Forbidden Games

Out of sight

"What are you doing, Quinn? You're going to give us away!"

I've been running after him since we left Fergus' house, but Tristan refuses to speak to me. Strangely enough, his anger at Kyle seems to have been transferred to me. Now that we're back home, I have to whisper when all I really want to do is scream. It's dark out, the entire villa is asleep and he's not making any attempt to be quiet.

"Did you hear what I said?"

I catch up to him on the stairs, stepping around him and turning to face him. Standing on the top step, I have a few centimeters on him. For once. He turns on the light and I see the red mark on his cheek. It's turning purple. I turn off the light. He turns it back on.

"Tristan!"

"What?" he says loudly, annoyed.

I press my hand over his mouth and wait a few seconds to make sure no one has woken up. My dad or stepmom could surprise us.

"You seem to be doing everything in your power to get us caught."

"So?"

His deep voice is quieter, but his face is still just as intense. His jaws are clenched, his brow furrowed and his blue eyes almost black with anger.

"If someone finds out, we're dead . . ."

"No, we just have to own up to what we're doing."

"Are you joking?" I mutter, feeling a shiver run down my spine.

"No, I'm sick of this damn secret! Sick of not being myself! I'm going to lose my mind playing this double life game. I feel like I'm turning into a schizophrenic."

"First of all, don't talk so loud! And second of all, would you stop just thinking about yourself! I mean, think about it!"

"That's all I ever do, Sawyer, think! You're not the only one who mulls things over in her head. I've looked at it from every possible vantage point, a million fucking times. And I don't see what the problem is. You're not my sister and I'm not your brother . . ."

"That's not what everyone else thinks!" I interrupt.

"Who cares what everyone else thinks!"

"I do! I care! I thought we'd agreed . . ."

"I changed my mind, that's all. I don't want to hide anymore. It doesn't make sense!"

"Have you stopped and thought about the consequences, even for a second?"

"Yes, Liv! And I'm sick of thinking! I want to live!" he says, seriously irritated.

Our muffled voices fight back and forth. Then nothing. I've never heard such a deafening silence. Just one step separates us from one another, but it's a chasm of misunderstanding that goes deep, pushing us further and further apart. If I take a step toward him, I fall. If I back away, I lose him. And if Tristan pulls me toward him, he'll pull me down with him. At this moment, none of these options seems bearable. So I let the silence sink in, the overwhelming discomfort, not moving an inch. I stare into his eyes as they challenge me to say yes.

"I don't understand," he says in a weary voice. "You could fight against everyone else. But you'd rather fight against me."

He stares at my mouth, as if it were his last hope, as if his blue eyes could pull the truth out of me. But I can't say a thing. So he walks around me and shuts himself in his room. The door slams, making me jump. My entire body quakes as I stand there alone. It's like he just broke up with me.

It's much worse actually, because I didn't do anything to stop him.

***

I didn't want to come to this concert. But of all the people I know, close friends or acquaintances, there's not one person under 30 who isn't going. Everyone has been talking about it since the beginning of December. The Key Whys are playing in Miami for the first time in a hip bar that doubles as a concert hall. No self-respecting kid from Key West would dare miss it, even if it means driving three hours to see a half-hour set. Tristan's band was noticed by a music producer who was on vacation in the Keys and decided to give the five guys a chance by asking them to open for another band. "The chance of a lifetime," Drake said. "Not if he wants to turn us into a boys band," Tristan complained, just to contradict him.

He's been sulking ever since our last conversation.

And I haven't been much better . . .

Anyway, if I decided to come tonight, it's so I don't attract any attention by not coming. And because I promised Bonnie I'd give her a standing ovation when the band thanked their backup singer. And also because I want to see Tristan out of his comfort zone, faced with an audience who's more demanding than his usual groupies.

Alright. And because I want to see him sing, dance and sweat on stage. He's never sexier than when he's really into his music.

Alright. I have seen him look sexier. When he's really into . . . me.

OK, how about we stop the inner monologue?

