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Second Impressions 3
AUTHOR: The Corrupter
“Is that smile one of triumph or excruciating pain?” The man eyed Tristan curiously. It wouldn’t be the first time the teenager had tried to fool him, and he was certain that over such a sensitive matter, it probably wouldn’t be the last.
The wry smile on Tristan’s face only deepened. He couldn’t decide whether he was pleased that his emotions and thoughts were no longer so easy to read. There had been some comfort in knowing that he didn’t have to voice everything out loud to the man sitting before him. It made it safe, and easy to pretend that those same feelings didn’t exist. Denial had never been one of Tristan’s favorite excuses until he had started visiting this man regularly.
When Tristan didn’t answer, just returned another smug look, the man replied for him. “I figure you came back to see me before leaving for school to do one of two things: rub it in my face, or beg me to reassure you that everything will be all right.” He managed not to crack a smile at the last one option. “Again,” he deadpanned, at the last minute to catch Tristan’s undivided attention.
That got Tristan to roll his eyes dramatically. “I do not beg,” he stated, matter-of-factly, even as the corner of his lips quirked up in a lopsided grin.
The man made a face. “So how did it go?”
“I think the better question would be… did I go,” Tristan corrected, innocently meeting the man’s inquisitive eyes. “And if I did, did we actually speak.”
“Do you want my job?” the man asked, pretending to be annoyed by Tristan’s vague and evasive answers. “You can sit in this seat.”
“No, I’m fine, right where I am,” Tristan admitted, though not unwistfully.
The man tilted his head in consideration. “And where would that be?”
She stood before him, flabbergasted, but confused indignation emanating off her. The dark velvety green of her dress did nothing to hide the slight quiver of her body, a symptom of shock from running into him so unexpectedly, and after such a long period of time apart. But while her body was tense, informing him that she had no idea what to make of the situation, her roiling blue eyes revealed that she knew exactly how to deal with him. And he was certain he had caught the quick transformation from bored blue ice to sparkling cerulean heat. The change had been effortless, and despite the fact that his stomach and heart were doing flip-flops trying to ascertain just how she would accept his reappearance in her life, he was eager to begin. Even if it felt like they had never stopped.
“You.”
The word sounded strangely inviting and disgusted at the same time. And it was apparent that neither knew exactly what it should have been. Everything they felt towards each other, spoken and otherwise, was embodied in that one word, expressed with the timbre of over a year of pent-up familiarity, frustration, and exasperation. The air crackled with undisguised tension and unresolved uncertainty.
“Rory.”
The word was uttered before he even had the presence of mind to greet her himself. Tristan opened his mouth to object, but the summons had already been made from across the room. To his surprise, she didn’t move, her eyes locked on his. He offered a slight, confident smile, challenging her to make the first attempt at breaking the stalemate. She looked good, he had to admit, but then again, she always looked good, even if she herself had no idea just how unassumingly pretty she was. It was obvious that he was staring at her, just as it was obvious to him that her eyes were flickering judgmentally over him. She gave him a strange look, and her lips twitched as a precursor to speech.
“Rory. Your grandmother wants to introduce you to some of her friends from the Garden Club.” The booming, yet congenial, voice barely preceded her grandfather’s towering figure. With a drink grasped leisurely in one hand, and the other fixing his glasses, Richard Gilmore stepped beside Rory and gave Tristan an appraising look. “Ah. The DuGrey boy.” He nodded, approvingly.
At her grandfather’s easy recognition of him, Rory scowled briefly. There was not, however, much effort behind the frown; she was too busy trying to determine exactly what he was doing there. Tristan gave her an innocent look, assuring her that he had not prompted or accosted her grandfather before running into her. Surprisingly, she seemed to receive his unspoken message, her face softening in response, though tinged with some skepticism.
Richard remained oblivious to the telepathic message that passed between the two teenagers. He glanced over Tristan’s shoulder. “Where is Janlen? Is the coot hiding, or did he decide not to come this year?” Richard finally glanced at Rory and Tristan, his eyes moving back and forth between the two, while an unreadable expression graced his distinguished face.
