Can't Go Without Read online

  “Oh Hell no,” Tristan said, pulling her up, closer to him as he leaned across the table. “Truth or Dare?” His face was dangerously close to hers. He could feel her breath on him.

  “Neither, it’s my turn,” Leah replied, sitting back down in her chair, pulling her hand from his grasp. “Truth or Dare?”

  “Dare,” Tristan said, challenging her, downing another shot of tequila while he waited for her command.

  “Show me your stomach,” Leah said, smirking.

  “Excuse me? I couldn’t have heard you right. Did you just ask to see my stomach? What do you take me for? A piece of meat for you to devour?”

  “First of all, you said ‘dare.’ That’s the dare. Secondly, you drenched my shirt, so you got more than an eyeful. It’s my turn,” Leah explained. “Plus, you got to see my vagina.”

  “Okay, you win, but I’m on record as stating that this is very demeaning. I’m more than hot a body,” Tristan stated, feigning offense.

  When Tristan stood up, Leah backed away from the table, “I need a good view.”

  Tristan winked at her and started unbuttoning his shirt in a slow, sexy striptease. “Is this how you like it?”

  Laughing, Leah said, “Oh yes, sir. Slower,” taking a drink of her water and licking her lips hungrily. Tristan rolled his eyes and unbuttoned another button.

  With every button undone, the humor dissipated. The air filled with anticipation and lust. Leah’s senses were heightened as she anxiously awaited the opening of his shirt. She was shocked again at the rapid beat of her heart, and the heat that coursed through her. She was trying to be funny and flirty, but the joke was on her. Tristan excited her, turned her on in ways that no other man had ever done before.

  When he opened his shirt and revealed his chiseled beautiful stomach, Leah winced and looked away, shaking her head in disgust. “Damn it! That sucks,” she groaned, waving him off.

  “What?” Tristan replied, closing his shirt. “Did you really just look away and crinkle your nose at my stomach? Are you kidding me? Do you know how long it took me to get it like this? This shit ain’t easy.”

  “Button up, I can’t look at that shit,” Leah instructed. “Crap! I wanted it to be flabby… and hairy… and gross, maybe even a little moldy. Mold would’ve done the trick.”

  “Is there something wrong with you? Mold? You wanted me to have mold growing on my stomach? What does that even mean?” Tristan asked, confused.

  “I’m having a hard enough time trying not to jump on you… and now… now I know you got all that… that… goodness… going on under there. I just don’t know if I can take much more of it.” Leah admitted.

  “Ahhh, so Franchetti likes what she sees,” Tristan gloated triumphantly. Opening up his shirt again, and flexing his muscles, he said, “Interesting. Now that this game got a little more interesting, Truth or Dare?”

  “Truth.”

  Rolling his eyes, Tristan said, “Was interesting—just got lame again.” He filled both shot glasses and offered her one. She shook her head and took another sip of her water. He took both shots and thought for a while. “Okay, Leah, honestly, are you coming home with me tonight?”

  “Truthfully, I’m fighting like Hell not to—trying my damnedest not to,” Leah confessed.

  “Good to know,” Tristan declared, impressed with her honesty. “I like that.” Just knowing that she was interested was enough to send him over the edge. Tristan loved knowing that she wanted him and was attempting to avoid him at all costs.

  “Truth or Dare?”

  “Truth.”

  “Truth? Nice. You never say ‘truth.’ Okay let me think,” Leah announced, scowling pensively as she tried to decide on a tell-all question. Then suddenly her face lit up, Tristan knew she had a doozy. He had no idea how personal Leah was about to get though.

  “What’s the worst thing that anyone’s ever said to you—about you?” Leah questioned, proud of what she came up with.

  Tristan’s shock was evident. Immediately his face reacted to the memory, the vivid memory he’d always tried to suppress, to ignore. The memory alone made his stomach lurch, and his heart fall. Tristan knew his answer was appalling, probably the worst thing any one person could ever hear. He’d never shared it with another living soul—not even Adrian.

  Hoping he could backtrack, he said, “Dare.”

