Page 62 of Apparently, I’m A B!tch

Chapter32

Nikki

Monday evening

After lunch,I sent my meddling parents to their hotel room and went back to L&K. But even with Kelly’s new attitude toward me, I couldn’t shake the restless ache in the pit of my stomach.

Damn Tristan.

He treated my parents as if nothing had changed between us; as if he were still my best friend and anchor to my life here in Manhattan. His sexy smile was pointed at my mama, and she made him laugh while arguing about whether the baklava I loved belonged to my Greek culture, or his Lebanese background. But everything had changed.

Sitting at my desk, I squeezed my thighs together. Last night, Tristan’s fingers were inside me. He had me propped against the edge of his desk, my thighs spread wide, as he pushed into me and whispered, “You’re so tight and wet, Nikki. I think you can take more.”

I shivered at the thought of his lips on mine, his strong hands gripping me. His touch was etched into my skin, and when I looked down at myself, he was all I could see… how was I supposed to forget it? How was I supposed to sit here and work as if nothing happened?

I strode into the office this morning so sure I could act as if everything between us didn’t faze me. Was I that delusional?

Besides this physical tension between us, Tristan was my best friend. We knew everything about each other. Yes, I was mad at him about Rochelle. I was righteously horrified when he admitted he was just using this other woman to get his art out there. But… after seeing him break under the loving compliments my mama gave him only an hour ago, it was impossible to keep acting like I couldn’t forgive him.

What was I going to do? Give him the cold shoulder for the rest of our lives?

At five in the afternoon, I gathered my bag and walked out into the still-bright evening. Summer wasn’t releasing its hold on New York yet, and I was sweating under my pantsuit in record time. I couldn’t decide if it was the heat, or my solid resolve to have everything out in the open with Tristan that made my skin prickle and itch.

I made it to Extra Shot and pulled out my spare key. Lilly, Shawn, Uncle Henry and I all had copies in case of emergency, but I knew Uncle Henry used his key when he was bored. This was the first time in five months that I decided to use mine. A burst of nerves set themselves off inside my stomach as I turned the key, opened the door, and stepped inside, immediately turning off the shop alarm with my still-active code.

It was dark in here. Tristan had already gone through his closing-up routine, leaving the place looking clean and organized. I peered around the counter, but he wasn’t there, or in the backroom. He detached the door chimes so a gust of wind or a group of drunks couldn’t push at the glass wall of Extra Shot and wake him at a random hour of the night, so maybe he had no idea I was here.

“Tristan!” I rose my voice, hoping I wouldn’t scare him. I was here to talk, not to pull an Uncle Henry.

I knocked on the door that separated the backroom from the connected studio apartment. “Tristan? Can I come in?” I hesitated, then put my hand on the handle. “It’s Nikki. I’m coming in now, okay?”

I opened the door and stepped in, instantly hit with a wave of smells and sounds. The smell of something sweet baking, of open tubes of oil paint, the small but strong pull of turpentine, all mixed with the heavy-yet-sweet smell of Tristan’s shampoo. The patter of water against tiles merged these smells, and on instinct, I turned my head toward his bathroom door.

It was wide open.

Tristan stood in his single-door shower with the curtain thrust to the side, the water hitting his skin, running across his muscled biceps, chest, thighs and calves and onto the tiled bathroom floor. His face was pointed up at the shower head, eyes closed, accepting the tiny pelting of water. His back was straight, shoulders curved just slightly forward, moisture sliding off taut, tanned skin, and his large, strong hands were moving between his legs, back and forth, pumping his thick, hard length at a rapid pace.

I stood and stared, a thrill emerging from my lower stomach and racing through my limbs. The feeling pinned my feet to the floor, and I couldn’t move for the fear of missing the sight of him.

Would he make himself come right in front of me?

Then his face turned, his eyes opened, and he said, “Nikki?”

Tristan didn’t startle, or cover himself up, or even stop touching himself right away. Instead, his lips curved into a sexy smile as he squinted at me. He shifted as if he wanted me to see more of him, letting hot, steamy water slide down his taut abs as he slid his hand against himself.

My eyes locked onto his moving hand, and I stared at it, stunned. It was thick and hard and big enough that he couldn’t fit the whole thing in one fist.

How would something that big feel inside me?

“Is this another one of my fantasies, or are you really here?”

He skimmed his eyes up and down my body, making my face burn.

What the hell was I doing? Standing here and ogling my best friend like he was a beautiful granite statue instead of a flesh-and-blood person?

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” I finally covered my eyes and turned away, despite knowing how late and futile the gesture was.

He laughed at my back. “You must be real. Fantasy Nikki is almost always naked, and doesn’t say: oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” He laughed again and I heard the twisting of handles as he shut his water off.