Forbidden Games

In the Spotlight

It all happened in a matter of minutes. Tristan and I ended up falling asleep in our hideout, long after the voice over the loud speakers announced the hurricane warning had been lifted. I don't know how long we stayed there, wrapped in each other's arms even though we were free to leave. But my dad ended up coming back to the house, slamming the front door open. The noise and his voice calling to us is what woke us. We dressed quickly while he went looking for us upstairs, shouting. We tried to fix our hair and gave each other one last kiss. Then we emerged from the safe room, our cheeks still pink with forbidden pleasure. If Craig hadn't yelled and made such a racket when he came in, if he hadn't pulled us out of our reverie, our secret would have been uncovered.

Literally and figuratively . . .

My dad came back as quickly as he could, worried about me, about us. He was one of the first people to get out of the airport when the authorities declared the storm was no longer a threat. He got a hold of Betty Sue on the phone, and she's just fine. Dogs, cats and pig all kept her company in her little shelter. Harry and Sienna tried to take their flight, despite the four hour delay – but they eventually decided to come home. I think my stepmom was at her wit's end trying to comfort her son who was completely traumatized, hiccupping and holding Alfred tightly as they walked in the door. Tristan was the only one who could make the sensitive little thing smile.

I might not have got my week of freedom as hoped, but when I look in the mirror in my room, I notice a little red mark on my right ear where Tristan bit me just a few hours earlier. My disappointment melts away. I console myself as best I can, thinking back on those few hours of pure abandon. Tristan and I, alone in the world, in the safe room during the storm. A storm of liberated bodies, new sensations, moans and sighs. The intensity of his eyes, the gentle touch of his hands, the force of his desire . . .

Bonnie comes to pick me up in her jalopy around 8pm. I pull my hair back and throw a jacket on over my Jaws tee-shirt as I race down the stairs. My dad waves to me from the patio where he's smoking in secret. I climb into the torn leather seat, pulling on the collar of my jacket. The wind is still blowing even if the sky is clear now.

"Mother nature came for revenge. She knows . . ." my best friend says, revving the tired motor.

"What does she know?"

"That all men are pigs. And Christmas sucks!"

She still hasn't gotten over Drake.

"And?" I say softly, full of compassion.

"And I hope he peed himself thinking the hurricane was coming to get him!"

When Bonnie's mad, she doesn't try to hide it. Her poor car bears the brunt of it as she reverses quickly, almost running into a palm tree.

"Jesus, Ebony Robinson! I would like to get out of this car alive, please! Aren't we picking up Fergus?"

"No. The last time I saw him, you were in Paris. Or Brittany or whatever. Anyway, he was supposed to cheer me up, and instead he bored me for a good hour, talking about his failure of a party and your stepbrother who's a dirty bastard."

"Did he really say that?"

"Dirty bastard?" she repeats.

"Yeah."

"No."

"Oh . . ."

"What he said was worse."

"OK . . ."

"You don't want to hear it? Because it's true, Tristan really is a dirty . . ."

"No, that's okay Bonnie. I don't want to talk about him."

I pretend to hate him as much as my best friends do. But it's hard to listen to. I can take Fergus being a little jealous of him. Even that he's still mad. But if Bonnie starts in too . . . I don't know if she's saying it for my benefit, because she thinks that's what I want to hear? But I suddenly feel very alone in this car.

I sigh, thinking about the scene at the party. Tristan defending me against Kyle, and going slightly overboard . . . and I sit there in silence as we drive to Duval Street, thinking how my secret must never, ever be revealed. I point to a big empty parking spot and Bonnie slams on the brakes, making all the cars behind her honk their horns. Then it takes her several attempts to parallel park. No power steering. The wind is still blowing and her afro is leaning to the side, but she doesn't even stop to check it.

"I'm not hungry," she sighs once she turns off the motor.

"The restaurant was your idea!"

"Yeah, I know. But nothing sounds good anymore."

"Bonnie . . ."