Tristan chuckled into his fist, while his eyes searched fruitlessly for his grandfather in the crowded front hall. “I believe he’s hiding,” he replied, charmingly, as if sharing a joke. He met Rory’s eyes once again, catching the delicate eyeroll she directed at him. Then looking at Richard, and noting his silence and appraising eyes, Tristan was almost positive that her grandfather would insist that the two keep each other company in such a decidedly aged crowd.
No such luck.
Richard only guffawed in amusement, obviously agreeing with Tristan’s assessment, before turning to his granddaughter. “Rory.” He held out an arm. “Let’s not keep your grandmother waiting, shall we?”
Rory gingerly snaked her arm through his, and allowed Richard to lead her across the room. She was obviously just as confused as Tristan, although more relieved than disappointed in the turn of events. But as she was led away from him, she couldn’t help but turn her head, keeping him in her line of sight. While Tristan would not admit that the abrupt first meeting had jarred him, he was more than pleased at her unacknowledged response. Her curiosity was obviously peaked, and the anxious chewing of her bottom lip signaled to him that if neither one sought the other out for the rest of the night, Rory, at least, would definitely be beside herself with reluctant curiosity. Regarding that as a positive rather than a negative effect, he was able to let go of the frightened breath he had been holding. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad after all. At least not until she threw him out of the party.
“And did she? Throw you out of the party?” the man clarified his question, sitting forward. Tristan always did know how to tell a good story, except for the fact that he always ended abruptly and left the decidedly more interesting bits out of the oral tale.
Tristan directed a feigned defensive glare at the man. “You seem to think that there might be cause for her to do such a thing.”
The man sat back, genuinely relieved. He quirked a slight lopsided grin. “Of course not, you’re the most charming young man I’ve ever met.”
“I’ve mentioned my feelings on you and sarcasm, haven’t I?” Tristan snarked, face expressionless.
“Many times. But continue. Please.” The man gestured for him to finish recounting the events from the past week, especially those occurring during that night at the Gilmore’s manor.
Tristan sighed and collected his thoughts. “I felt…” He paused, hearing his choice of words.
“Felt. Hmm,” the man interrupted, seeing Tristan hesitate without the slightest provocation. Whatever Tristan was recalling in his mind, he was certain he would now only receive the censored version. “There’s a word I hardly ever hear you use.”
Another derisive glance from Tristan. He amended his thoughts and began again. “It was strange seeing her again. And yet… not. Her grandfather rescued her, took her away to another part of the party, and I was left to my own devices.”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t run into her again. I’m familiar with the general specs for a typical Hartford mansion, and while impressive, they’re hardly conducive for entirely avoiding another person. Even if you worked at it.”
“Do you want me to tell you what happened, or are you just going to sit there and mock me?” Tristan raised an inquisitive brow. The other man immediately offered a subdued and apologetic nod for him to continue.
“When I was seven, my grandfather took me to Spain. My parents didn’t come with us because my mother wanted to spend the summer in the Caribbean instead. No loss there. Without my mother nagging us every five minutes, we managed to have more fun and excitement than on any of my other vacations,” Tristan revealed, easily.
“Until you discovered girls,” the man corrected him.
“Until I…” Tristan’s eyes glanced up quickly, temporarily taken aback. “You know,” he huffed, “this ‘friends’ thing is really starting to annoy me. I think I liked it better when you still thought you had to be sensitive and understanding when trying to probe my mind.”
“You’re not my patient anymore, remember?” the man reminded. “But I’ll take the sensitive and understanding under advisement.”
Tristan stared at him, unimpressed. Then, without warning, slowly broke into a lazy grin. “My point, before being continually and rudely interrupted, was that my grandfather took me to see one of those bullfights. The guy and the bull basically just teased each other until it got gruesome and ended.”
“So let me get this straight. You and Rory ran into each other again at her grandparents’ Christmas party… the first time either of you have seen each other in over a year… and it ended in violence?” The man quirked a brow in disbelief. “I’m assuming that since you’re here, sitting in front of me, that it didn’t end well for the girl.”
Tristan managed to restrain his sigh of aggravation. “See… I think it would have worked better if you had said that without smiling.”
The man threw his hands up into the air in a concession of defeat. “I’m taking sarcasm lessons from a 17 year old boy.”
