I leaned my head back against the seat. “Not right now.” Even if I wanted to, I didn’t think I could get the words out.
“Okay. Then, I propose we go back to my place and veg out on the couch all afternoon.”
“Yes, please.” That sounded like bliss. I didn’t want to talk. Or think.
For once, Petra didn’t push me for information. She turned up the volume on the radio and didn’t speak until she’d parked in front of a charming one-story house a couple of miles from downtown.
“Home sweet home.”
“It’s cute.”
She snorted. “Yeah, cute. Code word for ‘tiny’ to anyone who lives in a mansion.”
“You only say that because you never saw where I lived in Kansas. This house is decidedly cute in comparison.”
I followed her inside, noticing that the living room and kitchen were cozy but not too small. Nana must have as much talent with decorating as she did with clothes, because the décor was the perfect combination of contemporary and homey.
Petra led me to a bathroom and promised to leave fresh clothes for me on her bed. After drying off and running a comb through my tangled hair, I crossed the hall to her bedroom. It was messy and colorful and chaotic, with papers and pictures and posters tacked directly into the wall. It was so Petra, I couldn’t help but smile.
I changed into a pair of running shorts and a sweatshirt before dropping onto the floor and rooting through my backpack for my phone to text Leo. But, when my hand found my sketch pad, I knew there was something else I had to do.
After sending Leo a simple text telling him I wouldn’t be able to make lunch and would explain later, I opened to a fresh sheet of paper and got to work.
An indeterminate amount of time passed, but when I was done, I’d drawn a man who looked more like a statue than a man. He stood tall, his shoulders back and his chin lifted. His clenched fists were the only sign of emotion. Every inch of him was the color of polished silver, making his outsides appear as cold and unyielding as his insides.
He was hard.
He was merciless.
He was Tristin.
Chapter Twelve
Thea
My procrastination had reached a whole new level of ridiculous.
Instead of having Petra drive me home after binging the entire first season of Stranger Things, I slept on her couch and only stopped off at the mansion this morning to shower and change clothes. I knew I needed to tell Leo what happened with Vincent and Tristin, but I really didn’t want to. Especially when he was already dealing with the fallout of his three-game suspension. Not that I knew what that fallout was, since I’d blown him off all day yesterday.
Ugh. We were only a few days into this whole dating thing, and I was already fucking it up. In my defense, though, most new relationships didn’t have the added pressures of calculating fathers and asshole half-brothers. Not to mention the whole living together thing.
It was a lot.
I didn’t do well with overwhelming. I had a tendency to shut down and run—or ride my bike—away. And procrastinate the things I didn’t want to deal with. Right now, that included telling Leo that I might be sent packing before our relationship even had a chance to get off the ground.
My classes and shift at The Grind passed without incident, and I arrived back at the mansion feeling apprehensive. I already knew Leo wouldn’t be home until late, but I had no idea what Vincent’s schedule was for the day.
So, instead of staying inside and risk bumping into him, I took my homework out to the gazebo after dinner. Despite my desire to add studying for French to the list of things I was putting off, I forced myself to start there.
And it was just as painful as I’d expected. Why hadn’t I chosen Spanish for my foreign language credits, like every other sane college student? I was nowhere close to fluent, but at least I knew more than the alphabet and how to count. Because that was the extent of my current knowledge of the French language.
“I would tell you not to work so hard, but that would be a bit hypocritical of me.”
I lifted my head to find none other than Hayle Sharpe climbing the steps of the gazebo. “Wow,” I said dryly. “Does this mean you’re talking to me again?”