5 Rounds by Nikki Castle

7

Remy

I watch Tristan leave the bar, surprised to feel a pang of guilt in my chest.

I hate leading on the guy next to me—Chris, I eventually figured out—but I'm furious at Tristan for trying to order me around. Who the fuck does he think he is? I don't need his protection. I fight guys for fun, for God's sake. I’m not the kind of girl that needs to be coddled.

Still, I can't shake the twinge of guilt I feel for driving Tristan away because of my stupid game. I hate playing games. I should've just ignored him and left when I wanted to leave. But he made me so angry that I couldn't stop myself from trying to piss him off further. I don’t know if he thinks I'll sleep with this guy, but I seem to have convinced him enough to get him to abandon his alpha male efforts.

So now I'm left with a hopeful, clueless guy at the bar and an angry Tristan waiting for me at home. Fuck.

I briefly contemplate following Tristan home and giving up on my game entirely. But then I remember his face when he all but ordered me to go home with him, and I quickly wave that idea away.

Instead, I spend another twenty minutes politely chatting with Chris, making sure not to touch him anymore. Maybe if I wait long enough, Tristan will be asleep by the time I get home. Eventually, I turn to Lucy with pleading eyes. She hides her smile, knowing exactly what I'm silently begging her for.

"Remy, we should get going," she says, shooting Chris an apologetic glance. A slight frown crosses his face. "We have an early session at the gym tomorrow and it's getting kind of late."

"You're probably right," I agree. I turn toward Chris with a smile, trying to hide my guilt at leading him on as best I can. "It was nice to meet you. Thanks a lot for the drink." I stand up off the barstool.

Chris blocks my path, his body angled in front of me, and one arm braced on the bar. I'm not completely blocked in but he's definitely too close for comfort. My eyes widen in surprise.

"I'd love to see you again sometime," he says, pulling me in by my wrist. "Can I get your number?"

I lean back, trying to recapture some of my personal space. I'm shocked that Chris is bold enough to try something like this, since he was too nervous even to say anything to me before I initiated the conversation. This must be his Hail Mary.

Unfortunately, all it succeeds in doing is pissing me off.

"Sorry, no," I say firmly. "I don't think that's a good idea. But again, thank you for the drink." Without waiting for a response, I grab Lucy's hand and pull her out the door.

We stumble out to the street. "Jesus, you've got everyone fawning over you tonight," Lucy laughs. "Two strangers at the bar and now you've got Tristan waiting at home to spank you." Her grin is downright evil.

"Lucy!" I yell in horror. "Tristan is not interested in me! What would possess you to say something like that? Did you not see how much of an ass he was tonight?"

"Girl, all I saw was a very protective, very angry Tristan who did not want any guys anywhere near you tonight. That translates to being interested."

"He's just being protective because he knows Jax would kick his ass," I mumble.

Lucy chuckles and shakes her head. "You tell yourself whatever lie makes you feel better."

I glare at her as I wave down a taxi but give her a hug anyway. "Thanks for tonight," I say. "I'll see you at the gym in the morning."

"Yup, see you then. Have a good night." She aims one last mischievous grin my way before the taxi pulls away from the curb. I flash a less-than-ladylike gesture at the retreating car.

It takes me a minute to flag down my own taxi and less than ten minutes to pull up in front of the house. I gulp nervously as I get out of the car. It's been a while since Tristan left the bar so I'm really hoping he's already asleep.

He's not.

He's sitting on the couch flipping through the TV channels. He's wearing sweatpants and nothing else.

As in, he's shirtless.

I almost fall over my feet as I walk into the house. I've seen him shirtless plenty of times at the gym—it’s undeniably sexy there, too—but there's something so much more erotic about seeing him lounging shirtless in the comfort of his own home. He's so fit from fighting that he doesn't even have to try for the eight pack, or for the V on his hips that drags my attention down...

"Look who decided to finally make the walk of shame," he taunts without looking away from the TV, effectively interrupting my very inappropriate and unhelpful train of thought.

I scowl and cross my arms. "Not that it's any of your business, but I did not fuck that guy.”

He chuckles. "Yeah, Remy, I know you. You're too much of a prude for a quick fuck in a bar bathroom."

Any guilt I feel for tricking Tristan tonight flies straight out the window. My control snaps.

