Forbidden Games

Uppercut

"Mommy says that's bad. Not awowed. You awowed?"

The air goes cold in Tristan's room. Though my cheeks are burning bright red. My heart skips a beat. Two. Three. Harry's high-pitched voice goes through my mind over and over, like a broken record. My throat is dry, my hands shaking, and the scenarios bounce around my brain. Tristan and I were just caught red-handed. Our last kiss might ruin everything if one of us doesn't do something quickly.

I dry my tears hurriedly and look at Tristan in desperation. He jumps up suddenly. If his weary appearance is anything to go by, I'd say he doesn't really know what to do either.

"Kissy on the mouf is no no."

The little boy looks at both of us, his eyes growing more intense. In a total panic, but determined to find a way out, I try to force a smile and hold my hand out to him.

"Come sit down next to me."

He hesitates for a minute, but then picks up his stuffed animal and clambers up onto the bed. Feeling Tristan's eyes on me, I turn and give him an SOS look so he'll come up with a believable excuse. Manipulating a 3-year-old shouldn't be too complicated really. Especially when he admires his older brother as much as he does – and trusts him blindly.

Except that this is Harrison we're talking about, a tortured little soul who looks like a baby but already knows way too much about the world of adults . . .

And Tristan, a guy so attached to his principles and his little brother, that he's hesitating: lie or tell the truth?

"Can you keep a secret, Harry?" he asks out of the blue.

Tristan's voice is relaxed, almost playful. I sigh, realizing he's come up with something. Tristan walks toward us, then kneels so he's at his brother's height. One of his muscular shoulders brushes against my leg. He flashes me a sweet, knowing smile that warms my heart.

It's not time to start drawing little pink hearts everywhere. Really not the time.

In response to his brother's question, Harrison nods, but squeezes his alligator tighter in his arms, as if the idea of learning the truth makes him nervous. My heart breaks a little when I look at this child who is growing up way too fast.

"Liv and I were rehearsing a scene from a play," Tristan explains. "It was just practice, nothing more. You understand?"

"So you're not getting mawied?"

"Married? To Sawyer? I'd rather die!"

His shining eyes get lost in mine for a moment and then he lets out an amused groan and turns to ruffle his little brother's hair. I reply with a smile:

"Marry that? You'd have to drug me! Or give me a lobotomy!"

"What's dwug?"

The big brother cracks up laughing and pulls the little one into his arms. Contrary to what I thought, Harry doesn't seem too worried about our kiss. Tristan's deep voice cuts through the silence again:

"Alright, so it will be our little secret? Just the three of us?"

Harrison nods.

"You won't tell anyone? It's important, Harry," Tristan insists.

"Alfred wants to be in a pway!" he cries, kissing his stuffed animal on the nose.

In a flash, he wriggles out of his brother's strong arms and has already moved onto something else, heading to his room to look at a book that he can't even read yet. Tristan and I are alone again, face to face, looking into each other's eyes. I sigh. He bites his lip.

"That could have been bad," he mutters. "I hate lying to him!"

"He took it well. We reacted how we should have. We did the best we could . . . "

"Yeah. You did a great job, by the way," he jokes, smiling.

"Without me, you'd still be there staring at the wall like you'd seen a ghost."

"Without you, I wouldn't be in this shitty situation."

His tone is not aggressive. It's actually the total opposite. As he stands up, he runs his hand over his neck, still looking me in the eye as if he were waiting for an answer. It slips out almost immediately.

"I can't help it, Tristan."

"We can't help it."

"So what do we do?"

"We fight, we push each other to the edge and pretend to hate each other, like we've always done. And we stop putting on a show like we did tonight."

"What makes you think I'm pretending, Quinn?" I smile, looking at him.

His smile widens and he's more gorgeous than ever when he laughs quietly, then says:

"You never hated me, Sawyer. You've always admired me greatly . . . and been uncontrollably attracted to me."

"Oh right! I forgot about your psychological issues! It's time for your red and white pills!"

"If only they could help me get my head straight."

"About me, you mean?"

"Who else?"

There's a notepad sitting on the bed and I grab it and throw it at him, missing him by an inch. He's already walking out the door, telling Harry he's coming to build his castle. I hear the little boy cry out with excitement and tell his brother he has to wear a crown.

The king of jerks. It's confirmed.

