Hard Pack (Ridden Hard Book 2) Page 8

  “Yes you do.”

  His chuckle was bitter. “Great. Even you know I’m an uptight prick.”

  “You’re responsible and disciplined. There’s a difference.” She wasn’t saying it to make him feel better. It was one of the things that made him attractive.

  “One is a polite way of saying the other.”

  Another gust tore around them, and she hugged herself, trying to keep her teeth from chattering in the cold.

  He frowned. “I shouldn’t be keeping you here.”

  “I guess I’ll let you get to work. Call me if you figure anything out? Please?” She could do pleading when it was for the cause, regardless of who she had to beg.

  “I will.” He turned away to set his ski boots on the floor of the rubber mat of the turned down back seats. He looked back at her, and his expression had shifted to something softer. “Do you have plans?”

  “Hot chocolate and popcorn and the most distracting movie I can find on Netflix.” She hid her wince as the honest answer slipped out. His question had caught her off-guard.

  “I’m stopping at the grocery store before I head up to my cabin. I can have all three in under fifteen minutes.”

  If he was anyone else, she’d assume he was inviting her to join him. Assumptions with Tristan were dangerous. “I don’t catch your meaning.”

  He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair, leaving blond strands poking up every which-way. “You know more of the details about this deal, from your side of the fence, than anyone. If you don’t have an answer, you can tell me who does. Stick around a little longer, and we’ll see if bashing our heads together helps us figure out what’s so damning about this situation.”

  Did he have an ulterior motive in asking her to stay? No. Another thing she appreciated about him—he was honest about what he wanted. She tucked aside the disappointment that there wouldn’t be more to the evening than work. But with this new scrutiny, added to their already-volatile past, the last thing she needed was to indulge her crush. She rubbed her stomach. “Sure. I’m in.”

  TRISTAN WALKED INTO the grocery store with Victoria. He wasn’t sure why he’d invited her to stay. Or rather, the reason he gave her was valid, but a whisper inside pointed out there was more to it.

  With her next to him, close enough her heat radiated through his sweatshirt, and the faint floral of her perfume teased him, wicked thoughts knocked at his mind. He wanted to ignore them. It wasn’t easy to block out the tantalizing reminder of how she tasted. How she felt wrapped around him. The sounds she made when she came.

  “What kind of hot chocolate?” His question came out louder than he intended.

  She gave him a funny look. “Uh...?”

  “You said hot chocolate and popcorn.”

  Her laugh wove through the memories dancing in his head. “It’s more of a concept than a literal.”

  “Conceptual hot chocolate?”

  “Sort of.” She grabbed his hand and a basket, then tugged him toward the frozen food. She stopped in front of the pizza rolls. “It’s about grabbing too much of whatever looks good, and indulging for the night.”

  The way she said indulge rolled over him like temptation. The last thing he should be doing was tumbling down this path, but it was easier to think about than a looming financial investigation.

  She met his gaze, and her eyes grew wide. “What?” Her question was breathless.

  “You look good. Can I have you as an appetizer?” No, no, no. He needed to stop. But he didn’t want to.

  She licked her bottom lip. “Not dessert?”

  “I’ll take both if you’re on the table.”

  Her eyes locked on his, and her chest rose and fell faster. When she ducked her head, the spell was broken. “I mean food, dummy. Whatever looks good, food-wise.” She grabbed a bag of pizza rolls and tossed them in the basket, followed by mozzarella sticks, and potato skins.

  The brush-off stung more than he wanted to admit. He slid a cool demeanor back in place. “This is all crap food. We can’t eat this for dinner.”

  “You’re kidding.” She finally looked at him again. “You’re an adult. Not on the training circuit. You can have chocolate cake for breakfast if you want. Ooh, chocolate cake.” She spun and headed toward the bakery.

  He followed, fascination mingling with irritation. “This isn’t about whether or not I can pick my own food.”