“Exactly what kind of therapist are you, anyway? When was the last time you took my problems seriously?” Tristan countered.
“I was listening, you know,” the man assured. “So tell me, Mr. DuGrey. Which one were you? The toreador or the bull?”
“I honestly think we take turns. It’s not very clear-cut. Every time we see each other, we spend so much time dancing around each other, parrying, and retreating… Just like in Spain. Except instead of the physical aspect, it’s more of a verbal bullfight. I don’t consider us natural enemies or anything like that, but whenever we’re in the same room together, we just do what we do. It’s kind of pathetic really. That either of us could possibly get off on that. There was a time when I couldn’t even recall the last time we had a normal conversation,” Tristan informed, an edge of sadness in his voice.
The man bolted up, senses peaked. “Wait. I heard a past tense in there.” There was only seriousness in the man’s expression now.
Tristan ignored the statement. He glanced down at his hands, then back up at the man. “You’re right, as always. Even a crowded party in a huge house can’t keep two people from gravitating towards one another.” His lips formed a pleasant and innocent smile that the man sitting opposite him refused to trust. He knew Tristan too well for his own sanity.
They spent most of the night avoiding each other, on the borderline between deliberate and accidental. The Christmas party was the Gilmore’s annual opportunity to parade her through the Hartford social elite, prancing her around to the oohs and aahs of their jealous friends whose grandchildren were closer to ne’er-do-wells than any sort of icon worthy of fawning. He understood the situation, read it as well as he had every other time his own parents and grandparents had done the same to him. Except he was well aware that his own time in his parents’ narcissistic spotlight had passed, and the only real interest he was able to generate were with the maternal figures of any of the wealthier teenage girls within his social circles. Because of such, he provided her with a wide berth. Allowed her time with her grandparents, lest his intrusion gain him unadmirable feelings from that side of her family.
While she was pulled from one set of influential people to another, he watched, biding his time. When he himself wasn’t incorporated into one of the many cliques within the festive party, he followed her discretely. Something had occurred to him within minutes of arriving at the lavish event, and he hadn’t been sure what it was until he had checked up on her numerous times during the evening.
It was Rory. She had changed. Gone was the perpetual bookworm and wallflower. Or at least, the wallflower. He didn’t think that even she dared to tote her companion novel around with her during her own grandparents’ holiday party. To his surprise, even when her grandmother wasn’t forcing her to meet people, Rory seemingly did so on her own. Granted, there was still an air of uncertainty and reservation that surrounded her. Yet, the rising self-confidence she displayed during such a gathering was refreshing, and Tristan, despite himself, found it more of a turn-on than the awkward innocence he had initially tried to seduce. He couldn’t wait to speak to her again, just to test the new waters, hoping that even with the newfound confidence, in basics, she remained the same. Biting. Witty. Intelligent. Maddening.
Both had kept a close watch on the other, circling each other along the outskirts of the party in their own bizarre version of a bullfight. He had always prided himself on his ability to anticipate not what she might say to him, but with what tone she might address him. Having been out of mutual contact for about a year and a half, he found that he was at a loss. He could never be absolutely certain how she would treat him, or with what possible resentments she might harbor towards him, but that evening, as he watched her with growing anxiety as to whether they would actually speak before he found himself back on the return flight to Eton, Tristan discovered that he did not know how to analyze her. Any expression she might have directed towards him whenever he caught her eye just left him more confused and unsure of himself. He was starting to worry that perhaps attending the party had been a waste of time. It was beginning to seem that even with their hiatus from each other, she wanted nothing to do with him after all.
He started off back towards the punchbowl even though his cup was still more than half-full. Before he could take more than a few steps, he noticed a shock of dark brown curls and piercing blue eyes. They were Rory’s eyes. Or, rather, close enough. Immediately recognizing the bearer of Rory’s beauty genes blocking the path to the punch bowl, Tristan swiveled on his heels, attempting to remove himself from the general vicinity of Lorelai Gilmore. He wasn’t sure what Rory might have imparted to her regarding his failed attempts to get closer to her daughter, but he knew that whatever they shared would not have been good.
“You.”