"I'm not really sure why you think you know anything about my sexual proclivities—and frankly it's a bit creepy how much you think you know—but I assure you, Tristan, your sources are sadly mistaken. Maybe I would've gone home with him if he hadn't—if he—never mind…" my voice trails off because I realize I don't want to admit how my interaction with Chris had ended.

In an instant, Tristan is on his feet. Before I even realize he's moved, he's standing only a few inches away from me and holding my wrist in an iron grip. His other hand grasps my chin and lifts my gaze to meet his. His eyes are burning with the same fury that I saw in them earlier tonight, except now it looks like there's a sort of panic mixed in them, too. "What happened?" he demands. "Did he touch you?"

"N-no, of course not," I stammer. "Nothing happened—"

His fingers tighten on my chin. "Don't lie to me, Remy,” he growls.

The accusation snaps me from my nervous haze. "I said nothing happened," I snap, tearing my face from his grasp. "And anyway, how is this any different from what that guy did to me tonight? You're just as much in my space as he was."

I ignore the part of my brain that's screaming this feels nothing like the other encounters.

The anger dims in his eyes. Instead, I see a flicker of something else, just as a cocky smile slides across his face. He leans forward to whisper in my ear, brushing his lips lightly over my skin and causing a shiver to ripple through me. The lingering smell of whiskey entwines with his male scent and envelopes me in an intoxicating bubble.

"The difference is, I know for a fact that you like me being this close to you—that you’re actually soaked right now," he purrs.

I can't stop my sharp intake of breath. As if on cue, my cunt starts throbbing. Suddenly all I can think about is how badly I want him to bend me over and fuck me until the sun comes up.

He pulls back and stares in amusement at the expressions flitting across my face. He knows exactly what kind of war he just started in my brain. He always knows. And he always enjoys it.

"That's pretty self-assured, even for you," I manage to say. "Unfortunately, it's a ridiculous theory."

His grin spreads wider. He reaches up to run a fingertip lightly down the side of my face. "Prove it," he says in a deep voice. My heart is beating so hard that I'm sure he can hear it.

"I'm not going to sleep with you," I blurt.

He tilts his head and studies me with a curious expression. "Okay," is all he says. He shrugs and runs his finger down the side of my face again. As if my blatant rejection doesn't bother him at all.

He trails his finger from my cheek to my lips, his touch feather light. He slowly, gently, traces my lips with his thumb. He pauses at the center of my bottom lip.

His smoldering gaze feels like it's cutting through all my secrets, yet I can't bring myself to look away. Just when I start wondering if it’s possible to combust solely from eye contact, he pulls his finger from my lips and sucks it into his mouth.

It’s like a direct line to my aching core. When I catch a glimpse of his tongue wrapping around his finger, my breath catches and wetness pools between my thighs. That feeling only multiplies tenfold when he growls, “I knew you would taste like cherries.”

His face leans closer to mine and for a second, I think he's going to kiss me. I feel my heart rate spike to unhealthy levels.

But he just brushes past my mouth and presses his lips against my ear. “I think you’re going to change your mind,” he whispers. “And I don’t think I’ll be able to stop thinking about it until you do.”

I can't stop the shiver that runs through my body. He notices and pulls away with a grin. Stepping back, he lets go of me completely.

"Goodnight, Remy," he says smoothly. Then he walks up the stairs, leaving me in a puddle on the floor.

* * *

The next morning when I wake up, the house is quiet. Tristan is notoriously an early bird, so I realize quickly that he must already be at the gym. I groan when I remember our interaction last night.

I briefly debate skipping the gym today. Saturdays are the only days that my and Tristan's schedules overlap, so I know I'll have to interact with him this morning. And after last night it might not be a bad idea to put some distance between us.

But I quickly shake the thought away. I love training for more reasons than one, and I refuse to give up even a day of it because of a guy. I'll suffer through a class with him if I need to. I'll just make an effort to ignore him entirely.

The more I think about it, I realize I should probably keep away from Tristan for the rest of the week, not just today. He's been near me too much lately and whenever he's that close, it feels like I can't pull myself away. Because of that I feel like I've been two steps behind in our games all week—he's clearly been the one in control.

As I throw the covers off myself and pull a sweatshirt over my head, I make a decision: keep as much distance between us as possible for the rest of the week.

I take my time getting ready. I've never been the type that could train on an empty stomach, so I make some scrambled eggs and brew a cup of coffee. I hum happily as Frank Ocean plays in the background. After I'm done eating, I settle into the couch with my coffee and a book.

