I turned back to Tristan. “I owe you an apology for everything I said.”
“I told you I was innocent.” He could have been a little more humble.
“Congratulations,” I said sarcastically. I wasn’t happy with him, either. I grabbed my backpack.
“Let me walk you home.” He followed me through the bar.
Once we got outside, I turned and said the things I’d held back in front of a wider audience. “You know, you could have told me your suspicions about Alfie in private.”
“Oh, like you would have even listened. You never would have believed me. You were taken in by his whole nice-boy pretense.”
“It’s not a pretense, Tristan. He actually is nice.”
“Then why are you out here with me?”
“Because I’m going home.” I turned, but he hooked my elbow and spun me to face him.
“You’re out here because what he did to you is unforgivable. You need to reevaluate your preconceptions, Sierra. Maybe I’m the nice one.”
“You?” As if.
He grinned. “I’m the last man left.”
“Not on Earth, Tristan. You’re the last man I’d ever consider.”
“Come on. Which one of us has been fighting for you? Which one of us is fighting for you now?”
I tilted my head. “Don’t you think I have the autonomy to make decisions without manipulation?”
“At least give me another chance. Get to know me at least. You owe me that.”
I disagreed that I owed him anything beyond an apology, but he was right that I’d never gotten to know him. “You know you really piss me off, Tristan.”
He winced. “I deserve that.”
I started to walk away, but I turned back. “You don’t fight fair, and you are way too competitive.”
“Nice to meet you, Kettle.”
I snorted. The liquor combined with my exhaustion to make me feel more than drunk. Punch drunk. I sighed. “Look, I may have misjudged you.”
“That’s all I’m saying.”
“But you haven’t exactly gone out of your way to get to know me, either.”
“You haven’t exactly given me a chance.”
He had a point. We’d been on the precipice of sleeping together one day, and the next, I was on a trajectory toward marriage and babies with another guy. I’d cut Tristan off with no warning.
Maybe I had been unfair to him, but I was too tired and crampy to sort it out tonight. “Fine. Do you wanna come to my yoga class tomorrow at the YMCA?”
He wavered before he said, “The one right up the street here?”
“The very one.”
He stepped forward and leaned in like he might kiss me. Instead, he stuck out his hand with a grin. “I will be there.”
We shook hands like we’d made peace, but he still had a lot to prove.
Chapter 29
Saturday morning, my phone rang. I let it go to voice mail. A text followed, but I didn’t open it.
Alfie wanted to talk, but I already suspected what he’d say. I needed time to process that and decide if and when I could live with it.
Until then I didn’t want to see him, hear him, or read him.
Beyond the fact he’d done something so unthinkably cruel, even if it was aimed at Tristan, it was the lie that had me questioning his fundamental integrity. If he’d been willing to mislead me about something so obviously important to me, what else would he lie about? Had our entire relationship been based on his guilt for something he wished he could change?
Sure, he used to like me, but maybe his past feelings for me had turned out to be as flimsy as my feelings for Tristan. The worst thing I could imagine would be faking our way through a hollow relationship because it had the patina of a love I thought we’d found.
Tristan showed up for yoga ten minutes late. If it had been an aerobics class that might not have mattered, but there’s an order to yoga, a serenity that comes from moving through each pose. When Tristan knocked on the door, I had to disrupt the flow to let him in and settle him on his own mat.
“Can you follow along?” I whispered.
He sighed. “How long is the class?”
It had taken five minutes to square him away. “Forty-five minutes more. Watch what I do. Do your best.”
“How hard can it be?” I shot him eye daggers, and he had the sense to say, “Sorry. I’ve never done this.”
“Exactly.”
I apologized to the class and moved us on to the next pose.
Mrs. Shih and Mrs. Gupta exchanged glances. Tristan had managed to tick off my yoga moms.
To his credit, or maybe due to his sheer competitive nature, Tristan shut up and mastered each of the poses. He was more flexible than I would have expected, and his strength served him well. Mrs. Garrett watched him out of the corner of her eye, and no wonder. When he did the Side Crane pose, his leg and arm muscles contracted, showing off his beautiful body. He winked at me, and I couldn’t tell if he was flirting or letting me know nothing challenged him.
An image of Alfie doing the same poses flashed through my memory. Comparing and contrasting Alfie and Tristan was like weighing an aged scotch against a light bubbly beer. It wasn’t a fair fight. Alfie might take more time to appreciate, but he was complex and serious. And he left a wicked hangover.
When class ended, I expected the ladies to swarm Tristan like they had Alfie, but they all quietly put their things together and said goodbye, each patting me on the arm or giving me a strained smile.
Maybe they’d gotten a clue they shouldn’t intrude so much in my life.
Fat chance.
Mrs. Martinez was the last to leave, and she leaned in for a hug, whispering in my ear, “I hope Alfie will come back again.”
I turned my face away when she drew back so she wouldn’t see the tears filling my eyes. Damn hormones. “See you next week.”
Tristan waited by the door. “Can’t I walk you home?”
I unlocked my bike while he fetched his Vespa, and together we pushed our cycles along the sidewalk, like we were rolling broken purchases away from a garage sale.
We passed right in front of Alfie’s bar, and I glanced up at the French windows, wondering if he might be looking out. My stomach churned, but I’d been having cramps all morning.
Tristan and I turned onto the street he and I had once walked along in the moonlight. Alfie and I had walked it, too. I’d willed Tristan to kiss me that night, but he’d disappointed me. I chuckled at how easily I’d been disappointed at the loss of something I’d never had, something I’d never really wanted. It was a pale imitation of true heartache.
I’d always crushed on Tristan because he was pretty, therefore, I wanted to know him—the exact opposite of my relationship with Alfie. I got to know Alfie, and he’d become beautiful.
Ludus. That was the name for uncommitted flirtatious love—seduction, teasing, playing. All my adult life, I’d been mistaking Ludus for Eros. Keeping my relationships light and bubbly, I’d walked away unscathed.
Until now.
As we approached the town house, Tristan asked, “Can I come up?”
I hadn’t realized I’d signed up for more time in his company, and I couldn’t deal with him for another hour. “It’s been a rough week.”