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  Tristan grabbed two waters out of the mini bar, opened them both, and handed a water to Leah. They both chugged the water, like two people stranded on the desert. “Eh, I think we kind of cheated… with the whole hands and shit. But damn, that was… was… pretty fucking awesome.”

  “Oh my God, I think we are going to high-five,” Leah said, laughing. She sat up and high-fived him. Tristan grabbed her hand and pulled her closer to him.

  “I’m not even close to being done with you,” Tristan stated. “Not even close, Bud.”

  “So Stan… or John Bender… whatever you’re calling yourself right now, I’m game for round two,” she said, trailing her fingers down his chest. “But this time, I call the shots.”

  Round two quickly turned in to round three. Tristan couldn’t believe how satisfying and fun sex could be. Leah never wanted the night to end. Tristan had more than a few tricks up his sleeves and down his pants. He was a mastermind in the bedroom.

  During the antics of round three, somewhere in the middle of the night, Leah found herself on her hands and knees close to the edge of the giant king-sized bed, with Tristan behind her. Telling him to go faster and push harder, Tristan obliged.

  Thrusting his hips as hard as he could and letting go of Leah’s hips, he pushed her so hard, she fell forward. Being so close to the edge, Leah’s hand slipped down, causing her to fall forward, whacking her face on the corner of the nightstand before she fell completely off the bed. Lying on the floor, simultaneously laughing hysterically and moaning in agony, she rolled over, holding her face. Tristan jumped down next to her, noticing the immediate swelling of her cheek, just below her eye.

  “Oh boy, that’s going to be a doozy. Wait here,” Tristan grabbed the hotel robe and sprinted to the end of the hallway, retrieving a bucketful of ice.

  Leah was back on the bed, wearing a matching hotel robe when he returned. Tristan used a small hand towel, dampened it with cold water, and wrapped a handful of ice it in. Tristan held it to Leah’s face as she leaned back against his chest. Together, they couldn’t stop the pain or the swelling. Leah suggested that the whiskey mini bottles might numb the pain.

  “Woman, you’re gonna drink yourself into oblivion. You certainly aren’t the lightweight I pegged you for,” Tristan said. Cracking open two of the little bottles, “I guess I’ll be right there with you. Guess it won’t matter now if I get the old ‘whiskey dick.’ Looks like we’re done with it for the night anyway,” he joked.

  They snuggled in the bed until the ice melted, the whiskey warmed and numbed, and both of them passed out naked and entwined around each other. Neither Tristan nor Leah stirred throughout the night. Both slept soundly, passed out, dead to the world.

  A small break in the curtain shone the sunlight right in Tristan’s eyes the following morning. “Fuck, hotels are supposed to be pitch black in morning,” he groaned, rolling over as the familiar pound of his head began. Shit, I hit the bottle pretty hard, he thought, finally noticing the figure lying next to him.

  Hazy images of the night before danced in his mind. Leah, sexy, delicious. Smiling, he began to recall the early events of the night. Kissing her at the bar was like winning the lottery and fucking over his dad all in one—a dream come true. Truth or Dare was fun and enlightening. He’d probably disclosed more than he should’ve. Damn, he wished he could remember more of the night. Obviously, he nailed her. Leah was right next to him. Man, come on, at least let him remember the good shit, not just the PG-version.

  Uncovering her, he gasped at the sight before him. Leah’s face was swollen, broken, and bruised. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck happened? It couldn’t have been that bad, right? Leah was still in bed with him. Unless, unless he knocked her out. Fuck. What the fuck was wrong with him? Holy shit, was she breathing? He reached over and tried to touch her neck, but the pillow and angle of her head and neck prohibited him from doing so. She had to be breathing, right? He touched her arm. Her skin was warm. Okay, breathe; she’s not dead. Thank God for small favors. Christ.

  His dad was right. He was a total fuck up. This was going to destroy him. A battered woman in his hotel room—not at all good for his reputation. Think Tristan. Think about what happened last night. He remembered telling her to do stuff—sexual things. Shit. Did she want to do that shit? Was he forcing her, coercing her? Fuck, he couldn’t remember.

