Page 38 of Whiskey Kisses

“Anyway, we’ll see how it goes,” continues Tristan, oblivious to my ambivalent musings. “I’m hoping he comes around and signs that shit himself. If not, I’ll have to get down to business in a way he understands.”

Alarmed, I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. “You wouldn’t hurt him physically, would you?”

“Not unless it was absolutely necessary.”

I wait for him to crack a smile, to reassure me that he’s just messing with me, but he doesn’t. We stop at a light right on the edge of town, minutes away from Phoenix Rising. “You can’t just?—”

“I can, Evie,” he counters softly, shutting me up despite his gentle timbre. His green eyes glint, as beautiful and hard as emeralds. “And if I have to, I will.”

Comingto jiu jitsu with Tristan may not have been the best idea. The mat’s full, as usual, but I’m ultra-aware of him the whole time, despite my best efforts to ignore him. It doesn’t help that Eddie introduced him as an MMA champ in the beginning of class. I guess he watched some of Tristan’s fights online because he’s suitably impressed now, and Eddie is impressed by nobody. They roll a couple of times together, demonstrating several advanced techniques, and now everyone wants a turn.

I came tonight to get my mind off the soap opera my life has become, not have its main star in my face all evening. My frustration must be apparent because I put Eddie on his ass so fast that he laughs. “Okay, Evie, I see you.” It’s the only time I win. He matches my energy after that, aggressively but carefully forcing me to tap out three times in a row.

Helping me to my feet the third and final time, he looks me over, a puzzled frown marring his face. “You good? You seem kinda … mad.”

“Yeah.” I shrug. “You know how it is.”

His eyes flicker over to Tristan, who’s got a girl in a head and arm choke. I watch as he moves from full mount, where he’s straddling her, to a side mount, his head tucked beside hers as he completes the hold. It’s mesmerizing, how smooth with it he is. Every stage of the hold rolls into the next like a choreographed dance, only his partner’s not keeping up too well. She taps out, laughing breathlessly when he releases her and sits up, a kind smile on his face as he says something to her.

A flash of something hot and ugly spears through my belly. I’m so used to seeing Tristan spar with men during his televised tournaments that it didn’t occur to me he’d be practicing with women today. Which is stupid of me. Why wouldn’t he spar with women? I snap my gaze back to Eddie, who’s regarding me with a faint grin.

“What?” I ask, tightening my belt.

“It’s just practice,” he says, his smile now full-on teasing. “If you don’t like hubby rolling with the girlies, maybe you oughta give him a heads-up.”

My jaw drops, and I’m sure my eyes are the size of saucers. “What are you talking about, Eddie?”

“Don’t bother denying it, because Opal told me everything,” he says, hands on his hips. “Can’t say I think it was a good idea, but it’s your life.”

“Your sister has a big mouth,” I mutter, ducking my head. “Anyway, it’s not …” Not what? Real? For everyone to know? All of the above?

He squeezes my shoulder. “I was telling her about Tristan working out here, and how some of the girls—and one of the guys—were interested, and she told me to make sure he ‘behaved himself.’” Eddie hooks his fingers into air quotes. “Because he’s married. To you.” His eyebrows creep up, in judgment or curiosity, it’s hard to tell. “That was news to me.”

“It’s temporary,” I explain, my voice so hushed he has to lean in to hear me. “My dad was trying to …” It’s so humiliating I falter, but Eddie squeezes my shoulder again.

“I know. She told me.” I give him a withering look, but he just chuckles. “I still think it’s kinda fucked-up, but I gotta give the man props for standing up for you like that.”

“Yes, he’s very chivalrous,” I murmur, looking at my feet.

“Does he feel the same way about you?” asks Eddie.

“About me being chivalrous?” I ask, my head popping back up in confusion.

“Nah, Evie.” He gives me a look like he thinks I’m being ridiculous. “I mean, is he feeling you the way you obviously feel him?”

The unexpected question wraps around my heart like a chokehold and squeezes extra hard. The fact he’d even ask means he probably knows the answer. How embarrassing.

I guess there’s no use denying it, even to myself; my crush on Tristan is alive and well, and unfortunately very obvious. Maribelle’s taunting words from the other day slither to the forefront of my mind, highlighting how pathetic I am.

“I don’t think so, but that’s not what our arrangement is about,” I say to Eddie, hoping the flush on my face from our rolling session camouflages the blush of embarrassment.

“Well, you’re grown, so I’m gonna assume you know what you’re doing.” Someone calls his name, and he steps away to assist another pair sparring nearby.

Taking a deep breath, I re-do my ponytail and look around for another partner. But it’s Tristan who walks over to me, pointing to the mat. “Let’s go.”

There’s no good reason for me to refuse, but I hesitate anyway. “I’m not very good.”

He screws up his face, disappointed in my response. “I don’t want to hear that shit, Evie. I saw you the other night—clearly you know what to do.”

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