CHAPTER 7

Rory tried to open her puffy eyes. She moaned as she tried to recall the events that transpired the night before. Her eyes felt like there was sand in them. It did not help that she felt sore in places that she never thought could get sore. It was a shame that the luxurious sheets were not much of a comfort to her as she slept.

When she finally got her eyes open, she focused at the light that danced on the walls. She remembered the room being masculine but she did not realize how intimate and comfortable the room was. On one side of the room were compact discs that rivaled Lane's collection. On the wall adjacent to it, books from the classic Treasure Island to Stephen King's Dark Tower series lined the bookshelves. Rory got up and walked around the room. She stared at the mahogany desk and the random pictures of him with a dog, a young picture of him and his parents and one of him graduating from military school. She traced the outline of his face on the picture of him and his parents. Her eyes focused on the lazyboy that was close to the desk. She walked toward the chair and touched the blanket that was still warm. Again, she smiled. She found it rather ironic that she ran into the same person who was physically there for her when she broke up with Dean the first time around. A lot of people would consider this run in kismet. She considered it bad timing.

Fuzzy thoughts addled her brain. Absentmindedly, she picked up her gym bag and went searching for the bathroom. As long as she was up, she might as well take a shower.

The hot water stung Rory's skin. It was a welcome feeling compared to numbness. Thoughts of Dean touching her filled her head again. For a moment, it made her break into a grin. But as quickly as the memory entered her head, the repercussions of their actions bounced the good thoughts away. Trying to escape those unwanted mental images, Rory scrubbed her skin fast and hard until her skin felt raw. Frustrated that the pain did not distract her from the inevitable, she turned off the water and step out of the shower.

She grabbed a dry, rolled up towel from the shelf. As she dried herself off, she noticed a damp towel haphazardly hung on the rack. Again, Rory found herself wondering about Tristin. She pictured him as a brat that left a trail of clothes on the floor, including wet towels. For now, he proved her wrong.

Rory rummaged through her bag for clothes. She realized that packing while crying was not one of her strongest suits. She settled on a pair of running shorts that she only wore at home and a humor shirt her mom got her for kicks. Grunting, she went back to the bedroom, plopped on the bed and opened Great Expectations to its first page.

Tristin was definitely not ready for what greeted him when he entered his room. Sprawled on his king sized bed was Rory, engrossed in another novel. She was wearing a pair of shorts made out of terry cloth which hiked up a little over her backside to reveal a little of her bottom. Her shirt, reading "Feed Me or Die" made him chuckle.

"Morning, Mary," Tristin teased.

Rory's head snapped up from the book. Her haunting eyes softened as her gaze rested on him.

"Tristin!" she said breathlessly.

His knees weakened when she called out his name. All his pubescent dreams about her did not compare to the physical emotions he was currently feeling. It seemed so surreal to him that she is lying on his bed, clothed and untouched by him.

I bet you're ravished… I mean famished," he immediately corrected himself as a blush crept up his neck and cheeks.

"Yes! But I was too chicken to seek out your kitchen," Rory confessed not realizing his Freudian slip.

Contented with her response, Tristin cocked his head to the side and said, "C'mon!"

Rory immediately put her book down and followed Tristin to the kitchen. She was rather impressed with what awaited her.

Instead of setting food on the table, Tristin decided to keep breakfast informal. He decided to share with Rory one of his favorite places to eat in the house: the kitchen island. He set up a basket of fresh rolls on one side with a pitcher of apple juice just next to it. They got to the kitchen just in time to get the warmed pastries out of the oven and the maid to pour them fresh cups of coffee.

"Wow, you could feed the Army… Or a third world country with this!" Rory exclaimed.

"I hope you don't mind. I didn't know what you'd want for breakfast. To be honest, I didn't know if you ever ate breakfast," Tristin apologetically said. "So, are you the conversation kind in the morning or the newspaper reading type?"

"Don't apologize. You didn't have to inconvenience yourself on my behalf. But I am grateful," she said enthusiastically. "But you really didn't have to… I mean, the table would've been fine. We could talk unless you wanted to read," she started babbling.

Tristin let out a laugh, "Whatever you want, Mary."

Rory caught herself grinning back, "You know, I haven't been called that in a long time. Makes me realize now why we never hung out."

"Like we'd hang out," Tristin mocked.

"We could've been a regular Fred and Ginger act," Rory said.

"I think Charlie Brown and Lucy would be more precise," Tristin profoundly said.

"Hey, if I can be roommates with Paris, stranger things could happen!" Rory exclaimed.

On that note, Tristin handed Rory a coffee mug and an éclair to start breakfast.