Page 68 of Off Script

“I mean, there’s so much sexual tension between us. No matter how much we fought it, this was bound to happen.”

Tristan shrugged, dismissing their current situation with ease, like it wasn’t a big deal. As if Jada hadn’t told him point-blank that she didn’t want to be just another conquest. Here she was, freaking out about the repercussions of repeating her old mistakes, and he was fucking shrugging.

“Like I can’t control myself because you’re irresistible?” Jada bristled.

Tristan sighed likeshewas the problem with this scenario. To Jada, sighing was worse than shrugging right now.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“What’s wrong is that I’m not going to fuck you in a closet.” At her snappy remark, Tristan’s mood also shifted. He saw the writing on the wall the same way she did.

“When and where are you going to fuck me? Name the time and place. I’ll be there,” he said, back in asshole mode.

“You are so arrogant. Sorry to disappoint you, but we’re not having sex. Ever.” Jada attempted to move past him, but he boxed her in.

“Says the woman who was coming on my fingers three seconds ago.” Then Tristan had the audacity to lift up said fingers, waving them in front of her face before he . . . sucked them into his mouth.

Oh no, he didn’t, Jada thought, steamed at him for taunting her. And unsettled that his actions were inciting her arousal. She got ready to lay into him.

“Just because you’re horny—”

“Don’t you dare try and turn this around like I’m the only one turned on.”

“Well, you’re the only one with your genitals out!”

“Maybe so, but”—Tristan’s eyes burned into hers as he issued his challenge—“you’re still wet for me, aren’t you?”

Andherewas the reason for the no sex rule. Oh, how quickly Tristan’s charm vanished the second he didn’t get what he wanted. He kept trying to sell himself as a good guy who just made mistakes, but only when he thought it would get him laid. Acting like a massive man-child because Jada refused to be another notch in his bedpost was a surefire way for any carnal “well” to shrivel into a dry Sahara.

Heady on a mix of fury and shame, Jada jumped down from the dryer. Her sudden movement pushed Tristan back and out of her way. His backpedaling led to a collision with Ren’s laundry basket. As Tristan and the clothes tumbled to the floor, a scene that would surely have Ren aghast, Jada used the element of surprise to make her escape.

She was back downstairs in a flash, trying to find Mikayla. When it became clear her cousin was MIA, Jada sent her a quick text saying she was leaving early and would take an Uber. She was halfway down Ren’s front walkway when she heard Tristan calling her name. Clearly, he hadn’t stayed behind to pick up Ren’s crumpled clothes. She increased her pace but he caught up to her.

“What the hell has gotten into you? You just snap out of nowhere and then run away in outrage? That’s a bit overdramatic, don’t you think?” he demanded, easily keeping up with her hurried steps.

“After what you just said? I don’t think so,” Jada hissed quietly. The majority of the other partygoers were inside, but a few smokers on the front steps could still overhear them arguing on Ren’s driveway. Continuing to ignore Tristan, Jada pulled out her phone to request a ride.

“Seriously? An Uber?” Tristan said, peeking over her shoulder. “I’ll drive you home. Sudden mood swings notwithstanding.”

“I’ll pass.” Jada grew more desperate as the app on her phone wouldn’t load.

“Looks like your bootleg phone is going to take forever. Plus, with the wait time until they get here, I’ll pester you to death.”

“Not likely!” Jada said as she headed toward the sidewalk. Up ahead, the road was extremely dark but she could make it out of Ren’s subdivision and to a more populated street corner. Tristan called after her.

“Come on, don’t be one of those girls,” he said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t be one of those women who gets hysterical and so angry at a man that she’s willing to do something incredibly stupid—like walk home alone in the dark.”

Jada didn’t bother enlightening Tristan that all she wanted was better cell service and a busier cross street. Her focus stayed on evading him.

“I’ll be fine. It’s Beverly Hills. What’s the worst that could happen?” The words had barely left Jada’s mouth when a shadowy man jumped out at her from the bushes.

“Holy shit!” she screamed. At Jada’s outcry, Tristan’s arms instantly came around her, pulling her away from the potential threat. But her terror came to a screeching halt when the raggedly dressed man whipped out a camera.

“Is that Tristan Maxwell? Oh, Jada Berklee!”

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