Beautiful Addictions (13 page)

Josie craved his touch and she couldn’t understand why they hadn’t had sex yet, or
any form of it. She wanted it; her fingers ached to touch him in places she’d only
yet imagined. It was obvious that Tristan felt the same way, so she failed to make
sense of his need to take things slow. She longed to feel his sweat-slicked skin against
hers and inhale the scent of their bodies combined. Not ready to admit any kind of
emotional connection, she desperately needed a physical one. It was the only thing
she was comfortable with.

She found it curious that her dependency seemed to be shifting. No longer did she
need meaningless sex or drugs to numb her. Josie wanted only to submerge herself in
Tristan, to soak up everything he offered. He was her new addiction.

Tristan was in a constant state of arousal in Josie’s company. Never able to completely
relax, his muscles remained tense and rigid with yearning. If it had been any other
girl, he would have taken her already, hard and fast, several times. But he knew that
Josie used sex to avoid attachment. He didn’t want to be just another mark on her
therapeutically notched bedpost. To him, Josie was something new yet familiar, something
he wanted to cherish. He felt like two ancient souls, separated for a lifetime, had
suddenly been reunited.

Unable to contain the sexual tension clawing at her skin, Josie slid her notebook
from her lap and straddled Tristan. He gave her his lopsided grin as his long fingers
wrapped around her waist. Josie smiled triumphantly, thinking that she’d already won.

“What are you up to?” he asked, dipping his head so that his lips pressed ever so
softly to her shoulder.

“I need to feel you, Tristan. Just touch me.”

The sound of Josie’s words echoed around the quiet room. She winced when they hit
her ears, noting that she sounded so desperate. Never having to beg for her release
before, the statement sounded foreign and troublesome. When Tristan placed another
kiss at the base of her throat, she decided she didn’t care. She would beg him with
humbling adulation if she had to.

Losing patience with his stalling, Josie grabbed his face in both hands and brought
his lips to hers. They crashed together. Tristan’s hands slid to her back and pressed
her to his chest. She moaned into his mouth at the feel of his hard body pushing into
her soft one.

Tristan’s lips sucked on hers, her tongue was sweet, not laced with one hint of the
bitterness she lived with. When Josie rocked her hips against the button fly of his
jeans, he felt every ounce of control slip away. A conflict of emotions and physical
need warred in his mind.

“I want you.”

Those three little words left him breathless. Such a brazen statement from Josie sent
his willpower into a faltering tailspin. He hummed in agreement, sliding his kisses
down to her neck. Josie’s arms crossed between them, where she grabbed the hem of
her shirt and pulled it over her head.

Josie ran her nails along Tristan’s scalp, making his eyes close in contentment. The
feel of her hot body pressing down on him caused momentary insanity, totally emptying
his brain of rational thought. He wanted her more than anything he’d ever wanted before.
Not here, not now. There was so much more to say.

“Can I take you out?” Tristan asked, suddenly moving his hands back down to her waist
and resuming a neutral position.

“That’s an interesting question to ask while my fucking shirt’s off,” she deadpanned.

Tristan grabbed the garment and pulled it back over her shoulders. Defeated, Josie
slipped her arms inside and slid back onto his thighs. She did not look up.

“There. So, can I take you out?” he repeated.

“Out of the apartment?”

“Out on a date,” he clarified.

“A date?” Josie asked, her frightened voice making the words sound foreign.

“You know, an appointment for a particular time, especially with a person to whom
one is sexually or romantically attached.”

“Are we attached?” she asked, not really knowing what she wanted the answer to be.

“More than you know,” he answered.

While it would be easy to fall into an intensely wild physical relationship with Josie,
Tristan wanted more. He wanted to show her that she deserved more than this shallow
life she was treading through. He wanted to lure her out of her protective shell and
wrap her in his love. Yes, he knew it was love. Even after all this time, it had always
been.

Josie jumped out of his lap. She had never been on a date in her life. She didn’t
pretend to know what people even did on dates. She’d always felt the tradition was
so antiquated and pointless. It was a meeting of two strangers whose ultimate goal
was to have sex. She’d always found it easiest to skip the awkward conversations and
formal mealtimes.