  Leah wouldn’t budge, insisting that once he said “truth,” the truth must be told. One thing was for certain, if he was ever going to tell anyone about that night, then Leah was as good a candidate as anyone. She was open and wouldn’t judge him—certainly wouldn’t agree with it. Tristan wondered if maybe telling someone would help him come closer to getting over it altogether.

  Taking a deep breath, “Okay, here goes,” he exhaled. “My sophomore year of college, I totaled my dad’s Mercedes,” Tristan began. “I’d been out drinking with my buddies over summer vacation. I went left of center, just missed an oncoming car. I swerved to get back in my lane, but lost control of the car and hit a tree.”

  Leah’s eyes widened and a small gasp left her lips. She covered her mouth in horror. “Oh my God, Tristan, that’s awful.”

  “It really was. They said it was a miracle I walked away from it with just a few bumps and bruises,” he explained. “Anyway, they arrested me, because I’d been drinking. My blood alcohol level wasn’t over the legal limit, so they couldn’t hold me. My dad had to come pick me up at the police station.”

  Tristan stopped, still unsure of how it would feel to reveal the truth. Leah didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, worrying about what would come next. Taking a deep breath, Tristan said, “On the way home, my dad bitched at me about how I had to pay him back every last cent until he had a new car. He wouldn’t let up, talking about how I was a letdown, a total disgrace to the O’Donnell name.”

  Not knowing how to go on, Tristan stood up, walked over to the bar and sat up on the bar stool. Leah followed, sitting down next to him and swiveled her seat to face him. Leah took his hand in hers and said, “Go on.”

  “We got up to the front porch and my dad stopped before unlocking the door. He looked at me and said, ‘I begged your mom to get an abortion, but she wouldn’t hear of it. I knew back then that you were going to ruin our lives. And you better believe it, I was right. We should’ve aborted you when we had the chance.’ Then he unlocked the door, went in the house, and we never spoke of it again.”

  Leah gasped, her hand tightening around his. “Tristan, I’m sure he didn’t mean it. Parents say shitty things when they’re angry.”

  Tristan wanted to believe her, but knew that what his father said was true. Right before Tristan was named Chief Operating Officer (COO) of O’Donnell Industries four months ago, his father made him sign a contract in front of the company’s lawyer and a certified notary that he would not, under any circumstances, have children. His father did not want his company to be handed down to a bunch of overly privileged, snot-nosed kids. Once he died and Tristan got old and incapacitated, Chet O’Donnell wanted the company sold for billions, not handed down to some undeserving, lazy-ass kids.

  Seeing the fortune in front of him, the prestige and the recognition, Tristan signed the contract, relieved that he’d never have to be responsible for anyone else in his life. Tristan would never have to wonder about marriage and children. That future was no longer on the table, no longer a choice he could make. His father made it for him. And Tristan O’Donnell couldn’t have been happier.

  Leah was wrong; her faith in humanity had never truly known someone like Chet O’Donnell. Chet O’Donnell hated Tristan, hated Adrian, and even hated Piper. They’d ruined his life, forcing him to share his money, his possessions, things he loved, with them. Tristan would never tell Leah that though. He’d never let her know that he was born into such loathing. Tristan O’Donnell’s life was created, but it was not created with love and tenderness, it was created with regret and remorse.

  In Tristan’s eyes, that was the
epitome of humiliation. Parents love and want their children. However, his parents didn’t. It was something he’d accepted. Well, it was something he was learning to accept, anyway. The love from a parent to a child was supposed to be the purest, most profound sense of love. If his parents didn’t love him, then what did that say about him, about his siblings? Was each of them unlovable in their own way? Was it possible for anyone to truly love him if own his parents never could?

  Alcohol did this to him, caused him to question everything, made him think too deeply, which is why he often drank himself to unconsciousness, so he could rid himself of the thoughts and the pain that came with each drink.

  “How many shots have you had?” Tristan asked, changing the subject. “I’m up to about four—but I could go all night,” he joked, winking at her, trying desperately to lighten the mood and kill the seriousness in the air.

  “Four and done,” Leah announced. “Four’s a lot for me—especially so quickly.”