It only took one song for the ladies – older and better looking than me – to set down their drinks and stop their conversations to turn to the stage. With both hands grasping the mic stand, his black shirt half-tucked into his tight jeans, his hair mussed just so and his eyes closed, Tristan starts in on a slow version of a cover song. An old rock song that his deep voice transforms into a sensual Capella ballad, until the band joins in from behind, accelerating into the tempo of the original song. They've managed to get the audience's attention. Two or three songs later, even their original songs are appreciated: hands are raised and bodies move to the rhythm. People clap and cry out as Tristan enters his trance state. His hair is soaked to his neck and his shirt clings to his torso. His voice is getting huskier. His charisma crushes everything in its path, including me.

To my right, I hear a group of women having a debate on how old the "gorgeous singer" is, closer to twenty or thirty, judging by his muscles, the light on his face, how deep his voice is, "all the cigarettes and whisky he must go through," "that innocent little smile," that contrasts with his sex appeal and manly persona and "all the life experience you can read in those eyes." I laugh to myself, thinking of all the things they don't know about him and all the things they imagine.

And I can't help but feel a sort of pride . . . even if it is displaced.

Drake goes over to Tristan's mic to announce this will be their last song and introduces the members of the band: Elijah on the bass, Cory on the keyboard, Jackson on the drums, Bonnie with backup vocals – and I yell "you're the best!" – and Tristan on lead vocals. He's obviously the one who gets the loudest applause. And the most feminine-sounding cheers. He tries to cut off the praise by saying thank you, but it has the opposite effect. His new groupies can't resist his shy little smile, a mixture of real modesty and false indifference.

The Key Whys start in on a Stones cover, a rhythmic, modernized version that lets the band and the audience let loose one last time. I suddenly realize I'm dancing, overcome by the general euphoria and Bonnie's vintage choreography as she shakes her afro and her butt in rhythm. I don't notice the lyrics until Tristan holds his hand out to pull a girl up from the first row: "I wanna be your lover, baby, I wanna be your man. Love you like no other, baby, like no other can."

The lucky bitch shimmies next to the singer who plays the charmer role to a tee. The other girls in the audience scream with excitement and envy. And I'm on fire. Despite myself. Because of this stupid song with silly lyrics. Because of Tristan's effect on all womankind, no matter where he goes or what he does. And the pricking jealousy I feel in my heart because he hasn't even looked at me once as he sings.

"I hate him . . . But I'd still like to be him," Fergus says next to me, totally fascinated.

"It's so easy," I grumble, rolling my eyes.

I thought my best friend was mad at Tristan about the party. I didn't know he was also a little jealous . . .

"Alright, to be him would be enough," Fergie sighs, switching targets.

My despairing friend points to Romeo Rivera, leaning on the bar. He's alone, but surrounded by two women in short skirts who are batting their lashes at him. Maybe they just want a free drink, or a wild night. I didn't know he was coming to the concert. And I didn't realize the "Latin lover + perfect son-in-law" style was so popular.

Unless it's the young, rich businessman look that's attracting attention. I must still be too naive.

"That's my dad's right-hand man," I explain to Fergus.

"I know. A good job and a sexy chick, that's all I'm asking for," he sighs, his hands praying toward the sky.

"No, just a chick who says yes, that's what you want!" I joke, trying to cheer him up.

"Good point. But I checked all the bells and whistles on my Christmas list – fake boobs and a mini-skirt. I asked for a beard too. But that's for me, not her! And a few inches added to my height. And a few pounds of muscle, but I'm afraid it may be asking too much. And I'd be happy to exchange my Irish roots for Italian or Mexican ones. And . . ."

"We get it, Fergie! There are things I'd like to change in this damn life as well!"

I think I just let too much of my annoyance show. But while Fergus was complaining, Tristan finally laid eyes on me. He came down off the stage and walked over to the bar, girls crowding around him, grabbing at his neck and waist, or whispering god knows what in his ear. And the whole time, he was staring at me. With a look of defiance on his serious face.

"I'm thirsty, I'll be right back!" I say to Fergus, leaving him alone in the middle of the bar.

I need to think about something else, and not fall back into the trap of jealousy. I try to make my way to the bar and Romeo comes to my rescue without meaning to.

"Oh, hey, Liv!" says my coworker.