“A date? Like in a fancy restaurant with lots of strangers?” she said while pacing
back and forth in front of Tristan.

Her arms flailed about as if they kept her balanced on a tightrope of panic. She looked
to the kitchen drawer that housed her drugs and back to his waiting face. Josie recognized
her need to kill the anxious feelings rising inside of her. She closed her eyes and
took a deep breath. She pictured a chain and lock around that drawer, forcing herself
to stay present and deal with this.

“Mac.”

He spoke softly as if appeasing a belligerent child.

“No! I’m not her. I don’t
do
dates. I mean, what do you expect from me, Tristan?” His mouth bobbed open like his
jaw was unhinged and broken. “Well?” Josie asked again.

Speechlessness was not something Tristan was used to. Though he tried to form thoughts
to comfort her, to find the right words to talk her down from the ledge, he simply
could not. So he fell back on things that he knew absolutely.

“‘There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the
other is getting it.’”

“Stop reciting shit from your perfect memory, Tristan. Tell me what you want!”

“I want you. All of you. I want to possess you. I want to love you and protect you.”

His heavy words knocked Josie to her knees, their eyes now level again.

“Too much,” she said, her anger dying off and being reborn into something new and
delicate.

“Then I’ll settle for a date,” he answered. “Just us. No expectations. No requirements.”

“I don’t know if I can. Besides, what’s in it for me?”

“Riveting conversation and a free meal,” Tristan said.

“You can do better than that,” she hedged, running her fingers down his chest and
tugging on his belt buckle.

“Are you proposing sexual favors in exchange for going on a date with me?”

“Tit for tat.”

Tristan chuckled, a dark kind of laugh that drove her crazy.

“Sex bartering is usually reserved for long-time married couples. She wants some ice
cream, but she wants him to go get it. She offers something easy first. If the weather
is nice and the store is close, the husband might agree.”

“But if there’s a snowstorm and he has to walk barefoot, uphill, both ways, he will
want to negotiate for something better,” Josie says, playing along.

“Right. There’s negotiation and analysis involved. Are both parties getting something
they want?”

“You want a date. I want to see your O-face. Sounds reasonable to me,” Josie answered.

Tristan took a deep breath and reminded himself of the reasons to hold out on their
physical relationship. It was for the best. It would prove to Josie that he wanted
her on every level. It would prove that she was more than a pretty face and willing
partner. While these things were true, staring into her pleading eyes made him want
to abandon reason.

After a long moment, he nodded his consent.

“Okay,” she said, “I’ll go on a date with you.”

He smiled cautiously and reached for her hand. Tristan knew that he already belonged
to Josie. He had since he was seven years old. But he understood that the woman in
front him was not the same girl she used to be. There was so much more to learn.

“Tomorrow night,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

She nodded and chewed her bottom lip uneasily. Sex she could do. Seduction, conquering,
abandoning were her trademarks. Josie figured that she could teach a class on how
to remain emotionally unattached and still get what you want. But a date would test
her.

Tristan’s thumb slid across her mouth, freeing her lip from its confines. He placed
a gentle kiss there before heading off to work.

*   *   *

As Tristan took his place behind the bar, he found Erin, Brandie, and Lee talking.
With only a few customers to serve, they were happy to sit idly and gossip about the
big tippers or the latest episode of a reality television show. He stood a few feet
away as Brandie glared at him, not yet over his rejection.

“Haven’t seen Bundy in a while,” Erin muttered while inspecting her new nail polish.

“Who’s Bundy?” Brandie asked.

“This freaky girl who used to come in here all the time,” Lee answered. “Erin thinks
she may be a serial killer.”

Tristan cringed at those words, so careless and cold.

“Yeah,” Erin said. “Maybe one of her victims fought back and took her down.”

“I sure hope not. That bitch was hot,” Lee chimed in.

“What did she look like?” Brandie asked.

“Sort of like Wednesday Addams meets Audrey Hepburn,” Erin answered.