His overwhelmed mind registered the accusing tone before his eyes had focused on the angelic figure that had slipped into his vision. Having just been in the process of sipping from his over-sweetened punch, Tristan managed not to choke or spit out the gulp of unnaturally red liquid. A quick glance confirmed that Rory was indeed standing before him. With her hands stiffly on her waist. Her left eyebrow was arched in impatience. Managing to control himself, he uttered the first thing that popped into his head.
“You already said that,” he grinned, not unpleasantly.
As expected, she did not appear amused. “How’d you… Where’d you… You’re not…” Definitely not amused, but entirely flabbergasted as to the reasons behind his presence at her party. She frowned, annoyed at her own incompetence to form a complete question.
“Surprised to see me?” Tristan asked, delighted that he had the power to fluster her. It was a new sensation. He had expected her to put forth her questions and demands, before shooting him down like all the other numerous times, deflating his ego just enough to avoid feeling sorry for him when she kicked him out to the curb.
She rolled her eyes, and he was amazed to discover just how much he missed all her little quirks and mannerisms. And he was dismayed that over a year of hiding out in England had not diminished her power over him. “Surprised doesn’t fully describe what I’m experiencing right now,” she shot back.
He grinned, loving every minute of their fight. It was as if he had never behaved the coward and ran from her, hiding his disappointment and humiliation in another private school, thousands of miles away. The fact that they could so easily slip back into old habits had to mean something. He was certain of it. “Deep-seated, passionate swooning marked by the rapid palpitations of your heart, clammy palms, and cold sweats,” he suggested instead.
“Symptomatic of an impending heart attack?” she posed, innocently, her face civil but neutral.
He dipped his head towards her, smelling a hint of lavender and whatever unique scent that was her own. “Afraid of dying young?” he postulated, lowering his voice just a notch, and astonished at her immediate reaction to the manipulative move.
Rory’s cheeks reddened to a light rosy blush even as her crystal blue eyes contemplated him without any hint of emotion. “No,” she answered, simply, meeting his eyes coolly and steadily.
He pulled back and pondered this abrupt change in tone. While it had hit him early on that their ability to banter, both amiably or with pained intentions, had not rusted over the year and a half that he had been gone, he couldn’t be sure if she had noticed the same. At the moment, it seemed more as if she viewed him as another encumbrance that she thought she had defeated. Tristan tried to hide his disappointment in another half-hearted smirk.
Leaning forward once again, his head dipped closer to her than the first attempt, his lips going towards her left ear, and his cheek grazing against loose wisps of brown silky hair. “Before you’ve experienced me?” he flirted, voice dangerously husky.
He hadn’t expected her to be anything but direct when she told him off. Instead, he tensed as he felt her face inch in his direction, brushing more of her loose hair against his cheek. With her own lips now near his right ear, she calmly replied in an innocently seductive whisper.
“Been there. Done that.”
Tristan’s head snapped back, his breath caught in his throat, as he fully realized what she had just done. Quid pro quo. He stared at her, unaware that his mouth was hanging open, only to see the now clearly amused look on her face. Despite the fact that her lips were set in an unreadable straight line, she had arched a brow in his direction, her long lashes unable to disguise the mischievous twinkle in her sparkling blue eyes. And Tristan, in spite of everything he had done to prepare himself for disappointment when it came to Rory and their non-relationship, was floored by the sudden change. Except it hadn’t really been a sudden change. By the entertained look on her face, it was apparent that she had also come to the conclusion that years apart would never be able to erase the familiarity with which they dealt with each other. Underneath all the playfully hateful words, they could not hide that, under the circumstances, they did not really hate each other. They were all too aware that it hadn’t always been that way. There was a time when she truly did despise him. But here, Tristan was convinced that being apart had allowed both of them to change to the point where being in the same room and speaking to each other was actually preferable to ignoring each other.
She continued, enjoying his look of confusion. “Actually, I don’t think I liked it much.”
