I Just Need You - J. Nathan Page 0,23
there was no way in hell Tristan was about to open the door for us, but Chris nudged me out of the way so he could open it for me.
“Allow me.”
I scooted in first.
Chris followed me in, closing the door as he did. “Nice ride.” He took in the interior of the car before he settled his eyes on me. “You look beautiful.”
Heat pulsed in my cheeks, partly because I knew Tristan—the same Tristan who’d sat outside my door all night long to slay the demons in my dreams—could hear everything being said. “Thanks.”
Tristan pulled away from the sidewalk with a slight jerk, driving us toward the restaurant without a word.
“So, you mentioned you went home for the weekend,” I said to Chris. “Where’s home?”
“Clayville. About an hour from here. It was my grandmother’s birthday.”
“Awww. How old is she?”
“Eighty-five. But you’d never guess it by the way she loves to dance,” he said. “She had us all dancing around her kitchen.”
I smiled. “Well, you are a hell of a dancer. You had to get it from somewhere.”
He laughed. “Where’re you from?”
“Atherton.”
His eyes widened, probably because most people from California knew it was one of the wealthiest areas in the state. I immediately wanted to retract my answer, realizing I may have been offering up too much information. But it was too late. “You said you transferred here, right?”
I nodded.
“Where’d you go before this?” he asked.
I met Tristan’s eyes in the rearview mirror. I knew he was waiting to hear what I’d tell Chris. But I wasn’t stupid. I’d told Elodie and Alice about France because I had two security guards living around me and following me everywhere. There was no avoiding that conversation. But since I didn’t know if I’d even see Chris after tonight, vague would have to work—so would deflection. “Overseas. But the food was terrible. Speaking of food. I’ve never been to Fabian’s. Tell me what’s good.”
And just like that, the conversation had been averted.
***
Our conversation over dinner flowed easily. Thankfully, Tristan didn’t come into the restaurant. But, from time to time, I could see him through the front window pacing on the sidewalk in his dark clothes.
“So, have your parents always been overprotective?” Chris asked as he ate his chicken parmesan.
“You could say that. But I know it’s because they love me. You know, better safe than sorry. So, if I can put their minds at ease, I do it.”
“Are you an only child?”
I nodded as I took a bite of my chicken marsala.
“Well, that explains it.”
I laughed. If he only knew.
“Do you like Remington so far?”
“Everyone seems really nice. Even youngsters like yourself,” I teased before sipping my glass of wine.
“Heeeeey.”
I smiled.
We finished up dinner a little while later and Chris paid the bill. Tristan was back in the driver’s seat of the car when we stepped outside.
“Do you need to get back now or can we go somewhere else?” Chris asked.
“What were you thinking?”
“I saw a sign for an open mic night.”
“Do you sing?”
“Sing?” He laughed. “Not even a little. But it could be fun to watch other people.”
I hadn’t anticipated a second location when I told Marco where we were going. Tristan was not going to like it. But it wasn’t about him. It was about me. And I was having a nice time with Chris, so I wouldn’t allow it to end just because I was scared of what my bodyguard would say. “Sure.”
Chris opened the car door for me and once I slipped into the backseat, he followed me in.
“Tristan?” I said, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror. “We’re thinking of heading to an open mic night.”
His eyes narrowed, pissed at the unexpected change in plans. He looked at Chris. “Where is it?”
“Just down the road a couple miles,” Chris explained, rattling off a few directions.
Tristan started the engine and followed Chris’ directions. I could tell he was mad, and I couldn’t stop the guilt from creeping inside me.
“Why’d you need to ask him?” Chris asked. “Doesn’t he just drive wherever you tell him to?”
I could sense Tristan’s eyes on me, so I avoided that rearview mirror. “Just common courtesy.”
Chris nodded, my response a good enough answer for him.
We arrived at the bar where the open mic night was. Through the glass windows, it appeared dark inside but the bright neon signs in the windows practically lit up the block.
“Just give me a minute,” Tristan said, as he stepped out of the car and slammed the door behind him, clearly