  “Well, you weigh about 90 pounds. That’s a lot of tequila for a 90-pound woman,” Tristan stated.

  “One hundred and seven, thank you very much,” Leah corrected. “I started protein shakes. I’m up five pounds. God, it’s so hard for me to gain weight.”

  “I could probably count about twenty-five girls right now who would kill you in your sleep for making a statement like that,” Tristan joked, staring at her petite frame.

  “Oh I know, I can’t complain about it at all—like ever. All through college, I just told people I was doing coke, so they thought I was just some druggie who didn’t gain weight,” Leah recalled. “Meanwhile, I’m getting extra cheese and special sauce on my Big Macs and super sizing my fries and still never gaining a pound,” Leah explained. “…and not a word about the ‘special sauce’ Stan. I’m not looking to taste yours—or wipe it on my napkin.”

  “How did you know I was thinking that?” he asked chuckling, truly surprised.

  “Oh you’ve been coming here enough this past month or so, I know how your dirty little mind works,” she admitted standing up. “Do you want a beer or anything? I’m gonna grab a Diet Coke.” It was hard to keep sitting next to him, staring at him. Leah just wanted to lean over and stick her damn tongue down his throat. She knew she couldn’t, so she kept trying to keep busy by drowning herself in different beverages.

  “That’d be great, whatever ya got in the bottle,” Tristan said. “My turn again. Truth or dare?”

  “Hold that thought,” she said, holding up a finger. “I’m going to go back over… go… um… back there.”

  “Gotta pee?” Tristan bluntly asked, embarrassing her.

  “Thanks Stan, nothing like making me feel so comfortable and all,” she said, heading to the bathroom.

  Leah didn’t know how much more of this she could stand. Certainly, Leah knew that if she went home with him or he with her, then she’d just be another notch on his bedpost. However, he’d be one on hers too. It wasn’t like Leah hadn’t had her fair share of one-nighters, Hell, all-weekenders, before. But if she was being completely honest with herself and her desires, Leah really didn’t care. She absolutely wanted to find out what it would be like to go all night with him. Just the way he held himself, his confidence, and the sculpted contours of his body were enough to make her ready and willing.

  Looking at her reflection in the grimy, cloudy mirror of Lucky Chuck’s ladies’ restroom, Leah wished she were one of those girls who had a purse the size of a burlap bag filled with five counters of different makeup and beautifying products from Nordstrom. She could definitely use some “touching up” right about now, some color to her face, and maybe even some body to her limp, flat hair.

  Leah watered down a brown paper towel, wiped it all over her face, hoping to soak up some of the grease and sweat of the night, and pinched her cheeks to add a natural blush. She’d seen a movie once where a girl pinched her cheeks and ended up with a sexy, come hither glow. Leah’s result wasn’t so altering, except to make it look like she was trying to squeeze two giant non-existent zits right smack dab in the middle of her cheeks. Perfect. Not exactly what she was going for. Leah mussed her hair and flipped up and down a few times, hoping to jazz up her do. Fuck. Now she looked like the fucking Heat Miser from the holiday cartoon, The Year Without a Santa Claus. Fuck it. Take it or leave it, O’Donnell. Leah couldn’t spend all night in a bathroom trying to be something or someone she wasn’t. If he wanted her, then Tristan needed to take her as she was.

  “Truth,” she said walking back in the bar.

  “Fuck, you scared me,” Tristan startled, jumping.

  Chuckling, Leah said, “Aww, poor baby, I didn’t mean to be so scary-wary.”

  “Shut it, Franchetti. It’s creepy in here alone. I can’t believe you do it every night.”

  “Well, usually Mick’s with me, so it doesn’t get too creepy,” Leah reminded him.

  Tristan hated the idea of her being alone in the bar every night with Mickie. Sooner or later, something was bound to happen. It always did between guys and girls whenever they were forced together in close proximity all the time, side-by-side, night-after-night. The thought made his teeth grind and fists clench. Tristan couldn’t understand this rage, this downright jealousy of something that wasn’t his.