Tristan had initially considered that Rory might have been too serious for his tastes. It was that first impression, along with her innocence, that had enticed him to go after her. The longer he knew her, and near the end of his matriculation at Chilton, he had noticed her playful side. It was no surprise that she could be articulate when it came to him, but it was rare for her playful side to surface when she spoke to him. It was most likely the result of their long time apart from each other, with distance tempering her harsher sentiments towards him. It could have also been because so far, he had been acting on his best behavior. Or perhaps she had even sensed whatever “change” his grandfather was confident had overcome him. Whatever the reasons, the difference in her attitude towards him managed to make his heart flutter, even as the surreal nature of their relationship hit him. Especially since the term “relationship” was at most, a very relative term. And he was determined to be just as playful and charming if she wanted him to be. As long as she was also participating in the game.
“Not the kind of experience I was thinking of,” he tossed back, flippantly.
She tilted her head to the side, and he watched as her hair pulled back from her face, cascaded gracefully over her shoulder. He resisted the temptation to reach out and brush it back for her. It was true that she was being friendly to him, most likely because she hadn’t seen him in such a long time and was genuinely curious about what had happened to him, but he was positive that she wasn’t ready for him to be that friendly. Yet.
After a moment’s hesitation, probably due to Rory still considering whether she was making a mistake, she pursed her lips and smirked. “I see more than a year away hasn’t changed you.”
“Oh,” he began, innocently, placing emphasis on something she most likely didn’t want him to. “You noticed I was gone.”
She sighed in annoyance. “It also hasn’t managed to temper your obnoxious and audacious excuse for misguided charm,” she retorted.
He only grinned, charismatically. “Happy to see me?”
Rory gave a half-hearted shrug. “If you say so,” she assured, glibly.
He imitated her shrug, causing the sparkle in her eyes to flare briefly. “I don’t, but you’ve got a bad poker face,” he informed, helpfully.
“Well, I’m not,” she said, frowning slightly.
He was not convinced. “Come on,” he injected just the right dose of pleading in his voice. “I’ve changed. Give a man a chance.” Then to help his cause, he cocked his head to one side and gave her his best adorable look. It had never failed him before, though he had never dared to try it on Rory before. Somehow, he had never thought that she would be one to be persuaded by an act of boyish charm. Especially when she doubted any effort of sincerity that came from him.
“Let’s see,” she thought out loud. “Same face. Same smirk. Same voice. Same annoying personality.” She paused, delighting in the idea that she could make him squirm. “Define changed.”
“Ok,” he conceded, still trying to be charming. “So the fundamentals are basically the same. But I think I grew an inch,” he announced, brightly.
“I’ll bake you a cake, and we’ll celebrate,” she told him, dryly.
Tristan’s grin grew wider. “Thought you’d never ask.” Without thinking, and with a subconscious yearning that grew out of having not been in any kind of physical or verbal contact with her for over a year, he reached out for her hand.
Her face unyielding in letting him know whether or not she was aware of what he had tried to do, Rory expertly sidestepped away from his grasp. Without missing a beat, she continued to tease him. “Would you like the sweet almond taste of cyanide, lovingly applied, or will poison icing be more direct?” she asked, sweetly.
As soon as she had moved her arm away from him, Tristan had tensed, frozen in despair knowing that he had instinctually broken a cardinal rule when it came to earning Rory’s favor. It should have been enough to have made some kind of emotional connection once more that was founded on something other than their initial opinions of each other. But to have unconsciously tried to breach the physical space between them was a big no-no, and he knew it. Having to deal with a large radius of self-inflicted personal space was beginning to not only grate on him, but was affording him with a great deal of consternation. Tristan didn’t consider himself big on the touchy-feely aspects of human interaction, but there was something solid about Rory that made him want to reach out. At least to reassure himself that she was indeed there and not another figment of his daydreams.
He flushed, embarrassed, but quickly regained his composure. “Don’t you ever stop? It must get tiring, making fun of me all the time. You know, I hate to say it, but you’ve changed, Rory.” His face was a mask of seriousness, forcing her to submit to the possible gravity of what he had to say. As soon as he saw that he had her full attention, he smiled, winking at her. “I didn’t think it was humanly possible, but you’re more beautiful than ever.”
She groaned, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation before throwing him a murderous glare. “See? You haven’t changed. At. All.”
“Scared?” he prompted, laughing at her histrionics.
Rory’s eyes narrowed. “Why would I… Why do you…” Her unfinished statements tapered off into frustrated growls.
