Page 25

25

A couple days later, I’m at work when I get a text from Tristan.

Don’t hate me.

Too late. ?? what’s up?

I might have let it slip while I was talking with the guys in the locker room that you won the trip to Telluride. Bradley is gonna try and convince you to invite him, Jen, me and maybe Oakley. They want it to be a group trip before the craziness of the playoffs.

Yesterday, I got a notice from the Storm Foundation that I was the lucky winner of the weekend getaway to Telluride, which I am sure Tristan had some sort of hand in. I was so excited to spend some time with Tristan and just be us without any distractions or having to tiptoe around anyone. My heart sinks a little.

Aw I was really looking forward to having that place all to ourselves. But I still want to see you. Maybe I can bring Tess?

That’s a great idea. Everyone will be coupled up. So to speak.

Again, I’m sorry, Cupcake. I really wanted to be alone, too. At least we’ll be able to spend time together in some way.

But if you want, you can tell Bradley no and you can just go with Tess.

No, I want you to go.

I kind of miss you, Hot Shot.

We arrive in Telluride on Friday night and drive about fifteen minutes until we reach Tristan’s house. It is located on the Telluride Golf Course and it has amazing views of the surrounding mountain ridges. His massive two-story house has a pitched roof and floor-to-ceiling windows along the front of the house. The inside is equally as breathtaking. The living room has probably a thirty-foot ceiling, showcasing gorgeous wooden beams. There is a reading nook with a large light-stone gas fireplace, situated across the way from the gourmet chef’s kitchen. Off to the side, a large wooden dining room table could accommodate twelve people.

All five bedrooms are located upstairs, Tristan’s master bedroom having the best view of the snow-dusted mountains. Outside of his window, I see a large hot tub that could probably fit all of us comfortably. Brad and Jen take their next largest guest room, while Tess and I share a room and Oakley takes his own room. This place is a dream and I hope that Tristan will take me back here, just the two of us.

We end up ordering takeout since we are so tired from a day of work and travel. It is so nice being in the mountains, away from the busy city. There is a calmness to the mountains that I think we all need. Everything has been so heightened lately with the playoffs, the end of the school year and of course, for me, the whirlwind that has been my relationship with Tristan.

After a late breakfast, all the guys decide to go golfing. While they are gone, Tess, Jen and I watch multiple romantic comedies, drink wine and eat so much popcorn we think our stomachs are going to explode. For dinner, Tess decides to make her famous chicken and orzo dish. Jen is in charge of making the salad, because Tess didn’t allow anyone else near the stove. And of course, I am designated to make the desserts. I decide to make chocolate souffles.

Tristan and I have skillfully avoided each other throughout the majority of the trip so far. We steal heated glances at each other and of course text each other, making one another blush or smirk. But we have to be careful. Tess is the only one who knows about us, and I want it to stay that way. At least for a bit longer. I don’t want to distract anyone this close to the playoffs. Maybe after the season is over, Tristan and I can come clean about our relationship.

When Tristan walks in after golf, I barely recognize him. He is wearing an entire golf outfit –I’ve never seen Tristan wear anything like this before. He is wearing a black polo tucked into light gray golf shorts with a belt. His hat is turned forward, showcasing his own brand, and some golf gloves are peeking out of one of his back pockets. The man can pull off any fricken outfit and be the hottest man in the room. He looks like he belongs in the fanciest country club imaginable. I am certain any country club would be thrilled to have the one-and-only Tristan Lawson grace their golf course and clubhouse with his undoubtedly impeccable golf game and charm.

I need to distract myself now. I walk over to where Jen is standing behind the island counter and offer to help chop up veggies for the salad. I grab a cucumber and an extra knife.

“Um, excuse me. Tess specifically gave me this job because I suck at all things cooking. Your brother is one lucky man,” she says sarcastically.

I continue to slice the cucumber. “Trust me, he is. I am constantly amazed by the fact that he won over the coolest girl, who is way out of his league by the way. I am the lucky one because I get to gain you as a sister. Thank you for falling in love with my ridiculous brother.”

She stops slicing and goes into the fridge to grab some wine. She pours the rest of the contents in our glasses and throws the bottle in the recycling bin. I slide the collective cucumber slices into the large salad bowl and set the cutting board and two knives in the sink.

Jen’s arm wraps around me. “I am also very lucky to gain a sister. I am an only child, so it is going to be nice to have someone to talk to about all the boy things.”

I grab my wine and we clink our glasses together: “To sisterhood.”

“To sisterhood.”