  Shaking the thoughts from his mind, he said, “So truth again, eh? God, that’s getting old, real quick.” Tristan could feel himself getting into dick mode, and he was trying his damnedest to reel himself back in, but it wasn’t really working. Taking a deep breath, exhaling slowly, he said, “You brought it up, so I’ve gotta ask. Inquiring minds wanna know… have you ever done coke… like cocaine?”

  Squatting behind the bar to get him another bottle of beer, Tristan couldn’t see her reaction. He hoped he hadn’t offended her. Truthfully, he wouldn’t care what drugs she did or didn’t do, but he hoped that all drugs were in the past.

  “Honestly Stan, there probably isn’t a drug out there that I haven’t tried or experimented with,” Leah confessed, casually and openly. “After my mom died, I pretty much went off the deep end. I tried it all and did it all. I spent my days looking for anything that would make me forget everything.”

  Handing him his beer and pouring her Diet Coke into a glass, she added, “If my dad hadn’t kicked my ass back into gear, I wouldn’t have graduated from high school, let alone gone to college.”

  “You went to college?” Tristan asked too quickly. His voice was a little too high-pitched and surprised for Leah’s liking.

  “What? Just because I’m opening and pouring your fucking beer doesn’t mean I don’t know how to do more than that Tristan? God, judgmental much?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that—”

  “Don’t even start, yes you did. You have this preconceived notion of who I am and what I’m all about. Poor white trash girl who can’t make it further than just a bar slut,” Leah said, feeling the anger and humiliation rising in her.

  “Don’t. Don’t do this,” Tristan pleaded, walking around to the other side of the bar to face her. “The only reason… and I mean the only reason… I am shocked that you went to college is because I’ve been coming in here for over a month and you have never once mentioned college—ever Leah. I would’ve thought that would’ve come up at some point.”

  “Why does it matter?” Leah asked, challenging him.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Tristan explained. “It’s just the people I’m used to schmoozing and hanging with… they use their degrees and pedigree as fucking pedestals on which to stand.” Tristan hated the way everyone tried to out piss each other. It got old fast. Sure, he was one of them, but lately, it was just one pissing match after the next. Tristan was drowning in urine and was quite frankly getting sick of it.

  “I actually think it’s pretty impressive that you’ve never flaunted it.” Tristan stared at her, amazed by how much more intriguing she became each night. Every night, he was able to peel a little more of her rough exterior off to see wha
t was beneath. Each layer was more captivating than the layer before. “So what, you’ve got an art degree?”

  “Art history undergrad… and… and an MBA in marketing,” she stated, matter-of-factly, smirking smugly.

  Tristan’s beer spewed out of his mouth and all over her as he choked on the knowledge and the realization that he was a shallow, narrow-minded dickhead who had totally fucking misjudged her. “Are you fucking kidding me? You have an MBA?”

  “Yes sir, graduated Magna Cum Laude too,” she said grinning.

  “Uh Leah, not to be rude but—”

  Sighing and rolling her eyes, because she’d heard it all before from other uppity-ass patrons who judged her for her choices. “I’m tending bar until I save enough money to open my own art gallery. I told you that last week,” Leah reminded him. “I don’t want to take out any business loans or anything that is going to put me in debt. Life is too fucking short to worry about if you’re going to die leaving a whole shitload of bills and expenses for your family to deal with.”

  “Well, I guess… I just thought—”

  “You just thought that it was a pipe dream—not some reality that I was going to make come true,” Leah stated, knowing she was right.

  “Man Leah, you are one surprise after another,” Tristan complimented, staring at her, narrowing the space between them.

  “Really? Is that so,” she asked, taking in his features and the way the corners of his mouth turned up in a mischievous grin. “Truth or dare then, Stan?”

  “Dare. From now on, always dare,” he said, not taking his eyes from hers.

  “I dare you to kiss me.”

  Tristan wasted no time in wrapping his arms around her and pulling her toward his body. Her breath caught as she slammed against his chest. Neither of them moved; they just stared at each other, challenging the other to continue or to stop the other. They were frozen in their desire and their better judgment. They both knew that once their lips met—neither one would stop, neither one would have the restraint to pull back. All the chips were on the table. All in or all out. Now or never.