AN: Evidently my trip inspired angst. . . But it's long and that's what counts, right? Hehe. Love those reviews. . .
"Tell me you're kidding," Rory pleaded, her cheeks tear-stained from the body-shaking laughter that had gripped her during Dan's recanting of his graduation experience.
"Tell me you're not," Tristan chuckled, tipping back in his chair, causing it to gently scrape against the wall.
"Did you get suspended?" Elisa shook her head in disbelief.
Dan took a drink of his beer, wetting his mouth after telling his well-honed graduation story. He felt no embarrassment—rather a surge of pride that grew each time he told it—as his new audience becomes enraptured and their shoulders begin to quiver in attempts to withhold amusement before it deliciously escapes their mouths.
"It was too late, all the paperwork had been processed. There was nothing they could do to me, except …"
"Chase and tackle," Tristan supplied, having seen the same scenario played out in several sporting events. It seemed there was one in every crowd.
"How far did you get?" Rory asked, working on the full-on visual.
"Ten yard line," he bowed his head proudly.
"And you were completely naked?" Elisa confirmed.
"No, I had the mortarboard on my head, and my honors' tassel strategically affixed," he bit his lip.
Rory covered her face in her hands, now wishing the images in her head weren't so vivid. There were just some scenarios you didn't need to picture your friends in.
"Our assistant principal was also the track coach, he's the one that ended my sprint just shy of escape."
Elisa shook her head again and looked to Rory, who shrugged her shoulders as she wiped her tears from her eyes.
"And I thought being valedictorian was exciting."
"What possessed you to do that?" Elisa asked, not quite digesting the information her date was offering.
"Sometimes you have to make your own fun," Dan smiled.
"Damn straight," Tristan raised his glass to Dan, who clinked in agreement.
"Shouldn't you guys be grunting?" Rory scoffed.
Tristan reached an arm around her, pulling her close enough to smell the stout beer that lingered on his breath. He'd ordered her a wheat beer, which she had to admit was much better than the more bitter types that most guys ordered for her, using their own tastes as a guideline and not thinking of hers. She'd always tried to enjoy whatever Logan had put in front of her, and usually managed to choke a little back. It wasn't too difficult to pretend her tolerance was low, causing him to offer to finish her portion. Such the gentleman.
This beer was sweet, and she'd probably actually had more than her fill, feeling a warm rush from her head southward as he pulled her close. She tried to push him away, but he wouldn't have it, easily holding his grasp around her torso.
"Never streaked, Mare?" he asked, his tone as thick as his ale.
"No," she blushed harshly from the use of the old nickname and the alcohol she'd ingested. "Have you?"
"Yep, it's a tradition at the military academy. At the first snow of the season, they hold the 'Naked Olympics' in the courtyard," he nodded, taking another drink with his free hand.
"I flashed a few carloads of people on I-95," Elisa admitted, also having had more than her fair share of beer this evening.
"Really?" Dan scooted closer to her, quite happy at her confession.
"We were driving back up from Florida on spring break last year," she smiled. "It was a dare."
Rory was fairly confident in her prior bad-girl activities, but exposing herself in public to strangers, or worse not-strangers, wasn't something that she'd ever contemplate, dare or not. She'd kissed a girl and jumped from a several-story-high scaffold—but their pride of their nude exploits made her feel very much the odd woman out. She felt timid, and she hated that feeling.
"You should try it, it's freeing," Tristan informed her, kissing her cheek.
She rolled her eyes, clearly feeling no such need. Elisa noted her expression and discomfort and opted for a change of topic.
"So, Tristan, Sarah asked me to tell you she really had fun with you," she laughed. She assumed this was something of a private joke the four could share. The look on Tristan's face proved otherwise, however.
His head snapped quickly, his over-active imagination slamming gears from a partially clothed, impetuous Rory to his very own version of Fatal Attraction.
"Excuse me?" he managed.
"Did she know that the four of us were going out tonight?" Rory interjected.
Elisa giggled uncomfortably. "This girl is a smidge clueless," she held up her thumb and forefinger a sliver of air between them to help her point.
"You don't say," Tristan scoffed.
"Dan even mentioned that you two had gone away for a romantic weekend—but it didn't seem to faze her. That sounded incredible, by the way," she added.
Rory nodded tersely, and Tristan leaned in towards her again. "We should go back sometime," his breath tickled the fine hairs on her neck, but she tried to hold back the physical response it was evoking in her.
"Yeah."
Dan looked to his watch. "Shit. I have to get back, on duty hours start soon. You two coming?"
"Nah, go on. We'll be fine," Tristan encouraged. They exchanged goodbyes, and he leaned into Rory again.
"The night is young," he offered.
"We could have gone with them. We were on a double date."
Her tone was irritated and cool. He shrugged, trying to play off the strange mood that he'd felt her slip into like a jacket.
"If you're ready, let's get out of here."