And I get the feeling he's pleased to see a familiar face in the crowd.

"I didn't know you were here. But that's right, your brother, well, step brother, is the singer. I have to say, the band's not bad!"

Romeo thinks he's being nice by starting this friendly conversation, but I just want to talk about something else. Anything but Tristan Quinn. Have a normal discussion, like a normal person, without hidden intentions or provocation, without seduction or power games.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asks sweetly. "How about a pop?"

"Yes, I'm dying of thirst! Thanks."

The two miniskirts walk away, their brows raised as if they don't understand what Romeo could see in me. I realize that a simple drink from an older coworker may look ambiguous, but I know he's just being nice. A pair of bright blue eyes, full of anger, meet mine. I freeze. Tristan seems convinced that I'm the one trying to make him jealous now. And the thought had never crossed my mind. Not tonight. Not after our last angry conversation about the impossibility of our relationship. I pull my hair back into a fake ponytail, as if this nervous habit could help me take control of the situation. That's when the rock star jumps off his stool and nervously rubs the back of his head, taking a pretty blond girl by the hand. The one he pulled up on stage earlier. He walks along the bar with determination, the girl scampering behind him, then disappears behind a thick black curtain to what seems to be the backstage area. I don't hesitate for a second.

"Nature calls, I'll be back!" I say to Romeo, who doesn't seem to understand what's going on, but smiles politely anyway.

I run, dodging the people standing around, hitting my hip against a table and swearing at the pain, then I push the curtain aside. I walk into the dimly lit corridor until I find the door to a closed dressing room. "Key Whys" is written in black marker on a piece of paper taped to the door. I'm sure they're in there, the two of them. I'm know I need to push the door open, to stop them from doing what they're doing. I'm just trying to think of what to say, in what tone of voice and for what reason. But nothing comes to mind.

"Dammit!" I yell, slamming the door open.

Tristan is alone, sitting on a table facing me. As if he'd been waiting there for a few minutes. His hands are on the edge of the table, his legs dangling over the edge and his head bent forward. He looks up proudly, as if he'd just won the war.

"You're too easy, Sawyer!"

His unbearable, victorious smile makes me clench my fists and narrow my eyes.

"Where's the girl?"

"No idea," he says, feigning ignorance and shrugging his shoulders.

"Are you proud of yourself?"

"Uh huh."

"You think it's funny to use your groupies to set a trap for me?"

"You think it's funny to let an older guy buy you a drink to make me jealous? And a guy who works with your dad!"

"You're imagining things! You think it's just fine to pick some stupid song and pull a stranger up on stage, saying you want to 'be her man'?"

"That shouldn't be a problem for you since you don't want me to be yours."

"So that's what this little game is about? To prove that I want more than what I say?"

"I'm not playing games, Sawyer. That's what you can't get through your head."

"Why should I believe you? You play games with all the others. They're all convinced you want them. Your fans you sing love songs to, looking them straight in the eye. Your exes coming back for more, who call the house in tears, who show up on our doorstep, thinking you're waiting for them. Lana who still hasn't gotten over you. Piper inviting herself to Thanksgiving as if it were completely normal. And Ashley, Jenn, Kayla . . . I probably know more of their names than you do! Even Harry's nannies look at you as if you'd broken their heart!"

I can't seem to shut up. All my frustration and resentment, all my insecurities and fears are pouring out in this silent dressing room, hidden from unwanted eyes and ears, while Tristan keeps slowly swaying his legs over the edge of the table, his head cocked to the side, listening attentively.

"How can I trust you? You can have all the girls you want. And they all think you're single!"

When he hears this last reproach, Tristan hops down onto his feet and strides over to me with impressive speed, as if he was floating above the floor. His hands grab my face, his mouth meets mine and his passionate embrace makes me pull back until I hit the closed door.

"Tell me I'm not, Liv. Tell me I'm not single. You're the only one who can decide. If you want to be with me. Or not. It's as simple as that!"

His deep voice murmurs and yells at the same time. It feels like he's giving me an ultimatum. His warm breath sweeps away the strands of hair across my face. And his blue eyes look deep into mine. As if he were trying to see clearly what was behind them. To dig deep into the depths of my heart. I suddenly feel defeated, stripped bare, unable to lie or hold back the confession that's burning my lips.