“All right everyone!” Tess shouts, startling me so I jump up and spill a little bit of wine on my light pink sweater. Thank goodness it is white wine. “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes! I need all the men to set the table when you all are done showering and changing! The women are not going to lift a damn finger. Now chop chop! You all smell.”

I snort. Tess is never afraid to say exactly what she is thinking. To avoid looking directly into Tristan’s eyes, I decide to start prepping the souffles so they are ready to go in the oven shortly after Tess takes out her chicken and orzo dish. I go on my tiptoes and reach up to get a mixing bowl and white ramekins from the cupboard.

I’ve finished mixing up the batter when my phone dings in my back pocket.

I missed you today, Cupcake.

A rush of butterflies fills my stomach. I am smiling like a damn school girl whose crush just wrote her a note saying check yes or no if you want to be my girlfriend. This was Tristan Lawson’s version of one of those notes, except he wasn’t asking me to be his girlfriend. We have not put any labels on our relationship yet, but more butterflies cram in amongst the others as the label of girlfriend sweeps across my mind.

Another ding. I look at my lock screen.

You look beautiful by the way.

My fingers hurriedly text back:

I kind of missed you too. And thank you. You’re sweet for saying so.

The oven is beeping and Tess hurries over, throws on oven mitts, takes out the large dutch oven and places it on the stovetop. “Do you need the oven to stay at the same temp?”

“No, I need to lower it actually, but I got it.” I adjust the temperature to 375 degrees. At least I don’t need to wait for the oven to preheat. I pour the souffle batter into the ramekins, ensuring they all level out and have the same amount of batter. After making some minor adjustments, I bend over to carefully place them in the oven.

I close the oven and then feel a hand graze my lower back. “Those jeans are really working for you.” I see an arm covered in tattoos open the drawer directly beside the oven. Tristan’s brawny hand fumbles with some silverware. Then he leans in and whispers, “Especially when you bend over like that.”

My core heats up to an ungodly level as I set a timer for twenty minutes. I usually have a sense about when souffles are done–a kind of special intuition. But I don’t trust my senses tonight; they are on overload with Tristan around. My brain is filled with nothing but him.

I turn around and lean on the curved oven handle. It’s definitely getting hotter in this kitchen, so I grab my hair and drape it over one of my shoulders, exposing the side of my neck. I hear a low, frustrated growl come from Tristan’s direction.

“What?”

“You are making it impossible to be around you, Cupcake.” He clutches onto the silverware so intensely that his knuckles turn white. I can tell that he is holding back the urge to drop the silverware on the kitchen floor, take me in his arms, and make out with me. Or at least that’s what I want him to do with me. I need to make sure he knows that I am feeling whatever he is feeling right now because I have an inkling we are thinking the same thing. We haven’t been alone in days and it’s crazy how much that is affecting my life.

I lean toward him. “I can say the same thing about you, Hot Shot.” I let myself take a good look at him. He is back in his usual make-Brooke-weak-at-the-knees outfit: a backwards hat, gray joggers and a form-fitting t-shirt. He is literally just existing and it’s unraveling me.

“Now you know how I have been feeling every single time I saw you for the past ten years. It’s fucking unbearable. It’s even worse now that I know what I’ve been missing out on.”

We lock eyes and any pretense of wanting to stay away from him this weekend is starting to shatter. Our stares are no longer fueled by hate. And we could never make it in Hollywood with our attempt to pretend to hate each other. My lips start to curl at our feeble attempt to shoot daggers at each other for the millionth time. Tristan crosses his burly arms, looks down at my lips and smirks. I match his stance and don’t waver. I am notoriously good at these stare-downs.

“Tristan, bro, do you need help with the simple task of getting silverware? Or are you too busy thinking of ways to torture my sister to focus?” Bradley’s voice snaps us out of whatever trance we were stuck in.

Oh, he’s torturing me, all right. Just not in the way my brother is thinking.

Completely oblivious, Bradley steps in between us, takes the silverware from Tristan and heads to the table. “Come on, you two. I’m starving.”

Tristan holds out his hand, gesturing to me to step in front of him, his silly smile still on his face. How am I supposed to move when my entire body feels like mush?

Tess ushers both Tristan and me from behind and proceeds to boss everyone around. “Okay, so Bradley and Jen, you guys sit at the ends of the table. Then Oakley, you’ll come sit by me and that leaves Brooke and Tristan on the other side.”