***

The kiss incident happened a little over a week ago and so far Harry has kept his word. No one in the house has found out. Tristan hasn't changed his attitude toward Harrison. He spends just as much time looking after him as he did before. As for me, I've been avoiding being alone with them, worried that the taboo subject will come up again. Harry may be preoccupied, but he hasn't forgotten. I know him better than that.

Our anonymous letter-writer seems to be on vacation. No more notes or scary phone calls. Bu it doesn't stop Tristan and I from imagining the dozens of crazy scenarios, or from betting on who we think might be threatening us. Whether it's at breakfast or between strokes in the pool, in front of the TV or through the wall we share in our bedrooms, we talk about it every time it occurs to us. I'm still banking on it being a vengeful ex of his, even though he swears it couldn't be. But being a heartbreaker comes at a cost.

"Who?" he asks, when I bring up my theory yet again.

"Keep your voice down, would you . . ."

Just as I say this, Sienna comes into the kitchen, yelling at us about something or other. The brunette tornado opens a cupboard and takes out a bag of sweet potatoes, setting to work in the kitchen. Her new fetish is making meals in advance and freezing everything. Tristan and I look at our full plates sitting on the counter, not knowing how to escape.

"I'm going to finish in the living room," Tristan attempts.

"You're not going anywhere, and neither are you, Liv! You may have come home too late to eat with us, but you're going to eat together, here, period!"

Frozen at first by his mother's barking orders, Tristan starts laughing when he realizes she's threatening him with a potato peeler. Much to my surprise, the rebel doesn't say anything, but picks up his phone and starts typing a text. Which he sends to . . . me.

[So, as I was saying before the Kitchenator showed up, which of my exes?]

I take my phone out of my pocket, the screen cracked, and type back quickly:

[Lana?]

[Too nice and innocent to do something like this]

[Piper?]

[Negatory. She didn't know anything about you when the threats started.]

Hmm, interesting. No mention of innocence in regards to Piper . . .

[The twins? (I just vomited a little in my mouth.)]

Tristan reads my last message and lets out a deep, sexy laugh. Asshole. A deep desire comes over me: I want to push him off his stool so hard he breaks a bone or two. But his response is already making my phone vibrate.

[Not enough brain cells between the two of them to come up with such a plan.]

This time I'm the one who laughs.

[So who, then? You've been with all the girls in town, should we start hanging posters asking for witnesses?]

Tristan rests his elbows on the counter, pensive. Then he starts typing again. Sienna has no idea we're carrying on this secret conversation, too busy with her potatoes.

[What if it wasn't one of my exes, but one of yours?]

[You mean . . .]

I look up at him and see the hate in his eyes.

[Yeah, him. The bastard you wouldn't let me beat up the other day. K.Y.L.E.]

I shake my head no.

[He has no reason to blackmail me. Nothing to gain . . . ]

Tristan sighs and pushes his plate away.

[Well, great progress. It could be anyone. We're not going to solve this tonight. Dessert, Sawyer?]

[Even in a text, you insist on calling me by my last name.]

[I like calling you that.]

[Because it pisses me off?]

[Among other things. And because it reminds me that you and I don't share the same name . . .]

My eyes widen when I understand that's the real reason. The fact that we don't have the same family name makes our relationship less . . . scandalous, forbidden. And this gesture, while it may have been secret until now, makes me want to kiss him. But I have to settle for yet another text message:

[I get it . . . I (passionately) love that idea, Quinn <3]

His eyes soften and he smiles at me, causing butterflies to flutter in my stomach. Damn dimple. Looking away, I type quickly:

[Oreo milkshake! The Bachelor is starting soon!]

[Oh right . . . there's a Miami Heat game on tonight.]

[Tristan? Do you want to be smothered to death in your sleep?]

He rolls his eyes and jumps off his stool, pulling down on his Led Zeppelin tee. I watch his every move. He notices, comes close and stares at me, his eyes dark and playful, obviously fighting back a smile.

"You wish, Sawyer. You'd love to come to me in my sleep . . . or more like in my bed . . ." he whispers before nonchalantly heading to the fridge.

Trembling slightly, my cheeks and heart on fire, I check that Sienna, concentrating on her mixer, hasn't heard anything. I leave the kitchen, typing:

[I'll be waiting for my milkshake in the living room, you tease!]

I flop onto the couch and turn on the TV. I salivate thinking of my dessert - or the boy who is going to deliver it. Harry is in bed, my dad is holed up in his office, Sienna is out of my field of vision. Tonight is looking good. Except for one thing.