"I think he broke something," she sniffs. "Inside me, you know?"

"You'll get over it."

"How do you do it?"

"Me?"

"How do you handle being single? Don't you ever feel lonely? Incomplete? Don't you miss having someone? Feeling sexy, alive, laughing and getting turned on . . .?"

"No."

I'm mortified by her questions. And just as embarrassed by my answer. I lie to my best friend with ease. Such ease it's scary. I've gotten used to inventing a life for myself. Or rather, hiding part of my real life. It just happens to be the most important part. The part that really makes me feel alive. The secret is deep in me now, engraved under my skin. And I'm afraid I'll never be able to get rid of it.

"What's your secret?" she murmurs quietly.

Can't tell . . .

***

December 31st. 9 pm.

"Remember," I remind him. "We have to bicker with each other at least once during the party."

Tristan isn't listening to a word I'm saying. He's staring at my satin top, which is just short enough to reveal a thin band of skin along my stomach. His eyes are so intense, I have goosebumps. It's like he was trying to see what was hidden underneath.

"Quinn!" I say, rebellious.

"Didn't you have anything shorter? Or tighter?"

His voice is particularly husky. He clears his throat, then smiles mischievously as he pulls on the sleeves of his shirt. It's black, like his pants, shoes, and even his tie. The bad boy is wearing a suit. He is seriously drop-dead gorgeous.

"Didn't you have anything more traditional?" I say, watching him swagger.

"Black tie attire, right?"

"I didn't expect you to be so obedient!"

Arrogant as ever, he leans his head back and pulls slowly on the tie, wrapping it around his fist.

"You never know, it might come in handy. At the end of the night . . ."

His playful tone and teasing eyes leave no doubt to what he has in mind, and a tingling sensation rushes through me. My thighs are begging for him. Savagely. I let out a ridiculous moan as I imagine him blindfolding me or even better – tying me up.

Earth to nympho!

"So we're going to fight, okay? At least in front of Bonnie and Fergus . . ."

"No problem, Sawyer," he smiles, closing the door to my room behind him. "Everyone knows I can't fucking stand you."

"Tristan, your mom is around . . . And my dad isn't far away either."

"I know."

His eyes sparkle with a dangerous and irresistible gleam. His broad shoulders lean back against the wood door and he massages the back of his neck, biting his lip.

"Tristan, get out."

"Don't want to."

"I don't want you to either. But go anyway."

"That little scrap of satin is driving me wild. You drive me wild."

I teeter back on my heels and take a ragged breath. My chest is compressed by the satiny fabric. I'm dying to give in, to pull off his clothes, my clothes, and let him do whatever he wants to me, right here, right now. But reality comes crashing down around us when we hear a screaming voice:

"Tristan! Liv! Your friends are waiting outside! And tell the limo driver he better not crush my tropical flowers!"

I glance at Tristan and realize the atmosphere has already changed. And when I open the door to go out, I hear him grumble:

"More efficient than any birth control method: Sienna Lombardi . . ."

The ambiance in the limo is . . . interesting. Bonnie pouts at Drake, but also begs for him to pay attention to her. Fergus won't even look at Tristan and definitely won't shake his hand, but he acts completely normal with me. Lana gives me a weird look, as if she could sense something, and I start to think she's the person behind the anonymous calls. Elijah and Cory have brought chatty, vulgar girls with them and Jackson is sleeping with his mouth open, already drunk.

Tristan is sitting across from me and I can see him staring at my stomach every time we drive over a bump and my top rides up. When our eyes meet, he smiles discreetly and then looks away.

"Drake, be cool with Bonnie tonight," I hear him say to his best friend.

I don't know what the blond stud replies, but I turn to the woman in question, who is busy adjusting her top to maximize her cleavage.

"Bill and Bob are out for a night on the town . . ."

I want him to drool over me," she smiles vengefully. "And I plan on hooking up with the first guy who comes asking, just to prove I don't need him. Seriously, look how ridiculous he is in his suit."