  She turned to face him, walking backwards. With the occasional glance over her shoulder, she navigated the aisles smoothly, stopping in front of a shelf of Bundt cakes. “Yes, it is.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “When you order pizza, how do you order it?”

  “One each—pepperoni, veggie, and supreme. That typically feeds the office.”

  “I mean for yourself.” The corners of her mouth twitched with amusement.

  He refused to admit he didn’t really order pizza for himself. “Depends on my mood.”

  “Sure. Then this is only me I’m talking about. I grew up on a strict diet. I feel guilty every time I break it. But my therapist makes me.”

  “He makes you eat pizza rolls.” This was a bullshit line of conversation. He didn’t stay away from the high-fat, high-calorie foods because of residual hang-ups from training. It was just the smart way to do things.

  Victoria nodded. “Yup. To remind myself nothing bad happens if I indulge responsibly.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about. Not that I’m worried about anything.”

  “All right. You get a salad, or a steak, or whatever your manly constitution dictates is appropriate for dinner. I’m having chocolate cake.”

  “How many steps are between chocolate cake is no big deal and one drink won’t hurt?” He wanted to smack himself as he was asking the question. What was wrong with him? The reflex to keep her at arm’s length had kicked in without him realizing it, and now it was too late to take it back.

  The glare she turned on him, any playfulness replaced with hurt, added to his regret. “Fuck you.” She bit the words off, dropped the basket on the ground, and walked away.

  “Vick— Wait.”

  She didn’t even pause.

  Tristan would chase her down, but he’d do it with a peace offering. He grabbed the abandoned groceries, a tray of fudge brownies, plus a small cake, and some donuts, and headed for the registers.

  He cared. Probably more than he should. Her wounded expression was seared into his mind, burning him from the inside out. They’d been having fun until he played the butt-hurt card and pushed her away. And as much as habit said that was fine, he wasn’t okay with it at all. He needed to make things right, if she let him.

  And if you remember you’ll never be her first. That fucking voice of his coach’s was back. Tristan knew Victoria had been with other men, but that wasn’t where the nagging came from. Mischa was her first love.

  And Tristan hated that even if he pursued this, whatever it was, he’d never be more than second place. Even more, he hated that he couldn’t move past it.

  Chapter Ten

  WHY DID VICTORIA KEEP setting herself up like this? Every time she sought Tristan out, it ended up with her furious and retreating. She’d canceled her therapy appointment last minute today, to come up here and find him. She told herself it was because he needed this information right away.

  She wanted to sit, but the bus stop bench was covered with snow. The frozen tears on her cheeks were because it was so chilly, her eyes were watering, nothing more.

  The moment his voice had turned kind, she let herself forget their past. And it had backfired on her again.

  “Victoria.” His voice cut through the night and made her pulse skip.

  She’d refuse to react if she had a choice. She pasted on a flat expression and faced Tristan. “What?”

  “Why are you waiting for the bus?”

  That was what he asked first? At least it made it easier to stay mad at him. “Because Uber is fucking expensive up here on snow days.
”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to lead with that. I’m sorry—that’s what I should have said. What I wanted to say.”

  “That’s nice.” She spoke through clenched teeth, as much to keep them from chattering as anything.

  He took her hands between his, and the warmth that seeped through her gloves wasn’t all physical. “I’ll take you back to your car, if you’ll let me.”

  “So you have another five or ten minutes to pepper me with sweetness and insults?” She was tempted, and not just because she was cold. She refused to let him screw with her head anymore.

  “There are things I want to say, but I won’t if you’re not interested in listening.”

  She should pull her hands back, but couldn’t find the desire. “You can say it here as well as you can there.”

  “Come up to the cabin with me?” His eyes were soft and his tone sincere, and he looked so good. “Pizza rolls are in the car.”

  “It’s not about pizza rolls.” She stepped back, breaking the contact between them.