Instead of an Oreo milkshake, I get the recipe in a text and realize that Tristan has left. Just when I'm about to ask him what he's doing, I receive one last text with his answer:

[I have a date tonight. See ya, Sawyer.]

I blink my eyes a few times to check I read it right: "date." It's the first time Tristan has hit me with such a low blow. He's tried to make me jealous a million times, but never deliberately tried to hurt me. This is not like him. I clench my jaws and choke back my tears just as someone plops down on the couch next to me.

It's Tristan, a smirk on his face.

"What?" he jokes as I glare at him. "I have a date with The Bachelor!"

Asshole.

MY asshole.

***

Fergus is a little overwhelmed. Let me rephrase that: Fergus is completely overwhelmed. From the kitchen at his parents' house, he's trying to control the coming and going of guests – most of whom weren't invited.

"I thought there would be about 15 of us. But this is more than twice that!" he moans.

Fergus is panicked and gathers his courage to pull a bottle of Jack Daniels from a complete stranger who just stole it from a cupboard.

"And they're still coming!" Bonnie adds.

Originally she had planned to help our buddy in his time of need, but she quickly changed her mind. She notices Drake in the next room and abandons us, spinning in her frilly dress.

"My dad's going to kill me if he finds out I planned a party when he wasn't here."

"Fergie, it's going to be ok. In four hours everyone will be gone. In the meantime, we'll try to keep the damage to a minimum!"

"Times are hard for my family right now. If we break anything, I'm dead!"

It's only the second time I've come to the little house with its old-fashioned, dusty decorations. Fergus doesn't like to mix friends and family. I think he has a hard time owning up to his parents' old school vibe. They're Irish immigrants who've never really had the grand lifestyle their son dreams of. I look around and notice a few old pieces of furniture seem to be missing. I don't dare ask my friend if he moved them or if his parents sold them to get a little extra cash. All I know is Fergie needs my unconditional support right now.

Of course, as I think this, a staggering brunette decides to take a beer shower in the middle of the hall . . .

I try to turn down the music several times, but there's always some brat who turns it back up. Fergus starts hyperventilating when he notices the number of drinks spilled on the floor and I walk around with a trash bag. As if my reputation needed more help . . . People kindly mock me, dubbing me Miss Trash, but I don't relent. I'm here to help my friend who stupidly thought he could have a fiesta in the Keys, with all these irresponsible rich kids who do nothing but spend money all day.

"No doubt about it, you know how to have fun, Sawyer . . ."

With my trash bag in hand, I turn to see Tristan, a teasing smile on his lips. He's incredibly sexy in his dark jeans and navy blue polo shirt. I check myself and realize my hair is a rat's nest and I have beer spilled just about all over me. After looking me over from head to toe, he drains his bottle in one gulp and hands it to me, as if he were helping.

"You don't always have to be perfect, you know. You're allowed to let loose."

"When I let loose, I do things I shouldn't do," I murmur, staring into his eyes.

He crosses his arms over his torso, surprised by my boldness. His band mates call to him from across the room, but he ignores them.

"Regrets, Sawyer?"

"None. I own up to everything I do, say or feel. But that doesn't mean I'll do it again . . ."

"Never?"

His eyes darken and I could swear he just shivered.

"Never say never."

His eyes stare at an invisible spot on my neck. Then he licks his lower lip and without saying a word, steps around me and walks away. I finally exhale, realizing I'd been holding my breath. Just as I'm about to start walking forward, I feel a hand on the back of my neck that stops me. Tristan's deep, warm voice fills my ears:

"Even if you say 'never', I'd find a way to change your mind, Liv."

"Man are you arrogant," I sigh, my heart racing.

"No, just realistic."

As quickly as he showed up, he's gone, heading toward his friends who are doing keg stands. I try to control my pulse as Fergus rushes over, about to burst into tears.

"I found two . . . two . . . two . . ."

"Two what? Calm down, Fergie!"

"In the bed . . . in . . . "

"What bed?"

"My parents' bed!"

I grab his tee-shirt and pull him into the dining room where the liquor cabinet is. I pour us each a shot of god knows what and hand him his, ordering him to drink, for his own good. Since the situation is beyond his control, he might as well relax a little. It'll be easier.

"We drink on three!"

"But . . ."

"Fergus, drink, or I'm calling the cops! One . . . two . . . three!"