An hour later, I've changed into my workout clothes and grabbed my gym bag. Twenty minutes after that I'm walking up to the gym, taking a deep breath to steel myself for whatever side of Tristan I'm about to experience.

When I walk in, that breath rushes out of me as I automatically and immediately relax. This place is like a second home to me. Everyone is practically family, and the environment itself feels like a sanctuary. Whenever I have a bad day, regardless if it's from work, friends, or family, this place is here to welcome me with open arms. I can pound my frustrations into a heavy bag or grab a partner to drill some techniques and take my mind off my problems. This gym is better than any therapist.

I smile at some of my teammates as I walk through the first mat room. I make my way to the bag room in the back, where all the heavy bags are and where my first class will be held. This morning I'll start with a cardio bagwork class and finish with a few rounds of jiu-jitsu during the gym's open mat hour. It's my favorite way to double up sessions because tiring myself out with a mindless cardio workout always produces my best rolls during jiu-jitsu. Something about being exhausted makes me forget about perfect technique and allows me to just roll.

"Hey, Lucy," I greet my friend. She looks up from wrapping her hands, a huge grin splitting her face.

"Hey, yourself," she teases. "How was your night?"

I roll my eyes and try to busy myself with unraveling my hand wraps, so as not to let her see the blush that I'm sure just crept across my cheeks. "You're ridiculous," I murmur. "I told you nothing would happen. I went to bed as soon as I got home."

"Oh yeah?" she challenges. "Tristan wasn't waiting up to chastise you?"

I glare at her as I wind the wraps around my hands. "No. Next topic, please. Before someone overhears your outlandish ideas and drags my good name through the mud."

She laughs but drops her line of questioning. "Okay, fine. Do you know who's teaching this morning? I didn't see Danny here, so I assume someone is covering for him." We both look around to see who our designated drill sergeant will be this morning.

Right on cue, we hear a deep voice boom across the gym. "All right, sweethearts, I don't care if you're hungover this morning, I want to see everyone haul ass! Ten laps around the gym, NOW!"

My stomach drops when I recognize Tristan's voice.

"Fuck," I hear Lucy mutter next to me. We exchange pained glances before breaking into a run. We both know the hardest classes are the ones that are run by the pro fighters—they hold every student to a professional-level work ethic and inevitably run us into the ground.

Sure enough, Tristan shows no mercy. Only twenty minutes into a forty-five-minute workout and every single person is struggling to put any power into their punches.

"Come on, my six-year-old cousin can kick harder than that!" I hear him shout at someone. "Put your hip into it!"

I grunt through the combo, willing myself not to slow down. My T-shirt is completely sweat-soaked and I'm breathing so hard that I can barely catch my breath. This is easily the hardest workout I've done in a very long time.

The bell sounds loudly. "Give me fifteen pushups and fifteen squat jumps during the rest period, then right back to that same combo!" Tristan yells. I groan. Even the rest periods aren't easy.

"What was that, Remy?" I hear from beside me. I startle, not realizing he was so close.

"Nothing," I grumble as I continue my pushups.

Tristan drops down to lie on his stomach in front of me. He watches me closely as I stare straight ahead and try to ignore him.

"Excuses and grumbles won't help you here," he scolds with a smirk. "The only thing that matters is hard work."

I open my mouth to snap at him—then stop myself when I realize that he's expecting my backtalk. I close my mouth and stand up with a growl, launching into my jump squats.

His face splits into a wide grin. He must be satisfied with my non-answer because he stands to go hound someone else.

The next fifteen minutes go by agonizingly slowly. It feels like Tristan gives us longer and harder combos every round. By the end, half the class barely has any power left in their shots. Which, of course, only antagonizes Tristan more.

"You should be getting stronger with every round, not weaker!" he yells. "Every round you should be giving your opponent a harder fight than the last. Pick it up! LET'S GO!"

I grunt and throw myself into the combo with renewed aggression. I'm so tired that I think my body has thrown caution to the winds and is now running purely on the fumes of my will.

"Okay, last round coming up! We're going to do a burnout round. That means you can throw whatever you want, but I want everything thrown hard and I do not want to see you stop. Does everyone understand?" I hear weak groans of acknowledgement. "Good. So any combo you want, but constant and as hard as you can throw. Three minutes. LET'S GO!"