  “I know. It’s about the hot and cold. The fact that I’ve spent my entire life metering my words, and around you my filters fly out the window.”

  “This is my fault?”

  “I don’t think that for a second, but I can’t promise not to stick my foot in my mouth again. I’d still like your company and input for the night.”

  His honesty sent cracks running through her defenses. “All right. But only because you’re pretty when you grovel.”

  He chuckled and bowed, gesturing toward the parking lot. “I’ll take it.”

  As she walked past, he rested his hand on the small of her back. It was a gesture she’d felt her entire life. Sometimes it made her skin crawl, mostly she ignored it. But every time Tristan did it, a dangerous current raced through her, trying to convince her she could get used to that kind of familiarity with him.

  Best way to get past that was to stay on task. She was here to discuss the pending investigation. See if they could find the cause, if they knocked their heads together. “Do you have a plan of attack?” she asked, as he drove.

  “I’m formulating one. Give me a few minutes, and you’ll be in awe of my genius.”

  “I’m sure I will.” She tucked her amusement away, only letting enough out to be polite.

  The conversations lulled as he drove, sinking into her lungs and making her want to gasp. It was an almost claustrophobic sensation—she wanted to find the easy banter they’d managed a couple of times. On the other hand, she didn’t want to say the wrong thing, or provoke him into saying the wrong thing.

  Indecision bounced in her skull until she wanted to scream. She was used to being selective when speaking her mind, but this was ridiculous. She didn’t tiptoe around conversations for him or anyone.

  “Mischa and I used to come up here.” She cringed the moment the words were out. There were some things she could bring up with more tact.

  The twitch of Tristan’s eyebrow made her think he felt the same. “Did he take you up to the clearing?”

  “No. What does that mean? It sounds creepy.”

  A smile ghosted across his face. “I guess it does.”

  “We came up here a few times in the spring. He insisted it was a good place and time of year to find my peace of mind.” She shouldn’t have gone down this path. It wasn’t one of her least favorite memories, but it did have some unpleasantness attached to it. “I only made the trip with him a couple of times. I hated it.”

  “Why?”

  Might as well finish the thought, since she started it. “I didn’t want to meditate my worries away. I wanted to talk to someone about them. I needed him to listen. To—” She swallowed the words before she could babble out of control and expose too much of herself.

  At least she didn’t let slip that the only reason she ever agreed to the trips were they offered a twisted connection to Tristan. The biggest reason Mischa was familiar with the place was because Tristan had introduced him to it. “I like it better up here in the winter anyway.”

  “A California girl like you?”

  The light playfulness was enough for her to grasp and climb from the dip into her past. “I’m not a native. And yes.”

  “Spring is supposed to be all about rebirth and hope though, isn’t it?” Tristan asked. “There’s a symbolism in that? I don’t know. I’m pretty sure that’s what Mischa would say.”

  And he had. “It’s true. Everything is born anew in the spring. But by then, its path is already determined. If it fails, everyone sees, and it doesn’t have a choice but to continue on that path.”

  Tristan glanced at her. “We’re talking about... flowers?”

  “Sure. Why not?” She felt a smile threatening. “In the winter, nothing is decided yet. Will that flower hold on and bloom in the spring? Will it move to North Carolina instead?”

  “Do you think that happens a lot?”

  “Probably.” She shrugged. “Not that I’ve had a lot of tulips as close friends, but if you were a flower, wouldn’t you rather bloom in North Carolina than freeze-your-ass-off-Utah?”

  “It’s not that bad. I live here by choice.”

  “You’re not a delicate flower.”

  “You don’t think? I’m wounded,” he teased.

  She laughed out loud, catching herself off-guard. “Definitely not. You’re something more rugged. Like well-oiled leather treated with attitude.”

  “I don’t know what that means, but I like it. And here we are, home-sweet-rental-home.”

  The car slowed, and he pulled into the driveway. The cabin was one in a line of almost-identical; wood exterior, lamps and trim cast in wrought iron, and a sloped roof.