  Tristan knew he had to get out of there, get out and not look back. But fuck, he had to know if she was okay. Suddenly, she stirred. Bolt, he needed to bail immediately. Tristan slid out of the bed, slowly and carefully as not to rustle the bed. Grabbing his clothes, he started for the door, realizing he only had one sock. Fuck it. He had more at home. He grabbed his wallet, his keys, and bailed—just as Leah had known he’d do all along.

  Leah couldn’t determine if the banging was on the door or in her head. It continued as she tried to burrow further under the covers and pillows. Realizing that the banging was both in her head and on the door, she sat up, woozily, holding her head to slow the spin. Looking around, she saw the light in the bathroom beneath the door. Leah hated herself for the way her heart skipped at the sight. Tristan was still there—in the bathroom—in the hotel with her.

  “Housekeeping,” a voice accompanied the incessant pounding.

  “We’re still in here,” she called back.

  Getting up, she slipped out of her robe, hoping to catch Tristan just getting in or getting out of the shower, also hoping the warm water would ease the throb in her head. Opening the door, reality smacked her in the face as it had done so many times before. The bathroom was empty. Looking around, Leah saw that his clothes and shoes were gone. Tristan bailed. She hated herself for believing for even one second that he wouldn’t.

  Walking into the bathroom, her face startled her. Remembering the events slowly in small tidbits of flashes, all she could really recall is how much he’d cared for her, took his time with her, cherished her. How could he have left like that? None of the happenings of the night were indicative of a one-night stand, not any that she’d ever had before. Leah could hold her liquor, and she knew that even though the events were a little foggy, she recalled what happened. Nothing was uncertain. The night was magical, the best night she’d ever spent with a man.

  Maybe he hadn’t bailed after all. Maybe he went out to surprise her with coffee and a bagel. No, he’d know that was too hoity-toity for her. If he went out, then he’d come back with doughnuts, lots of them, and thick chocolate milk. That was more like him, more his ammo. They’d sit for hours on the bed, gorging themselves with decadent chocolate doughnuts and milk. Or maybe he was booking the room for another night. There could be so many things that it could be. After a night like last night, Tristan, no guy for that matter, would bolt the second the sun came up. Last night called for an encore for sure.

  Leah decided to relax and not jump to conclusions. It was quite possible—no quite likely—that he was coming back. Tristan wouldn’t just sneak out like that. She thought she knew him better than that. Starting the shower, she grabbed the towels from the rack. She’d take a shower, get ready, and wait for him to return. She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt—not crucify him before she knew the truth.

  Once she’d showered, dried her hair, and watched repeats of some family sitcom, she finally owned up to the fact that Tristan skipped out and wasn’t coming back. There was no surprise for her, no fat, oozing cream sticks covered in chocolate, no words of apology drowning in cold chocolate milk. There was nothing. Man, she was a piss-poor judge of character. Leah had him pegged correctly from the start. Why’d she ever fucking let her heart start dictating the damn rules?

  Bending over to grab her shoe that had wedged itself under the sofa, Leah saw it and lost all sense of rationality. She saw red. A deep bull-taunting, blazing red. There half under the sofa and half out in the open was a crumpled piece of paper. Knowing what it was, but still needing to open it for 100% clarity, Leah unfolded the paper. The hands she’d
drawn, the private part of her she’d revealed and typically kept hidden and under wraps, stared back at her, mocking her like nothing ever had before. He’d made her feel important. He’d made her feel special. He’d insisted—fucking insisted—that she see herself as he did—like a crumpled up piece of trash to leave tossed out in some hotel room for the maid to find.

  Leah would make him pay. She would not rest until Tristan O’Donnell felt as used and worthless as she did right then. Leah spent the last 10 years or so of her life knowing that life was one disappointment and setback after the next, with no joy to be discovered or truly felt. As God was her witness, Leah Franchetti was going to make Tristan O’Donnell know it too. And he was going to pay if it was the last thing she ever did.

  “I’m so glad you stayed, Tri-stand,” Piper says, opening her menu. “I’m not even sure why I’m looking at the menu. I frigging work here.”

  “Probably just a force of habit, something you do every time you sit down in a restaurant. You and Ade really love this place, don’t you?” I ask while perusing the menu.