She really thinks he's incredibly sexy, but it doesn't matter. I nod in support. Especially since I need an excuse to cause a raucous.

"Yeah, they all look ridiculous. And they call themselves rock stars."

I was sure to say it loud enough so everyone could hear. Especially Tristan. And our little skit can begin. He quickly follows my lead.

"Do you have a problem, Sawyer? If you do, you can get out of the limo whenever you want."

"Ooooh," his buddies holler, excited at the prospect of a fight.

"I'm not moving. But please, be my guest. Get the hell out!" Simon! Could you stop, please!"

The driver hears me and slows down, pulling over to the side of the road.

"You think you're funny?" Tristan says, staring at me with fake disdain.

If he were any sexier, I think I'd die.

"Get out, if I bother you that much," I smile.

"You're not bothering me. I couldn't care less about you."

"Oh stop, you're going to make me cry!"

Our friends are laughing happily around us. Our little show carries on for the rest of the ride, Simon had enough sense to carry on driving.

"You're the one who insulted me!" Tristan laughs ten minutes later as we get out of the limo.

"I was just telling the truth," I reply.

Drake and Bonnie come over to separate us.

"Alright, we get it. You hate each other!"

"Yeah, can we move on and go get good and trashed, like we planned?"

"I couldn't have said it better myself!"

"Watch out, Bonnie, you have a nip that's peeking out!"

Jackson just woke up and can barely stand. Drake quickly pulls him away from Bonnie, who was ready to punch him after she checked her dignity was intact.

Hmmm . . . debatable.

There's no doubt about it, rich kids know how to throw a good New Year's Eve party.

I drink a glass of Champagne, then another, and then I stop counting. Tristan and I make eye contact from time to time. He watches me insistently, though it's barely noticeable to everyone else. And he has that little smile on his lips. I dance like an idiot when they play Nirvana, then Beyoncé. Bonnie and I try out a new choreography and end up on our hands and knees on the floor. Fergus doesn't know where to hide and swears he doesn't know us.

The hours fly by without my noticing. I kindly ignore a couple guys who come up to hit on me. I go out for some air and run into Tristan, fighting my urge to jump him on the spot. I decide to follow the Key Whys and go for a refreshing swim in the pool, stripped down to our underwear. I'm not trying to show off, I'm just having a good time. The bubbles have gone to my head a little. I'm floating happily on the surface of the water, hearing only the pounding rhythm of the techno music inside.

This time his eyes narrow and won't stop staring, like a secret, protective shadow.

Elena What's-her-name, the girl hosting the party at her millionaire dad's mansion, does not seem to care much about what happens to the place. Her guests are out of control and she doesn't care, as long as she can make out with her older boyfriend as much as she wants. Her clique, however, a group of six overly excited girls, is moving dangerously close to Tristan. I watch them from a deck chair where I'm sitting, wrapped in a towel.

Him. I'm watching him.

He tries to gently discourage them, letting them know he's not interested, but they keep coming back. One of them unbuttons his shirt, another whispers something in his ear. So he loses his smile and pulls out his favorite weapon: his wit – as sharp as a Samurai's sword. In a few minutes, the swarm of bees has disappeared. None of them will be drinking any nectar tonight.

Bzzzz. THWAP!

Queue the maniacal laughter.

The countdown is going to begin. Bonnie calls out to me from the upper balcony, in a tizzy, telling me to hurry up so I don't miss it. The pool empties and people run toward the house. Tristan leaves my field of vision. I get up awkwardly from my chair and spill my Champagne, then step in the glass.

"Shit!"

I sit back down to assess the damage and pull the little piece of glass out of my skin. It's barely bleeding. I hear everyone yelling in the house . . .
Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven . . .

A noise up by the house attracts my attention and I see a tall figure racing down the hill to the pool, jumping over the fence and landing just a few yards away.

Six. Five. Four . . .

