The Reinvention of the Rose - Christina C. Jones Page 0,22

the clothes I’d worn… everything was curated and neatly typed out along with a slew of other information telling me exactly what my mark wanted.

Tristan wasn’t a mark though.

And what he wanted wasn’t… me.

He kissed you though.

And explained exactly why he didn’t want to have sex yet.

Sure.

Logically, I understood the contradiction.

But, I was no longer operating on pure logic and calculated steps – it felt really shitty, that my first attempt at intimacy with someone who wasn’t part of a mission had been a fucking failure.

Because it wasn’t just a thing that happened – not for someone like me.

Failure was a complete state of being, a disappointment that deserved to be punished, harshly.

And hell… it was confusing.

A man.

Not fucking someone he supposedly liked.

Men would fuck people they didn’t like, at peril of losing their family, friends, jobs, whole livelihoods.

Hell.

Their lives.

It’s bullshit. Maybe you’re not his type.

No, that was bullshit.

I was everybody’s fucking type.

I kept my honey-toned skin glowing and flawless, kept my body fat punished into submission, hair nourished and healthy, and I couldn’t take any credit for my face, but that was fucking amazing too.

There was nothing wrong with me.

There was something wrong with him.

Yeah, yeah, you’re cute.

But seriously, could you be any weirder?

Oh.

Yeah.

There was that, huh?

I hadn’t exactly been at my most charming, hadn’t yet mastered the keeping of my cool around Tristan yet. I always felt so brutally awkward, that it only made sense for him to have picked up on the same thing.

He kissed you though.

Yes.

He did.

And what a kiss it had been.

Essentially my first, at least on a personal level.

Problem was, I hadn’t seen or heard from him in the several days passed since then.

Had I left my house and been in public?

No.

Did he have my number?

Also no.

Had I answered the bell at the candle shop for anyone?

Still no.

But still.

If he was really interested, he wouldn’t let silly things like that stop him, so I had to assume this was all something for me to take as a lesson and move on.

All the shit I’d ordered for the shop was due to arrive today.

In fact, only a few moments after the thought crossed my mind, I watched a delivery truck pull up, causing a spark of excitement to bloom in my chest.

Which made me even happier.

Excitement was good.

I rushed downstairs, making it to the door before the delivery person had even touched the bell. Hurriedly, I signed the little electronic clipboard to confirm it was me, then stepped aside so my packages could be brought inside.

As soon as they were gone, I dived right in.

I took my time with the unpacking, making sure to put everything in the spots I’d already planned out back in the workroom. Never mind that I really didn’t quite know what I was doing – I was looking forward to the prospect of figuring it all out.

“Wow. You’re getting a whole business set up back here, huh?”

The box of wooden wicks I was holding dropped from my hands, my head whipping around for the source of those words.

Tristan.

“How did you get in here?” I asked, swallowing hard.

Damn he looked good this morning, in navy sweats and a matching tee, freshly retwisted locs, neatly groomed beard.

“The door was open…” he said, gesturing behind him. “I figured you were letting some fresh air in or something.”

“So you took that as an invitation?” I brushed past him to get to the front door, where it was indeed wide open from where I’d propped it for the boxes to be brought in.

“Yes, actually.” When I turned from closing the door, he was right behind me, smelling like fresh laundry and cedar, and… pissing me off. “You haven’t exactly been accessible, so I took the opportunity that presented itself.”

I took a step back, trying to breathe in something that wasn’t him. “So this is my fault?”

“Fault?” He raised a thick eyebrow at me, and frowned. “Fault implies that something is wrong. Is something wrong between us?”

“Us?” I propped my hands on my hips. “Us implies that such a thing exists.”

He stared at me for a long moment before a slow smirk spread across his lips. “You’re upset about me not coming upstairs with you the other night.”

“What? No!” I snapped. “Why would I be pressed about that? I could have any man I wanted around here, and you think I’m hung up on you not wanting to fuck me?”

You definitely are …

“It’s exactly what I think,” he scoffed. “You are absolutely tripping on that shit,