He answered her unasked questions. “Because I think you’re more at risk for falling for me than ever before.”
To his astonishment, Rory burst out into uncontrollable laughter. “I missed that ego,” she admitted, willingly.
It was, undeniably, a rather weak attempt at flirtation, but Tristan found that instead of being embarrassed about it, he was actually thankful that he had used the line. Its ability to elicit such a reaction from Rory was quite unexpected, and her dulcet ringing tones of laughter washed over him in a wave of unfamiliar affection. He grinned, sheepishly. “And I missed that.”
The warm and frank reference to her laugh made her self-conscious. She fell silent, glancing at the marbled floor as a flush crept slowly up her neck towards her cheeks. It occurred to her that she couldn’t remember ever being so relaxed around him. More than a year’s break from his sometimes overbearing personality had made her inexorably more tolerant of his idiosyncrasies. She finally glanced up at him, tilting her head precociously to one side. Pursing her lips, Rory pretended to consider his sincerity as she coolly met his eyes. She held the silence until Tristan felt ready to squirm under her questioning gaze.
“As to falling for you, you may be right,” Rory concurred, unhurriedly. She waited for a reaction, but he was slow to give one, already sensing that there was a catch. There was always a catch where the two of them were concerned. Rory didn’t disappoint. “But I doubt it.”
Tristan broke out into a huge grin. “Come on,” he urged, taking a step closer to her, and noting with silent approval that she neither flinched nor moved away. “Don’t you want to hear about Eton and my adventures abroad?”
“Do I have to?” she affected a nasal whine, even though she had to admit, she was extremely curious. Not only was she willing to overlook the idea that she actually wanted to continue talking to Tristan, she really was interested in hearing everything about England. And, if possible, learning exactly what had come over Tristan that would enable him to control his overly aggressive attitude towards her. Not only did she discover that she didn’t need to run from him, screaming and tearing her hair out in frustration… she also didn’t want to. It was a very strange and surreal experience.
“Yes,” he nodded, emphatically. “Your mind is like a dry sponge. You think you hate me, but you really want to hear about England. And all about me.” He winked at her.
Rory made a face. “I hate you more than ever.”
He managed to keep his triumphant grin in check. “I think I saw mistletoe over there.” He glanced over his shoulder.
“Maybe later, Romeo. I think I saw a nice thick rope to hang myself with over there.” She hooked her thumb in the opposite direction.
“Wow,” he remarked, eyes widening in feigned shock. “You really are happy to see me.”
“Ecstatic,” she trilled, sarcastically without missing a beat. Then, the sardonic smile faded to one that was friendlier. She turned slightly, catching someone’s eye from the other end of the room. “My mom needs me,” she informed, simply and vaguely.
“Of course she does,” he responded, just as simply. He hadn’t even expected her to humor him for this long.
She rolled her eyes, taking a step away from him. Then, as if having second thoughts, Rory halted in mid-step and turned back to him. He hadn’t stirred from his position. She seemed to find it difficult to find the words. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” and as she uttered the words, the gleam in her eyes informed him that she expected no less from him, “but…” She paused again, biting apprehensively on her lower lip as Tristan watched and waited eagerly. Her forthcoming admission seemed to sap all her energy, even as it left the spark in her fiery blue eyes invigorated. “It’s good to… see… you again.” Without taking the necessary pause to allow him to respond to her confession, she quickly but gracefully sped away, leaving behind a friendly trail of confusion in her wake.
“And then what?”
Tristan glanced up, annoyed. “If you keep interrupting…”
“Tell me how she looked,” he prompted.
Tristan rolled his eyes. Such a simple question, such a simple answer. Such complex emotions. “She looked gorgeous. Not that there was any doubt she wouldn’t. She looked exactly the way I remembered her. She hadn’t changed at all.”
“Except that she was actually talking to you this time.”
“Yeah, something like that.” Tristan sat back in his seat and thought back to the party. He hadn’t expected her to ignore him completely. Even if she had loathed him, she would have found it hard to fight human nature. The fact that her natural curiosity had led her to make exceptionally friendly conversation with him over the course of the evening had given him a strange hope that he could only remember in his most passionate daydreams about her.