  “Well, my God, the place is gorgeous and the food is to die for,” Piper swoons. “But I think the real attraction is Lanette. She’s everything to us, a mom, a grandma, and a best friend all rolled into one.”

  “That good, huh?” I ask, watching Lanette chat with the costumers a few tables over.

  “She’s the best,” Piper praises.

  “I’m surprised you wanted me to stay,” I admit. “I would think that you’d love this time to do your own thing without Ade and Kathryn breathing down your neck… have a little time alone with Jose.” I’m trying to be nonchalant and casual, but Piper sees right through it.

  “First of all, I’m pumped that you’re staying while they’re gone. I missed you, missed hanging with you,” Piper says, texting on her phone. “Secondly, they don’t breathe down my neck. They’re like roommates with a conscience. They look after me, but don’t necessarily take care of me,” she explains, still looking at her phone.

  “Hello? I’m over here,” I say, trying to get her attention.

  “Oh my God, when did you turn into such a ‘parent’ Tristan?” Piper groans. “I can multi-task, ya know!”

  “It’s fucking rude,” I say, reaching for her phone, but she pulls her arm away before I can get it. “Dad does shit like that. Never looks up when anyone’s talking to him. Can’t fucking stand that shit.”

  Dropping her phone dramatically, she says, “Ewwww, don’t compare me to him!”

  “Thank you,” I nod, smiling triumphantly. “And what were we talking about? Hmmmm… oh yeah… you were telling me about your ‘alone time’ with Jose.”

  “No, I wasn’t—you were badgering me.”

  “I’m like a dog with a bone. I won’t give up either, Pipe, you know that as well as anyone,” I remind her.

  “Alright fine! When Jose and I need ‘alone time,’ we get it. That is all I’m saying, Tristan,” she relents a bit.

  “So this ‘alone time,’ is it spent being smart?” I ask bluntly, not being able to help myself.

  “Seriously? Are you really asking me this?” she questions.

  “I’m really asking you this. Don’t make me ask Jose,” I threaten. “I’ll ask him. I’ll call him right now.”

  “Ugghhh… well with both of us in school, taking 17 credit hours a piece, yes, we’re being smart—very smart,” Piper explains, rolling her eyes. “We are both very intelligent—we can’t help but being smart,“ she jokes, being a smart ass.

  “God damn it, Piper. I’m not kidding,” I grit through my teeth. “Is he using fucking protection?”

  “Lower your voice… and… no T, he does not use condoms,” she finally gives up and confesses to what I’m really asking.

  My eyes widen, and my blood boils. “What? Is that supposed to be fucking funny? That better be some kind of—”

  “I’m on the pill, Tristan. Relax,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m not an idiot. I’m ‘being smart’ as you call it.”

  “The Pill? You’re on the pill? Well genius, I’m sure you realize that the pill doesn’t protect you from STDs and shit like that,” I say, feeling like I’m going to kill Jose and his Piper-poking-pecker.

  “Well duh, I know that. I trust him,” Piper declares.

  “Oh you ‘trust him,’ that’s just fucking—”

  “Tristan chill, it’s all taken care of,” Piper says, tapping my hand condescendingly. “Truthfully, Adrian flipped out too when he found out I got on the pill. He made Jose and I come to the hospital. We both got tested… for everything,” Piper states, taking a drink of her sweet tea that she incidentally went and got herself like she owned the place. “Then, once the ‘baseline’ or whatever it’s called was set, we had to go back eight weeks later and get tested again. So, we’re clear… and safe. I promise,” Piper adds.

  Feeling a little better, I nod, until I realize that my anger is now directed toward Adrian, the fucker. “So what, Ade just lets you guys ‘go at it’ whenever you want? That’s just great. Great job being a role model, Ade,” I snarl, now wanting to kick my brother’s ass.

  Trying to repress the urge to fly to Turks and Caicos and suffocate Adrian with a condom, I ask, “At any point did he try to… I don’t know… talk you out of having sex? Maybe tell you that you’re too young, you should wait until you’re marr—”

  “Are you joking me right now?” Piper asks, laughing. “Hey pot, this is kettle, you’re black! Tristan, I’m 20-years-old, and a sophomore in college. How old were you when you started having sex?”