She nodded and followed him out of the pub. He grabbed her hand and pulled her too quickly, not compensating for the fact she was wearing high heels, down the block.
"Tristan, stop! What are you doing?"
"Having fun," he informed her as he stopped and crushed her to him, kissing her hungrily under a hotel awning. She put a hand to his chest and furrowed her brow. She felt like she could burst into tears or scream at the top of her lungs at any given time. Unease was swelling up in her, threatening to overtake her.
"You're drunk," she accused.
"So're you," he leaned back in to kiss her again. "Let's get a room and make love on the balcony," he moved his lips quickly back against hers, not wanting her to have time to think. She pulled back, even more frustrated. At herself for not complying with his spontaneity. At him for not letting her gather her thoughts.
"Are you fucking that girl?"
The words came out of her mouth, leaving a bad taste like sour milk in their wake. She felt shame wave up over her, cloaking her like a veil.
"You're fucking kidding me."
His arms remained around her, but the lust in his eyes turned hard.
"Why didn't you just tell her to leave you alone, that you weren't interested?"
She couldn't stop.
"Drop it, Rory."
"No, I mean, it's easy to clear up, unless you're trying to keep your options open."
"I was trying not to upset her."
"So her feelings are more important than mine?"
"What is this about?" he demanded, not understanding and feeling his patience for her mood wearing thin.
"Nothing!" she exclaimed, stumbling backward.
"Rory," he reached out to steady her and she shirked him off.
"Just, leave me alone," she said definitively and turned to walk down the street. Away from him. Confused and pissed off, he watched her unsteady form move towards their dormitory.
XXXX
Halfway back to the building, her phone rang. Extracting the ringing device, she checked the number—Unavailable. She shut it, feeling more alone and ignoring the call. She shoved it back in her pocket. She was fairly sure the night air around her was cold, but she couldn't feel it. She was warm from the alcohol and frustration that had raced through her veins, chasing her blood. She almost wanted to cut her skin to allow this feeling an outlet, hoping it would spill out of her. First beading up before trailing out of her forever, similar to blood from the small nicks that occur when she shaves her legs.
She pulled her coat around her body more properly, trying to act rationally though she didn't feel it, and continued walking. She hoped being alone would let her sober up and disentangle Tristan from her poor mood. He'd done nothing wrong, save for be near her as her veil of self-doubt and loathing descended. If she could just take a nap, she'd go apologize profusely after this cloud left her mind.
The lobby to the dorm was relatively empty, for which she was grateful. She moved slower than she imagined she was to the door leading to the staircase, happy not to make eye contact with anyone. She reached her right hand around the angular door handle, tugging not hard enough at first, then too hard. The door flew out toward her, opening to reveal a familiar face.
A familiar, but out of place, person. She knew his face, his hands, his body. Oh yes, even this drunk, she knew every last part of this man.
"Logan?"
"Jesus, are you drunk?" he asked, having heard her slur his name.
"No," she turned to look away from him. Someone coughed behind her, and Logan gently steered her out of the way of incoming and outgoing traffic. He kept his hands on her, and she could feel his warmth even through her jacket. Suddenly aware of her chill, she shivered in his arms.
"Can you make it to your room?"
"I can do anything," she informed him. Slipping an arm around her waist, he silently led her to her door, and stopped without being told of the proper destination.
"I don't need your help."
"I came to talk."
"I don't need you to do that, either."
"You're belligerent when you're drunk."
"Am not."
"Rory," he sighed, taking her key from her after four failed attempts to insert the metal into its mate. She glared at him as he aided her. She hated the deftness he possessed. She wanted him to see she was fine without him.
"So I've had a few beers," she scoffed, following him into her room. She fell down onto her bed, and he locked the door before moving to help her off with her shoes and jacket. She was dressed up—not formal by any means, but it was clear from the thin, shiny material of her blouse and the three-inch heels she'd donned that she had been on a date.
"Big date?"
"None of your business," came her pillow-muffled retort.
"Look at me," he requested.
"I'm comfortable. And you shouldn't be here."
"I had to come see you. I know you asked for your space, but I've been doing a lot of thinking. You'd be surprised how hard it was for me not to be able to talk to you. I was so used to being able to see you, to tell you things," he paused, and she had to admit, her curiosity was peaked. He was rambling, and that was very un-Logan-like. She was the one that rambled. He was the calm and collected one. Nothing ever rattled him. She turned over to look at him, and he moved in closer to her.
"It's really good to see you."
She nodded, allowing him to put his hand on hers hesitantly. "You missed me?"
"I did. I've been thinking about everything you said. How I would want the life my parents want for me, and how you'd just fade away into the background, the face that appears only for birthdays and cocktail parties—but I've come to realize that you could never fade into the background for me. You have become this revolving point, something that I had no idea I was clinging to until you untangled yourself."
She looked down, but he angled her chin up to re-meet his eyes. "You don't believe me?"