“So was that it?” The man raised a brow, watching Tristan in quiet assessment. “No, of course not,” he answered his own question. “You never give up easily.” Except for that minor inconvenience of having quickly transferred out of Chilton at the first hint of failure in his doomed attempts at something more than friendship with Rory. But that, of course, was in the past, and a little too late to fix.
She was standing before the punch bowl, her back to him. He stood a few feet away, not bothering her, and soaking up her radiance and soothing presence. Soothing, if he considered heart palpitations and clammy hands in her presence to be defined as such. In his quiet contemplation of her, he watched as she casually sipped her punch, oblivious to all the excitement around her. He took a quick glance around to make sure no one was paying any undue attention to either of them, and took two large strides to stand directly behind her.
He dipped his head towards her, sensing his breath brushing across her bare neck. “Saw you making the rounds. You’re getting pretty good at this hostess thing. It’s very sexy.” He relished the way she tensed at the sensation both his close presence and his whispered words had on her, and especially at the way she pretended that it didn’t have the desired affect. Her refusal to acknowledge that he pushed all her buttons had the uncontrollable and pleasant habit of goading and turning him on.
She didn’t bother to turn around, knowing exactly who was behind her. A quick mental calculation had probably also informed her that by doing so would also cause her to end up right up against him in a possibly compromising position. Her plastic cup of punch froze halfway to her lips, and though he couldn’t see it, he could practically hear the exasperated but playful grin in her voice. “You think just because you’re only back here for a few weeks that I’ll let you get away with anything.”
“I think nothing of the kind. I’m more realistic than that.”
He took a half-step back to give her room and she finally turned on her heels to face him. She took another sip of her punch, her eyes twinkling over the rim. “All I have to do is tell my mother or my grandmother or my grandfather that you tried to take advantage of me and then you’ll be outside, in the snow, on your butt.”
Tristan grinned at her. “Kinky. That’s one position I’ve never tried.”
Her eyes narrowed in an attempt to cover up the slight blush that had formed over her cheeks at his unspoken suggestion. “You should watch what you say out loud. Someone might hear, and it might not end nicely for you.”
His next lecherous suggestion was lost on his lips as his eyes darted around the room. During the course of the evening, he had kept his eyes open for any unpalatable rivals. Or more specifically, he was looking for one particular person. He hadn’t actually seen that person at the party, but it didn’t mean that he wasn’t actually there or that the boyfriend from hell wasn’t still part of the bigger picture. “I’m not scared,” he mouthed, quirking a brow in challenge.
“You should be,” she silently worded back, tapping a finger against his chest. Then out loud, with a little snicker, “He got big. Really big. I’m talking muscles out to here. And he’s even taller now.” She taunted, replete with exaggerated hand gestures.
Tristan didn’t know whether to chuckle or just roll his eyes. “Just to make certain we’re actually dealing with the same person, this is Dean you’re talking about, right? Not just some guy you made up in your overactive mind?”
Her blue eyes narrowed again as she gave a tiny huff. “Yes.” She couldn’t believe he was unperturbed by her news, but was not surprised to see that he didn’t believe her. She grinned. “For the record, he actually did get taller.”
Tristan rolled his eyes once more. “So where is the farm boy?” His eyes did another quick survey around the teeming room. No huge ugly giant boyfriend-types stuck out in the decidedly non-ugly crowd. It didn’t mean, however, that he wasn’t around the corner or in another room, just waiting for Tristan to bump into him unexpectedly.
Rory seemed to enjoy the apprehension that Tristan was now showing towards the unknown whereabouts of Dean, the only boy who was fortunate enough to irk and irritate Tristan more than anyone else she knew. “He’s not here,” she revealed, allowing the right amount of doubt to enter into her voice. From the glint in her eye, she let him know that she was more than willing to let Tristan squirm.
“Are you lying?” he asked, with just a bit of teasing. He didn’t think she would lie, but it had been over a year since they had last seen each other, and he couldn’t exactly put it past her to sink that low.
“Probably not,” she answered, vaguely.
“How do you know?”
She sighed. “I know.”