“I bet she was crazy in the sack too. I’d like to bang the freaky right out of her.”

“You’re a pig!” Erin chastised.

When the words left Lee’s mouth, Tristan found himself in motion. In three short steps
he was there, twisting Lee’s arm behind his back and slamming his face into the bar.
The surge of adrenaline pumping through his veins made him feel like he could crush
the man’s skull into the countertop. Tristan leaned down so that his angry breaths
were heavy in Lee’s ear.

“Don’t you ever talk about her like that. In fact, don’t ever speak about her again
or I’ll fucking kill you.”

Tristan released him and stomped his way outside for a breath of fresh air. He slid
down the wall, squatting in place, his hands in his nonexistent hair again. He wasn’t
sorry for what he did, he was only sorry that he’d lost his cool at work. Surely this
incident would get back to his boss and he’d be job hunting again.

“Hey,” a soft voice called to him. Tristan raised his eyes to find Erin watching with
a worried expression. “Are you okay?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking Lee that question?” he growled at her.

Tristan stood and lit a cigarette, offering one to Erin. She declined and leaned against
the wall beside him, watching his calm demeanor return.

“Nah, screw that asshole. He had it coming.”

They both chuckled and felt most of the tension slip away.

“So you and Bundy, huh?” she asked.

“Her name is Josie,” Tristan replied with a bit of hostility.

“Okay, Josie,” she replied, holding up her hands in apologetic surrender. “How’d that
even happen? She never talks to anyone.”

Tristan took a deep drag and blew it out above their heads.

“I knew her when we were kids. She’s an old friend.”

“Well, she seems like an interesting girl. I hope that works out for you. Lord knows
it’s hard to find anyone decent in this city. I seem to only attract guys who are
more muscle than brain or still live with their parents.”

“They can’t all be bad,” Tristan said. “If there hadn’t been women we’d still be squatting
in a cave eating raw meat. We made civilization in order to impress our girlfriends.”

Erin laughed and smiled at him.

“That’s clever,” she said.

“It’s not mine. Orson Welles said it. But it’s true.”

“Well, the last man who impressed me was my daddy.”

Erin patted his forearm and stepped back inside.

*   *   *

Monica stood before Josie, her arms crossed, eyes scanning in inspection mode. Josie
suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at the tiny woman’s appraisal because she didn’t
want to offend her. Not this time. She watched Monica’s eyes rake over her body and
immediately wondered what the woman saw there. Pain and pleasure weren’t etched into
her skin like Tristan. Josie wore her scars inside.

Normal girls had friends to call for backup, friends who would dress you and tease
your hair and tell you what gloss to wear. Josie didn’t have any such friends, so
she figured Monica would do. Once summoned, Monica Templeton eagerly came running.
Josie didn’t know if it was customary for your social worker to keep in touch long
after her legal obligations had ended, but there Monica was, an immovable pillar.
She never blamed Monica for what had happened to her in those homes, everyone had
played their roles so convincingly. She simply enjoyed toying with the woman’s sensibilities.
She loved being in control of something for once. Punishing Monica by withholding
her forgiveness was the one thing Josie had.

The fact that Josie and Tristan already knew each other did nothing to appease her
anxiety. Their lopsided relationship was emotionally difficult to navigate. Though
Josie couldn’t recall their beginnings, she felt in her bones that what they had was
concrete. She had fought with herself all day, almost canceling on him two hours ago,
but she couldn’t bring herself to deny this newly developing affair. She also couldn’t
wait to take whatever physical pleasure he would give her.

Josie thought about getting high one last time to calm her nerves, bargaining that
she’d be more likable, more at ease. They’d both have a better time. But she didn’t
want to disappoint Tristan.

She was a nervous mess. What did Tristan expect from her? Even with her nerves, Josie
suddenly found herself wanting to spend time with him outside of the protective walls
of her apartment. She wanted to be seen with him and claim him for her own. She took
a seat on the edge of the bathtub and put her head in her hands. Monica knelt before
her and pulled Josie’s hands away from her face. She held them up and smiled.