  He waited for her at the front of the car, holding his duffel bag and the groceries as she climbed out. He held out his hand. “Maintenance shoveled, but there are still slick patches.”

  “Thanks.” She rested her palm against his, and the familiar warmth from earlier seeped through her gloves. She didn’t care if ice was the excuse, and it was a good one in the heels she wore, she liked this feeling.

  He let them inside. “I’d give the grand tour, but it’s not a big place. You can see the kitchen. The entrance to one bedroom is on the other side, other bedroom off the living room. I’m going to shed the rest of my gear. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Easier said than done. Victoria left her shoes by the door, and hung her coat in the front closet. She wandered further into the house, tracing her fingers over the decor without making contact. The entire place screamed rental. Neutral colors. Paintings of the mountains, but no people.

  What did Tristan’s house look like inside? The thought caught her off-guard, but curiosity kept her focused on the question. His office was an exercise in order. Shelves with books in alphabetical order, faced to the same distance from the edge. No stray paperwork.

  To a casual observer, it might look as sterile as this property, but the digital frames he kept on his desk and shelves, with pictures of friends and family, were the hint of color that set it apart.

  She shook the tangent aside, grabbed the groceries, and headed to the kitchen. She shoved the cold food in the freezer, then moved to the second bag. When she pulled out a box of donuts, a tray of brownies, and a small chocolate cake, she couldn’t help her smile.

  “I wasn’t sure what kind you wanted.” Tristan’s voice startled her.

  She whirled, a nervous laugh escaping. “Which one did you want?”

  “The chocolate donuts. Spencer—another friend—used to make batches of donuts when we were growing up. When I was feeling rebellious, I’d indulge.”

  An image flashed through her mind of teenage Tristan, trying so hard to stick to an athletic regimen, cramming a pastry in his mouth before he got caught. “I like it.”

  Something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye, and she turned toward the flash of color. The corner of a magazine peeked out of a drawer. She tugged, and the issue of
Teen People slipped free.

  “I’ll-take-that.” Tristan grabbed for it, urgency in his voice.

  She was about to hand it over, when she took a closer look at the cover. “Holy shit. This is you.” About fifteen years younger, with blond hair flopped over one eye, and wearing an Olympic sweater. The headline was Tristan Hough. Brains & Looks.

  She shouldn’t laugh, she’d had enough of these with her face on them over the years, but a giggle slipped out. “You keep this in your rental property?”

  “No.” He wrapped an arm around her waist, whirled her enough to threaten her balance, and snatched the magazine away.

  She leaned more of her weight into him than she probably needed, to steady herself. “It just landed there by coincidence.”

  He sighed and tucked the publication under his arm. “My sister stayed up here a few months ago. I’m pretty sure she has boxes of different magazines with me on them. She thinks it’s funny to leave them in random places for me to find.”

  “Sounds like my kind of person. Love to meet her.” Did Victoria just invite herself to meet the family? “Unless you’re worried she’ll tell me all your deepest darkest secrets.”

  “That’s some serious extortion-type material. She doesn’t know any of that.” He was grinning. “Anyway. You ready to hear my brilliant plan?” He nodded at his laptop on the dining room table.

  “Absolutely.”

  He plugged the computer in and set it in front of a seat at one end of the dining table. “We’re going to draw up a timeline around the property donation.” He scooted a second chair over, and gestured to it, pushing it in as she sat. “I want everything on it from both your side and ours.” He took his place in front of the laptop.

  “I’ll give you whatever I have.”

  “Perfect.” Tristan opened a spreadsheet and started typing. All traces of irritation and falseness were gone. His eyes shone with determination.

  She fed him dates when he asked for them, specifying when she wasn’t sure. The longer he worked, the more she focused on his face than on the screen.

  “The interview with—” His words stalled when he caught her gaze. “What’s up?”