I get extremely flushed and all the butterflies vacate my stomach as I realize that I will be right next to Tristan for the next hour or so, during which time it is expected we act like our normal selves a.k.a. want to obliterate each other. I make a face at Tess because this was not part of the plan. She and I were going to sit next to each other so the undeniable tension between me and Tristan could remain undetected by my brother, or anyone else in this house for that matter.

Tess just wiggles her eyebrows and sits down across from me. What the hell? I mouth to her, but she simply takes the salad tongs and places some greens on her empty plate. “Dig in, everyone. I hope you enjoy it. This is my favorite family recipe. My grandmother made it all the time when I was little! Anyone need more wine?”

“Yes!” Tristan and I both say in unison.

“Okay then.” Tess hands the unopened bottle to Oakley. “Oakley, would you be so kind as to open this bottle for the table.”

Suddenly, I get it. I know Tess. She is totally into Oakley. That’s why she switched up the seating arrangement. I giggle and shake my head. Tess and her larks. Always stirring up the status quo. She has gumption, that is for sure.

“Uh, sure.” Oakley grabs the twist top bottle and in one swift move, it comes off. So easily, in fact, that all of us start laughing. I know Tess well enough that she is crushing hard on Oakley. She is not being subtle about it either.

Unphased, Tess pours wine in my wine glass, then Tristan’s. “Okay, I want to propose a toast!” she says. “Thank you so much, Tristan, for hosting us at your beautiful house here in Telluride. It is seriously such a beautiful place. And thank you to Brooke who won this giveaway at the auction at Casino Night. This was a much-needed vacation and I’m glad we can do it all together. So I guess: to Tristan and Brooke!” Tristan and Brooke! I try not to blush. I love the way our names sound together.

Glasses clink and everyone starts digging in.

I scoop some of the salad onto my plate and as I pass the bowl to my left, Tristan’s hand grazes mine for a millisecond. I feel tingly all over. I need to keep my facial expressions in check and try to cover my already flushed face. Tristan reaches over my plate, grabs the large serving spoon full of chicken and orzo and slaps it onto his own plate. He smells amazing. My favorite Moroccan mint and cedar smell. We lock eyes for a millisecond and that is enough to make me squirm. “Do you want some, Cupcake?”

“Yes, but I am very capable of getting it myself, Hot Shot.” I grasp the spoon out of his hand – a little too forcefully, because I knock over Tristan’s wine glass. His freshly poured wine spills all over his lap. Shit.

“Oh party foul. Way to go, Brooke,” Bradley pipes in.

I grab a napkin and say, “Thanks for the illuminating commentary, Brad.” Without thinking, I start frantically wiping down Tristan’s lap.

Conversation picks back up and the attention is no longer on this side of the table. Tristan’s hand holds onto my wrist, ceasing my progress to clean up my mess. “Stop.”

“What? I am just trying to help.”

He whispers, “You are doing something else to me right now, Brooke. Please. Stop.”

I look down and realize what he meant. He’s right. I need to stop.

I immediately let go of the napkin and turn my body to face the table. I gulp down my wine and successfully get the main entree onto my plate without more hiccups. Tristan scoots his seat back in and I can see his dumb, delicious dimples grace his annoyingly handsome face. He enjoys me being flustered like this. Always has. Except this time, the stakes are different. Well, I guess for me they are.

Apparently it is too quiet for my extroverted brother because he says, “So, Tristan. I am surprised you didn’t bring one of your puck bunnies on this trip. What’s that about, man?”

By some grace of whatever is up there in the universe the timer goes off for the soufflés. I jump up and squeal a little too loudly, “I got it!” It literally could not be more perfect timing since I do not want to hear the answer to this question. Even though I know Tristan hasn’t seen anyone but me since we started hooking up, I still don’t want to hear a fake account of what he might be or would’ve been doing with someone else.

I can feel Tristan’s eyes follow me into the kitchen and despite my efforts to put space between me and that conversation, I still hear every word. “Um, you know man, I just wanted to hang out and not worry about entertaining a girl.”

“Entertaining a girl” huh? What kind of “entertaining”? The same “entertaining” that we have done? I suddenly get hit with the green monster of envy. I open the oven and take out my soufflés. They are perfect. I smile and place them on the stovetop. At least these didn’t turn out to be a complete disaster, unlike where this night might go if Tristan continues to be, well…Tristan.

Completely irresistible. Completely hot.

Completely off-limits – at least, I need to make sure my brother thinks so.

I turn off the oven and return to my seat. “Bullshit. Tell me the truth, man.” For the love of God, Brad, let it go.