"Jesus, I thought we'd never be alone," he says as he grabs me by the waist to help me stand.

My towel falls. He leads me behind the pool house. I'm pressed against him, my body trembling. I feel dizzy, his scent drives me insane. I look right and left, praying that no one surprises us and ruins this little miracle.

Three, two, one . . .

His lips touch mine, gently at first, then open slightly and his tongue sneaks in. I moan quietly and he groans as the kiss grows more intense. His hands run down my bare back and stop at my panties, grabbing my ass. I shiver. Then, when I want more, always more, he moves his hands to touch my face. His lips leave mine and he takes a step back.

"Jesus, what have you done to me, Sawyer?"

His breathing is ragged, his torso heaving quickly under his black dress shirt, the top buttons undone. He stares into my eyes, questioning me. His emotion melts my heart.

"I don't know. I didn't do it on purpose," I say softly.

"Happy New Year, Liv."

"It's off to a damn good start!"

Lost in our little bubble, in each other's eyes, in our desire, it takes us a minute to notice the cries of joy and excitement coming from every direction. The guests are out in the garden again, Bonnie and Fergus are walking over to us quickly. I go back to the deck chair and grab my towel, wrapping it around me.

"What the hell were you doing?" Bonnie scolds me.

"You missed the best part!" Fergus adds.

Hmm, not so sure about that . . .

My best friends hug me and Tristan slips away.

***

Sienna's been waiting for this forever. If you listen to her talk about it, you'd think the Business Woman Award, a prize given out in the Keys every two years, was her God-given right. And a little late, at that.

Which is why she's been so high strung the last few days and why she's so insistent that we all be ready, dressed to the nines, at 6 o'clock sharp. After gathering us all in the hall, the queen of the day checks out our appearance:

"Harry, you're perfect, but Alfred is going to stay at home tonight. Tristan, it's important to me that you wear a tie."

I try to resist blushing, thinking back on that unforgettable night, and the one after, when the tie ended up in my bed. My accomplice smiles arrogantly at his mother.

"I'm already wearing a white dress shirt, don't push it!"

She rolls her eyes and turns to her husband. She nods, admiring his suit that must have cost a fortune, and then looks at me:

"Very nice dress, Liv . . ."

"It just happened to show up on my bed this morning."

"How about that. You look gorgeous. If you could just let down your hair . . ."

"And wax your mustache," Tristan adds, inciting my dad to ram his shoulder into him.

We make the trip as "a family" , in Craig's big SUV and, surprisingly, no one yells or pouts, and everyone almost seems happy to be there. My dad is not allowed to smoke, but he doesn't complain. Harry left his furry best friend at home, but he doesn't seem upset about it. Tristan is about to support his mom in public and he's not even being a grouch about it. And what about me? I feel his knee against mine, and this is enough to make me want to go anywhere, as long as he is there.

"Sienna Lombardi, Businesswoman of the year," is written in big golden letters on the sign stretched across the gate at the Key West Country Club. My stepmom rushes eagerly out of the car and heads into the throng of beautiful people, dressed in a flowing, designer gown.

Red. Like the blood she'd be willing to spill in order to succeed.

The park is gorgeous. The reception room is magnificent. I make my way through the crowd and reach the bar, which is manned by four penguins with exquisite physiques. I accept the glass of Champagne that one of them hands me, and my dad confiscates it as Tristan hands me a soda instead.

Are they teaming up against me, now?

Even the lemonade is pretentious here. It's pink, served in a crystal glass with a perfectly round slice of lemon and perfectly square ice cubes. The classical music provides a background to the guests' laughter. Everyone is of high society and no one really dares to dig into the hors d'oeuvres. No one? That was before Tristan and I arrived and attacked the buffet. The conversations around us seem boring, the smiles seem fake and the eyes are judgmental. I'm definitely out of place.

"Where's Harry?" I suddenly ask Tristan, as he hands me another glass.

"Sent off to the nanny service on site."

"He must be having a ball!"

