Page 37 of Good Girl
I blow out a frustrated breath, throwing the shirt onto the ground noticing there’s a pair of shorts with it too. “I don’t give a shit about the clothes, Angel.”
“I can’t do this.” She circles her finger, gesturing to us. “It’s too hard.”
My chest deflates, caving in on itself. Not many women can handle us, can do what we do, but it felt like she was ours, made for us. Not once did it feel wrong or like she didn’t want us.
“Don’t say that.” Tristan speaks so quietly, I’m not sure she heard him until her brow puckers, and she swipes a stray tear from her eye.
“We’re sorry about Miranda,” he continues. “We had no fucking clue she stole a key.”
“She stole your key?” There’s anger in her tone. “That woman…” She shudders. “I’m not like those women.”
“We know.” I move toward her, but she steps back. “We don’t want you to be like her.”
“Come home, Poppy. Please,” Tristan implores her.
Shaking her head, she throws her hands up then lets them crash against her sides, walking barefoot into the room she disappeared into moments before.
We both follow her trail, finding her in a bedroom, Tristan follows her inside but I linger at the threshold giving her some space.
There’s a weird stirring in my gut, watching her load clothes into a suitcase laid out on a queen bed. “Are you packing to come home?” Tristan asks hopefully, and I wish I had his optimism.
“It’s not my home, Tristan. And if I did go with you, when you’re done with me in a few weeks, I’ll be in a worse situation than I am now.” She looks around the room before approaching a dresser, pulling open a drawer, and gathering underwear, dropping a few pairs on her way back to the suitcase.
Like a dragon finding gold, Tristan snatches up the fallen pairs and pockets them. “Why the hell would we be done with you in a few weeks?” he asks, confusion twisting his features.
Her deep inhalation is audible as she stops packing to look at him. “I heard you talking this morning about a contract and it only having been a few weeks.” There’s anger laced with the pain in her tone. “Your redhead woman told me you usually have three-month contracts.” Nostrils flaring, she angrily presses the heels of her palms against the tears welling in her eyes.
He looks at her, dumbfounded. Before she can turn away from him, he grasps her face, brushing his thumbs over her cheeks to capture her leaking tears.
“Don’t Tristan.” Clearly she’s upset, but a tiny speck of hope starts to grow within me when she doesn’t pull away from him “I can’t do this with you. It means more to me, is more to me than just sex, and it would break me to be replaced in a few weeks or months.”
He holds her as she sniffles and whines, kissing her forehead then over each eye as she flutters them closed. “The contract was for work. I didn’t want things to get complicated, so I had a relationship contract drawn up.” Her eyes widen, tilting her head to gape up at him. “We were discussing whether it wasnecessary, with you only having a few weeks left until Robert returns.”
Green, wild eyes flit to me, and I nod in confirmation. Gripping his forearms, she urges him to release her face, and he does, but he moves his hands to her hips like he’s frightened to lose the connection.
“What about the three-month contracts the woman mentioned?”
“She’s a bitch,” I shrug. “And she was jealous to find you there.”
“So she lied?”
“Not exactly.” Tristan runs a hand across the back of his neck as she blinks up at him.
Entering the small space, I take her hands and encourage her to sit on the bed, lowering to my haunches to be at the same height as her. “Before you, there were women we shared and had contracts with in order to protect all parties.” Damn. It sounds dickish when I say it out loud. “There are some women who target men like us because of our wealth, and well, with our particular needs, it’s easier to have a contract in place so everyone knows what they’re getting into.”
Her cheeks blossom that adorable shade of pink as she nods her head. “But you don’t want me to sign a contract?” she asks.
“Fuck no,” Tristan answers for us both, dropping his ass next to her and sniffing her hair like a predator.
Capturing her chin, I draw her gaze from him to me, “You’re not like those other women. None of them shared our beds. With them it was always a transactional kind of thing.”
“With you, it’s everything,” Tristan adds, she leans into him when he runs the backs of his fingers down her face. I’m glad she’s taking this so well, because I’ve never seen him like this. I genuinely think he’d fucking keep her whether she wanted him to or not.
“Please come home.” He whispers, tilting her face to his and catching her lips in a soft kiss. She sags into him, all the stress leaving her body, and my heart finally stops pounding out of my chest.
“Okay,” she murmurs.
“Okay,” Tristan and I say together.