The clear alcohol burns my throat, but I pour us a second round and my friend seems to relax quickly. As I drink the second glass, I lock eyes with Tristan, across the room. I don't know if he's watching me, but it sure looks like it.

Did he come here . . . for me?

I leave the living room an hour later, which has been transformed into a dance floor, leaving Bonnie and Fergus to complete their show. Once I'm in the kitchen, I gulp down a huge glass of cold water, staring at the bruise that is already forming on my right arm.

Note to self: never dance with Fergie, ever again!

I can hear laughter in the hallway. I lean against the counter and take a break for a few minutes. Besides the guy sleeping on the floor, the room is empty. Almost all the partygoers are crammed into the living room. That's where I left Tristan. Five minutes ago, our eyes met when I was dancing, trying to follow Bonnie's choreography. He was standing still, leaning against the wall surrounded by his musicians. Several girls were milling about. He seemed to be ignoring them. It felt like he was too busy watching me, with that expression that drives me wild and sends heat rushing through my core. I'd never wanted to kiss him so badly. To fight against the impulse – as powerful as it was forbidden – I left the room and came here, alone.

Let loose? Not tonight . . .

"I think I saw her somewhere! Liv! Liv!" I hear suddenly.

I don't recognize the voice right away. All I know is that it's a guy. And he's drunk.

"Liv Sawyer, the best lay in Key West!"

This time I click. I go towards him, almost tripping over the guy passed out on the tile floor. Kyle Evans is in the hall, telling his lies to a new audience. And it turns out I'm the main character in his fabricated tale.

"Ah! There you are, sexy!"

"Kyle, stop making up shit! And stop drinking . . ."

I walk over to the tall figure with brown hair and beady eyes and try to make him understand that he needs to shut up, but he grabs me by the waist and won't let go. I try to push him away, but he pulls me with him. People laugh around us, thinking they're watching the most ridiculous, pitiful couple on the island.

"Kyle, dude, don't be a jerk. Leave her alone," Drake says as he's walking by.

"I'm not doing anything! And she wouldn't have come over if she didn't want to see me!"

"Let go of me, Kyle!"

My tone is very clear: I really want him to let go and I'm about to use my teeth to make it happen. But the pressure of his hands on my waist increases and he whispers in my ear, his breath stinking of beer:

"Come on, let's take this somewhere private . . ."

I'm about to scream and knee him where it hurts, when a huge fist appears and smashes into his face. Uppercut. I cry out in shock and back away, finally freed from the monster's grasp. I turn my head and gasp when I see Tristan lunging at Kyle, who is already stunned and only standing because he has the wall behind him.

"Tristan, stop! He's not worth it!" I scream, trying to pull them apart.

I put my hand on his tense biceps, and he suddenly turns around, staring deep into my eyes. I can read so many things in those blue irises. A mixture of violence, anger, worry, jealousy, and something close to tenderness. Maybe even more . . . But those beautiful eyes pull away when Kyle's fist slams into Tristan's cheek and the fight begins again. This time, there's no stopping them. Loyalty requires their friends to get involved as well. After a minute or so, there are about ten guys hitting each other. Me? I'm screaming at nothing.

And I wouldn't mind getting in and throwing a few punches myself . . .

Fergus shows up, sweating from dancing so much and furious to see his hallway converted into a boxing ring. I don't think I've ever heard him yell so loudly:

"OUTSIDE! EVERYBODY OUT!"

"The cops are on their way, I called them!" Bonnie adds.

"What? Why'd you do that?" the redhead asks, enraged. "They'll call my parents!"

"I was afraid," she says shyly. "For Liv."

"OUTSIDE, I SAID! EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU!"

Everyone has danced, drunk, flirted and punched enough, so they leave the house willingly, filing out one after the other. Kyle disappears in bad shape, propped up by his friends. The Key Whys vanish as well, Tristan trailing slightly behind, turning back once to wave to me to join him. But I resist. I stay with Fergus, feeling totally ashamed:

"Fergie, I'm going to help you tidy up . . ."

"No. Go home, Liv. Honestly, you've done enough. Your ex is a pig and your step brother is a ticking time bomb."

"Are you sure I can't . . .?" I try one more time, my voice tinged with sadness.

"Bonnie will help me. Go."

I think this is the first real fight we've ever had. At least it's the first time I've disappointed him so much. Since I can't make myself useful here, I drag my feet to the door and join Tristan who is leaning against the wooden post of the porch. He's holding his jaw as if it was painful.

Something tells me a new duel is about to start . . .