"I'm not sure. Even 3-year-olds can be stuck up and pretentious. Imagine what he must be going through, surrounded by these peoples' offspring."

"Let's go rescue him!"

"Not just yet, but that's the plan a little later," he smiles holding me back. "I'll go get him when the ceremony actually starts."

"The ceremony?"

"My mom's speech, the ass-kissing, the anecdotes that won't make anyone laugh. Oh, and a film celebrating her glory I think . . ."

"Kill me now!"

"What?" he laughs, ruffling his rebellious locks.

"Kill me before it starts!"

"No, you're staying with me, Sawyer. We're in this together, for better or for worse . . ."

"Well, aren't you the big romantic!" I tease in a simpering voice.

"Shut it."

Short, but effective.

And now he's gone off to who knows where. Quinn, sensitive?

The next hour seems to go by in slow motion. My partner in crime has abandoned me. I talk to two extremely boring women, three girls who ask if my brother is single, and then to the waiter who seems to be my new best friend. I'm still drinking soft drinks, but he's being very generous with the grenadine.

When the lights go down, I can tell something is about to happen. A big white screen lowers from the ceiling and the crowd goes wild.

For a white screen? Seriously?

Everyone moves to a strategic spot to see the movie that is about to be played. I sneak away after reading the title: "Sienna Lombardi: the strength to conquer."

I try to find a hiding spot away from the laughter and admiring whistles. I find a spot at the edge of the room, creeping along the wall, ending up behind the screen, where no one can see me. Tristan had the same idea: he's already sitting on a table, his legs dangling over the edge.

"What are you doing here?"

"The movie is a lot more interesting from this side," he smiles, looking up at the black screen.

I join him on the table, swinging my legs back and forth.

"You abandoned me earlier . . ."

"Not very romantic of me, huh?"

Despite the darkness, I force him to look me in the eye. I can read a thousand contradictory emotions in his expression.

"It's hard, isn't it?" I sigh, not sure what he's thinking.

"What?"

"Playing a meaningless role. And knowing you have to stop playing."

"Yeah, it's upsetting," he says, staring at his feet.

"Would you rather stop everything?"

"No. . . Would you?" he asks in a breath.

"Never!"

I didn't mean my reply to come out so strong, especially not to cry out like I did, but my sincerity touches him. Overwhelms him, even. I take the opportunity to reveal a bit more, which I usually have such a hard time doing. But for some reason, it comes naturally right now.

"I know I'm not as open about my feelings as you are – as expressive. But because I'm always checking myself or seeing you pretend you're indifferent, sometimes I feel lost. I never know when we can be ourselves. But what I feel . . . inside . . . it's as strong as ever."

The rock star leans his forehead against mine, as if he understands exactly what I mean. As if he were saying thank you.

"In another world, another reality, I would kiss you in front of everyone," I finally murmur to him.

Then I grab his gorgeous face in my hands and press my wet lips to his. I kiss him as if it were the first time, the last time. I feel his tongue and nibble his lip, I press my hands into him to feel him close against me, with me. Tristan kisses me back passionately, almost with violence. He shows me how much he wants me, despite the constraints and taboos, despite all the barriers we've had to cross, yet again.

Neither of us hears the horrified whispers until Sienna's animalistic cry makes us jump. Our mouths pull apart and I realize I'm facing the crowd, in the bright lights. The film is still playing, the sound hasn't stopped, but the screen has rolled up into the ceiling. I panic and jump from the table, moving away from Tristan, as if I could erase the sin we just committed. He sits there immobile, as if he were paralyzed. Facing us, Sienna is now standing, her mouth hanging open and her eyes full of horror. My head starts to spin, a thousand-pound weight crushing my chest. I just want to disappear. And when I see my dad, his face full of shock and hurt, I fall even further.

It's an incredibly terrifying, painful fall. I don't know if I'll ever recover from it.

They're going to judge us, hate us and reject us.

Tristan and me . . . it's not a secret anymore.