuses to get drunk, do drugs, and compare how rich your family was, and I didn’t have the patience for that. I always had more work to do, events for my father or nights like tonight where I just need to dance.
“Okay, but Sam kinda was really hoping you’d be there,” she leans in and whispers. “I heard from Brent that he’s planning on asking you out.”
She nods her head over her right shoulder to one of the linebackers on the football team. He was easy on the eyes, but what was the point? Nothing could ever come of it. My mind flits back to the conversation earlier in the week with Tristan. Was he jealous? Did he think I was sleeping with someone? It’s almost like my thoughts summon the devil as he appears, but he doesn't even spare me a second glance. He’s wearing a fitted white T-shirt, a pair of torn jeans, and a khaki shirt. The whole outfit screams casual and chilled, but I know it’s really just a pretence as I clock the designer labels. In a town where money rules everything, there’s no way he bought clothes at an ordinary store. His father would never allow it.
“Hey, Serena, isn’t it?” Tristan says smoothly with a smile ghosting on his lips as he stands with his back partially to me.
Serena gives me a questioning glance, and when I shrug, she nods and flashes him a flirty grin. I mean, I know he’s attractive, but he’s also a dickwad. How can he just smile at girls and watch as they melt? He’s not a god, he’s someone who got lucky in the genetic lottery, and he knows it.
He looks her up and down openly, taking in the cheer uniform. The black pleated skirt is edged with a white and silver strip while the top is cropped with long sleeves, the silver and white banding on the arms. The whole ensemble is finished with silver hair bows and silver pom-poms.
“You looked great out there. I love, and I mean, LOVE the uniform.” His voice is oozing charm as he compliments her, and I see her brain cells fading as she falls for it.
“Thanks,” she purrs, placing a hand on his arm. Rolling my eyes, I grab my bottle and pull up the cap. I’m sweating a little, but I still have energy, and there’s a pressure building in my head that I can’t ignore. I feel like I’m losing control as I try to steady my breathing and cool down. I want to dance. I want to scream. I want to bite him.
Good girls don’t get angry.
They stay calm and collected.
They never break.
“Your belly bar kept catching my eye, glinting while you moved.” He glances over his shoulder at me when she’s not looking.
I take a drink, aware of his eyes fixed on my neck as I swallow, before I give him a charming smile of my own. He smirks and turns back to Serena, determined