  “This isn’t about me,” I argue futilely. “Plus, that’s different… I’m a guy.”

  “Oh great, my brother’s a chauvinistic pig with a double standard, just perfect,” Piper says, shaking her head while she butters a roll. “Well, guess what? Jose’s a guy too… he’s got needs… and wants… and fanta—”

  “La, la, la, la I’m not listening to you,” I yell, stuffing my fingers in my ears and shaking my head back and forth, like a toddler on the verge of a tantrum.

  It’s a damn good thing I agreed not to have kids, because right now, if Piper were my kid, I’d lock her in a closet and throw away the key until she was at least 30-years-old. Shit, if I had kids, and they got to use my crap, my past, against me, then they’d just end up being fuck ups on the street. I would never have a leg to stand on in the whole parenting world. They’d be like, “Whatever dad, fuck off.”

  “Pipah, yous antagonizin’ your brother?” Lanette asks, setting down our lunches.

  “You know it, Lanette,” Piper admits. “With Dre gone, I gotta bug someone.”

  “Yous leave him be, let him eat his meal,” Lanette says. Turning to me, she asks, “Would you like some vinegar for your fries, Mr. O’Donnell?”

  “Awww fuck, dad’s here,” Piper yells, looking around, laughing.

  “Watch your mouth!” Lanette and I scold her at the same time.

  Lanette nods at me, grinning. I smile back. “Kids these days,” I say, rolling my eyes and shaking my head. ”And please… Lanette, call me ‘Tristan,’ I insist.”

  “Yous as pretty as your brother,” she compliments. “But your eyes is darker.”

  “Uh… I’m not sure wha—”

  “No, no… no sir… that ain’t a bad thing. Your eyes… theys seen things. Theys know things,” Turning to Piper, Lanette leans down and says, “You listen to this one, Pipah. He gots wise eyes.”

  “Yeah Piper, listen to me,” I agree. “I’m wise.” Piper laughs, cracking her crab leg like a pro. “Hey, not bad.”

  “Kathryn’s got mad crab skills,” Piper explains. “Taught me everything I know about cracking crabs and lobster.”

  Piper then goes into a ten-minute diatribe about the correct way to crack crab legs, demonstrating each step along the way. “Kathryn really knows everything. I’d still be eating crab legs like you do if it weren’t for her”

  “Wish she’d teach you abou
t not getting crabs,” I pout, biting into my fish sandwich. “…and other fishy diseases.”

  “Speaking of ‘fishy’ things,” Piper says sarcastically, “whatever happened the other night with Leah? You never told any of us.”

  “Nothing to tell,” I admit, shrugging my shoulders. “I basically called her a fucking cunt for ruining my life and then got shitfaced.”

  “But you saw her at the airport yesterday morning. Did you say anything to her?”

  “Not really,” I say, giving Piper my cole slaw. “What’s to say? She fucking ruined my life—ruined my reputation and fucked me over.”

  Piper’s only response is “Hmmm.”

  “Hmmmm? What’s that mean?” I ask, hating the way my sister is looking at me.

  “Nothing, you seem to have it all figured out,” Piper says with a disappointed look on her face. But Piper’s “nothing” always means something. Actually whenever a woman says, “nothing,” then it’s fucking something—usually something big.

  Continuing, Piper says, “Did she really ruin your life though, Tristan? Is your life any different now than it was before she started spreading shit about you?”

  “I know you’re young and all Pipe, but you can’t go around telling people someone raped you when it never happened… never came close to happening,” I argue, feeling my temper starting to flare.

  “People?” Piper asks, stealing my fries. “She didn’t really tell anyone Tristan—except for you and Dad, right?”

  “Yeah, but… but… that’s fucking defamation of character. It’s blackmail… extortion… and just a whole big bag of wrong,” I say, finishing my beer. I should’ve gotten something stronger. Who knew I needed something stronger for an innocent lunch with my sister? I don’t know why she’s giving me the third degree for Christ’s sake.

  “Really? This is about money—just money?” Piper asks, challenging me.

  “It was a shit ton of money—money dad has held over my head since then too,” I explain, wondering why we’re even talking about this.