The resignation sparked something in Tristan, and he turned to her with an incredulous look on his face. “You broke up with him?” Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe Rory and Dean had run their course and hadn’t needed his help in speeding things along. Maybe Rory wouldn’t blame him for doing something he couldn’t possibly be responsible for from over a thousand miles away.
Rory shrugged. “Among other things,” she remarked, deliberately, evasively.
“He dumped you,” Tristan corrected, feeling the bile rising to his throat. He couldn’t decide whether to be overjoyed the oaf was finally out of the picture, or to feel angered that he could do such a thing to Rory.
“Like a smelly sock.” To his surprise, she was actually smiling.
And now he couldn’t be sure whether she was lying to him and it was all one big joke. Tit for tat and he owed her enough to be the brunt of her relentless teasing. It would serve him right after all he had put her through. And yet, Tristan didn’t think karma would be that mean to him. “You don’t smell so bad,” he remarked, leaning closer for a quick sniff. Then he straightened, his face a study in seriousness. “No, really, what happened?”
She shrugged again, not appearing all too depressed. “These things happen.”
“Damn, and I wasn’t here to comfort you.”
Their eyes met, and in an absurd moment of déjà vu, they both realized that they had gone through this situation before. Awkwardly, they shared a smile and he shifted his feet, staring at his shiny dress shoes, unable to meet her eyes. Her grin widened at the sight of his sheepishness. “I forgive you. You did a pretty crappy job last time anyway.”
He glanced up. “Rory.”
His persistence made her roll her eyes, and she felt the inexplicable urge to explain. “We were young. It happened last summer anyway. We were drifting after having spent all of sophomore year and junior year together. I mean, without you around to argue about and provide us with something we could hate together, it got kind of boring.” She paused to grin mischievously at him. “And his parents wanted him to go back to Chicago with them for the summer to take some classes. So we decided to see how a summer apart would feel.” She ended with a shrug, as if it hadn’t been a big deal, but Tristan knew. He couldn’t say for certain that he knew her perfectly, but she had always worn part of her emotions on her sleeve and she really did have a bad poker face. Their mutual decision to take a few steps apart had been devastating. And Tristan realized that he had been sincere when he told her he wished he had been there when it happened, and not in the way that he might have interloped had she been any girl other than Rory. Or if he were still following his rakish ways. She watched his reaction for a minute, unsure whether to continue on. When he did not break out in a grin or song and dance, she hesitated before telling him the rest. “Ever since he came back, we’ve been letting go little by little. He’s back in Chicago now, spending the holidays with his extended family. It’s our first Christmas apart, and I wasn’t sure how it would feel.” She was no longer smiling, but staring at him with great deliberation.
The intense gaze was reminiscent of looks Tristan had often employed on other girls. It felt strange to have it turned on him, and by Rory, the girl who would often blush and then sigh in annoyance whenever he caught her looking at him or vice versa. Trying to defuse the tension and discomfort of the situation, he weakly cleared his throat. “And? So far?”
She met his eyes, and Tristan could feel his stomach drop six inches to his feet, as his mind spun in a feeble attempt to remember the exact placement of the Gilmore mistletoe. And as her soft wistful admission washed over him, he wondered whether it would be tactless of him to ask someone to bring it over. “It’s not so bad…”
“And?”
Tristan squinted at the man, annoyed. “What do you mean ‘and’?” He imitated the impatient tone of the question.
“What happened next?” the man prompted.
Tristan shrugged, doing a mental inventory of the party. Had he told the man everything that had happened in a truthful and honest manner? Yes. Had he told the man everything that had occurred? Maybe. Was there anything else he could have imparted? Possibly. Would he? Probably not. He looked up and met the man’s inquisitive eyes, managing to keep a straight face. “Nothing.”
The man sighed. “Tristan, your story has no end. It has a beginning and lots of middle.”
He grinned. “Yes, but this is real life, not a fairytale. There doesn’t have to be a happy resolution.”
Just from the answer, the man immediately sensed that there was more. Possibly a lot more than what Tristan was willing to share. “I didn’t say it had to be happy.”
“You have no faith,” Tristan smirked.
The man ignored him. “I’m just saying, there’s no conclusion.”
“Well, I’m not finished.”
The man sighed. “So what happened next? And then what?”
There was a moment of reflective silence.
“New Year’s.”
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