“I don’t know man. I’m getting kind of sick of hooking up with the same type of woman. I didn’t want to bring someone here who I don’t really have feelings for. This place means a lot to me. I want to reserve it for someone special.” Tristan’s warm hand finds the top of my knee and gives it a small squeeze. My heart leaps and I stuff my mouth to keep from giving away my elation.

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Jen says, and then scolds my brother. “Bradley, just leave him alone. It seems like he wants to turn over a new leaf and I think that’s great.”

My lips curl at the way Jen’s words hit my brother like a ton of bricks. She definitely can hold her own around my brother. Unfortunately, Bradley wants to push things. “So is there…someone special?”

Tristan’s grip on my knee tightens. My heart has never beat so fast in my life. “Actually, yes,” he says. “But it’s pretty new and before you ask…it’s no one you know.” Phew, we dodged that bullet.

“Anyone up for dessert?” I say as I get up, causing Tristan’s hand to leave my thigh. I can still feel the imprint of his hand seared into my jeans.

“I think anyone would be crazy to turn down your famous soufflés, B,” Tess responds.

In the kitchen, I take the ramekins off the baking sheet and wipe down the bottoms before placing them on the counter.

“I’m always up for some dessert.” Tristan apparently followed me into the kitchen. He leans in and kisses my cheek. “But I think you already knew that.”

“Are you trying to get caught?” I whisper through my teeth. I place the soufflés on a serving platter and hold it up to Tristan. “Can you handle taking these to the table, Hot Shot?”

He effortlessly swipes the tray from my hands and makes his way over to the table. I can’t resist checking him out as he walks away. His ass looks so good in those sweatpants, he is making it harder to breathe. Act normal, Brooke. Act like you hate his guts rather than want to yank him upstairs to his bedroom.

Everyone digs in. Tess is the first one to break the silence: “Oh my god, B! These are amazing!”

“Thanks! I used dark chocolate this time and I think I prefer it this way. It’s not as cloyingly sweet.”

“So, are you back to dating anyone, Brooke?” Bradley asks out of the blue.

“Who are you, Gossip Girl? Why are you so interested in who people are dating all of a sudden, Brad?” I ask, with a hard-to-miss annoyance in my tone.

“It’s just a question, Brooke. Calm down. You seem a little happier lately. Well, except for right now, since you are looking at me like you want to kill me.”

“Tell him, B,” Tess slips out. Her hand covers her mouth immediately. Now she is the victim to the daggers coming out of my eyes.

“Oh really? Who?” Bradley looks intrigued.

“It’s nobody,” I respond curtly.

“Wait, is it the same guy that was in your apartment a few weeks ago?”

Tristan adjusts his seat and clears his throat. I glance over at him and he has the biggest smirk on his face. I swear we are going to get caught.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.” I am just going to tell a version of the truth instead of coming up with a complete lie. I look back at Tess and she is mouthing, I’m sorry.

“Where did you meet this guy?” Bradley asks in a protective tone.

“At a professional development I had to attend in February.” I stuff my mouth with the souffle. “Actually, he was the presenter. We got to talking after and we went on a few dates.”

“Why didn’t you introduce me when I came over that night? Did you think I was going to put the fear of God in him?”

Tristan full-on laughs. I kick him under the table.

“To be honest Brad,” Tess chimes in, “I think he could actually take you. He may look a little like Clark Kent, but there is definitely a case for him having a Superman-esque quality to him, too. I mean, from what I could gather from his presentation at the school.” She winks at me. Okay, she redeemed herself and her description of Tristan looking like Clark Kent is absolutely comical since she has no idea that Tristan wears glasses occasionally.

“Well, when are you bringing this guy to Sunday dinner? I am sure Mom and Dad would like to meet him, too.”

“Soon. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s still kind of early to really tell if he is going to stick.” I pause because part of what I am saying is true. “I don’t want to jump into anything too fast. It’s scary to jump into a new relationship. But, I can tell he is a decent guy. I think it could really go somewhere.” I brush my fingers against Tristan’s leg to reassure him that I am completely in this and although we are keeping our relationship a secret for now, I don’t want him to doubt what we have or how I feel about him. I clear my throat and continue, “Plus, I don’t want him to undergo a Beckett Sunday dinner too early. I don’t want him to be scared off by Mom’s invasive questions, or yours for that matter, Brad.”

“I know all too well what those dinners are like as an outsider of the Beckett family bubble. Y’all are truly intimidating.” Jen looks over at me and nods. “Let Brooke date whoever she wants to date. She deserves to find the same happiness that we found in each other.” Then she focuses her eyesight on Brad: “In other words: butt out of it, honey.”