Everything I've never admitted to myself.

"I want to be the only one," I whisper.

" . . ."

"I . . . I have feelings for you. More than I say. And more than you think . . . I want us . . . I want you to be my . . . damn! I don't want to sit here silently dying of jealousy anymore! I don't want to see another one of those girls touch you, stare at you and do all the things I'm not allowed to do!"

"So do it, Liv!"

"I can't! I'm not rebellious like you. I won't be able to stand Sienna's yelling. Harry's tears when he doesn't understand. My dad's silence, thinking it's all his fault. And the staring from everyone else," I say, feeling overcome with emotion.

"OK, OK . . ."

Tristan sighs and pulls me close, as if he were laying down his weapons. I press my forehead against his torso, and he lays his chin on my head, wrapping his arms around me. Then he squeezes me so tight it almost scares me.

"OK what?" I murmur into his neck.

"OK to a compromise. That's what . . . couples do, don't they?"

"Who?" I say, smiling.

"OK, I agree we keep it a secret, but only if you stop holding back, doubting me, thinking we're not allowed . . ."

"I promise to try."

"We keep the secret, but we're together, for real," he says, almost solemn.

"What does that mean exactly?"

"Exclusive! No more Kyles, Jakes or Romeos or guys I have to punch in the face!"

"Fine by me. But no more Pipers and Lanas!"

"And no more stupid schemes with free drinks!"

"And no more letting groupies grab you!"

"And no more condoms!"

"What?!"

I just about choke and throw my head back so quickly, I hit it on the door behind me.

"Damn, I thought it would just go by unnoticed," he laughs, as I make a face.

"Get serious!"

I make him look me in the eye, holding onto his chin. I've never even thought about it. And I never thought he'd be the one to bring it up.

"Only if you want, Liv. But we could go get tested together. Trust each other, for once."

"I need to get on the pill," I say, thinking out loud.

"I could come with you. There's a clinic where they are very private, next to campus."

"I don't even want to know how you know this. Or who you've already had to do this stuff with . . . "

"No one. It was for a friend," he smiles so innocently I want to believe him.

His lips touch mine softly, brushing against them. His scent is intoxicating. I lose my hands in his wild hair. And I forget everything.

***

Two days later we're at the family planning clinic, almost in disguise. Tristan borrowed a letter jacket from someone and looks like your average college student, proudly wearing the colors of Key West U. He's put gel in his hair and combed it back as if he'd just gotten out of the shower. Nothing like his usually wild chestnut locks. I don't dare tell him I still think he looks good. And he brought me an oversized baseball cap so I could hide my long blond hair. He tries to make me laugh while we wait for our turn on a bench. He's sitting at one end, me at the other.

"I feel like I'm the stupid football player who screwed up again last night with one of the cheerleaders."

"And who doesn't dare look her in the eye in case she's pregnant," I add.

"I'm warning you, if it's twins, I won't marry you!"

"I never asked you to, Kevin!"

"That's not what you were saying last night, Britney . . ."

His teasing eyes and that little laugh make me feel safe. After we both have our blood drawn, Tristan rearranges a strand of hair that has fallen out of my hat, then waits for me outside as I go talk to the doctor. A woman in a lab coat comes in and asks a few questions, then gives me a prescription for birth control without further ado. She congratulates me for being responsible. Then she adds with a little wink I'm supposed to take as a confidence:

"When you've found the right person, there's no reason not to enjoy yourself."

The. Right. Person.

"I don't know about twins, but the gyno has already started planning our wedding!" I say as I join Tristan over by the bench again.

"In your dreams, Sawyer!"

"Watch out, Quinn, I could still change my mind!"

"I didn't say a word . . ."

He raises both hands in surrender, but gives me that irresistible, guilty smile. I kick the bottom of his shoe just for the heck of it, then collapse onto the bench next to him, leaning into his shoulder. I'm relieved the scary part is over. He looks around carefully and then takes off my hat, using it to hide our faces as he kisses me.

Well, shit. If I didn't know who we were, I'd say Kevin and Britney were falling in love.