"I," she paused, knowing he could write it off as a drunken inability to focus thought. Her thoughts were focused, however. They were centering around Tristan and the way he'd looked at her before she left him standing on the street. It occurred to her the reason she'd been so upset was because of this fear that the man sitting next to her at this very moment had put into her. Of being dragged into a world that would strip her of her personality and assign to her a foreign name, the only sign of femininity in the Mrs. that would precede her husband's name. Feeling so strongly for someone with money and influence had become something terrifying for her. Her apparent jealousy (was it jealousy or just drunken misunderstanding?) made it all too clear that she felt more for Tristan than she'd allowed herself to believe. It turns out she also reacts when frightened, not just when goaded.
"I don't know what to say to you."
He slid down onto the floor, still facing her, still holding onto her hand. He was knelt on both knees, and she wondered if he might just keep slipping. He seemed lost, yet determined. She wondered how life got so messed up. Why couldn't he have found these perfect words two months ago? Why couldn't she have realized that Tristan had more than the right words? The thought that he was the perfect man for her, her match in more ways than one, had occurred to her while at the 'cottage,' but she hadn't allowed herself to dwell on it. It was going so good, and she knew if she allowed herself to think about how right it felt, she'd inevitably think about how it might end. She couldn't bear the thought, too happy in his arms. Now not only was she not in his arms, but she'd probably ruined everything with her insecurities.
"Say you'll marry me."
That certainly pulled her out of her thoughts. Her alarmed eyes looked into his, noticing he'd pulled a ring box from his pocket. He had a ring. He had come on a trans-Atlantic flight with the intent of proposing. Now she was sure this was just another of her freaky dreams. She'd wake up any moment and hurry down the hall for Tristan to comfort her, and he'd tell her what was real.
"WHAT?" she yelled, much louder than she meant to. She needed to watch her alcohol consumption in the future. She had no gauge on proper behavior while under the influence, as it turned out.
"Rory," he said in the most soothing voice he could muster at her negative reaction. "Calm down, listen to me," he instructed, moving up to hold her to him, in hopes of calming her further.
"NO! GET AWAY," she yelled again, unable not to say the only things in her mind. Those were the wrong arms, the wrong eyes—probably the wrong ring. She couldn't even bring herself to look.
XXXX
Tristan felt like he'd been side-swiped by a Mack truck. He knew she'd had too much to drink, and maybe she didn't mean to sound so hateful and accusatory, but it didn't change the fact that he wanted to put his fist through a wall. No matter how many times he actually punctured through drywall and battered and bruised his knuckles, it never stopped the urge from coming on. How could she think that after the last few weeks he could even look at another girl? It was her that he saw when he closed his eyes, it was her he thought of at odd points of the day, it was her he couldn't wait to see after a long day. More importantly, it was her that was spending most every night in his bed.
There had to be something else going on.
He pondered what this something else could be while he walked off his violent urges. He circled the block, making larger concentric circles before winding them back down and ending up outside the dorm. He could only come up with one answer—and now the only thing he wanted to put his fist through was this Logan guy. He knew she'd broken up with him, and he was from old money. He wanted Rory to give everything up, including who she was, to be with him. Tristan would never ask that of her—who she was, that was the woman he loved.
He loved.
He allowed this truth to wash over him. It was pointless to deny it to himself of all people. It'd been impossible since he watched her ramble on about dating being good that night in his room. He hadn't doubted that she felt as he did until this point. When they were together, there was this strong, yet intangible, quality that seemed to permeate the air that was allowed between them. He'd never wanted to be in the presence of another person like this. The only thing that rattled him was the fact that he wasn't bothered in the least by the fact that he was falling for this woman.
Had she felt the same? Was she so lost in the mucky remains of her prior relationship to allow her feelings to get involved? He deemed it impossible. He'd seen her in the most intimate of moments. No one could fake that kind of emotion.
So, he loved her and she was angry. This was all he could confirm for himself. He looked to her door as he stepped onto the hall, fighting the urge to knock on her door. She had a lot to drink, she was probably passed out, oblivious to the night's events. He would go back to his room and attempt to do the same. He would go to her in the morning, with a clear head, and they could talk it out.
"GET AWAY," he heard her voice clear as a bell. "LOGAN, I SAID NO!"
There were no other words he needed to hear. There were no thoughts, there was just frantic motion. He banged on Dan's door, not caring who he woke. Dan opened his door instantly, his reaction time increased by the urgent nature of the pounding following what he thought he'd imagined a distressed woman's voice.
"You have master keys?" Tristan looked at him, his eyes flashing.
"Yeah, why?" he asked, grabbing said keys as Tristan moved out into the hall, already leaving Dan behind.
"'Cause if you don't, I'm going to break down that door. I just thought you'd like to know before I destroy university property," Tristan informed him as he first tried the door handle to her door, even before Dan could reach him.
