“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.
“No charcoal, no paint,” Monica pointed out.
Josie nodded.
“I worked all afternoon on them.”
Monica looked into Josie’s eyes next.
“You’re not high either.”
“Nope. I do feel like I’m going to puke, though,” Josie said.
“Listen to me. No matter where you go tonight, it will still be you and Tristan. Just like when you’re here.”