The room erupts into sounds of leather being pounded with fists, kicks, knees, and elbows. Everyone is grunting with the exertion.

I grit my teeth and throw everything I have into my punches. For just three minutes, I force myself to tear down any limitation my body thinks it has—I throw as hard as I would if I were fresh and it was the first round. My muscles are screaming in agony and my lungs are desperate for air, but I ignore both.

"Let's go! Last round is the best round!" Tristan yells. "However hard you're working now, your opponent is working harder! Pick it up! I want winners in this room, NOT quitters!"

The first bell rings, signaling ten seconds left in the round. I throw every remaining ounce of energy into my last few shots.

The final bell rings right as I whip a head kick. "TIME!" Tristan calls.

Everyone around me collapses to the floor. Groans reverberate throughout the room. I make eye contact with Tristan as he raises an eyebrow, watching to see what I'll do.

I stay standing. My lungs are desperately gulping air and every muscle in my body is screaming, but I refuse to drop. I straighten my shoulders and stare straight at Tristan.

He grins and seems to give a quick nod of approval—then turns and walks out of the room.

"Oh Lord Jesus save us all," Aiden wheezes next to me. He's managed to get to his feet, but he's still bent over, hands on his knees, trying to compose himself. "That was the hardest workout I've ever done. By, like, a lot. Who peed in his cereal this morning?"

Lucy shoots me an accusatory look. I scowl. "I actually think that's him in a good mood," she says to no one in particular. "I think it makes him happy to run us ragged. Fucking psychopath…" A few people grunt in agreement.

After a few minutes, we've recovered enough to head back to the main mat room. Where the bag room is filled with heavy bags hanging from the ceiling, this room is devoid of any type of equipment. The only thing it has is a massive amount of mat space for sparring and jiu-jitsu. It's also where the benches and gear cubbies are, which means it's the room where everyone congregates.

As we walk into the mat room, I hear Coach ask us, "Who's staying for open mat? Does anyone want to roll?"

"There is not a single ounce of me that has any energy left after that bag workout," Aiden tells Coach honestly. Everyone nods in agreement.

I look around the mat and realize that it's mostly filled with advanced students. A lot of people only do jiu-jitsu, so they wouldn't have come in for the Muay Thai workout that we just did. For them, this is their first workout—which means they're fresh and full of energy. Everyone around me has multiple advantages over me before I've even stepped on the mats.

But a part of me hates leaving when there's such a good group of people here. A lot of the best guys only train in the mornings, so by the time evening classes roll around, class is filled mainly with beginner students. And though I'll never say I'm too good for anyone, I also can't say no to getting my ass kicked by the guys that are better than me. It's undoubtedly one of the best ways to learn.

"I've got a few rounds in me," I tell Coach. "Just give me a second to get changed."

I'm not certain, but out of the corner of my eye I think I see Tristan's head snap up in surprise.

I ignore the wide-eyed stares of my teammates next to me. They already know I’m a pit bull by nature so I'm not sure why they're surprised. I take a swig of my water bottle before rummaging through my bag for a rash guard.

Since jiu-jitsu is body-to-body contact, it's not enough to train in a T-shirt—we have to wear spandex on both top and bottom. I don't bother changing the leggings I'm already wearing but I do need to swap my soaking wet, now-baggy T-shirt for a skintight rash guard. I peel my shirt off and toss it in my bag.

As I stand there in my sports bra trying to slide my sticky arms through the tight clothing, I notice Tristan looking at me from where he's warming up. I see his eyes travel over my sweat-covered body.

Suddenly I remember that Tristan has already seen me completely naked—what he's looking at now is tame compared to how I looked coming out of the shower. I duck my head as a blush flames across my cheeks. I quickly tug the rash guard over my head and yank it down over my stomach. I take another swig of water before rushing onto the mat.

Coach nods in approval at the fact that I’m staying for another session. He calls me over for the first round.

The bell rings to signal the start of the five-minute round. We start standing but, just like with Tristan earlier this week, I quickly end up on my back. I make a mental note to work with more wrestlers so that I'm not so easily knocked over.

Coach doesn't destroy me, but he also doesn't give me an easy round. For five minutes we alternate positions—sometimes advancing, sometimes losing ground. Both of us attempt several round-ending submissions. I tap out once when he catches my arm in an armlock that I can't get out of. Overall, it's a great round with a lot of back and forth action.

I do three more rounds with other teammates. The minutes are hard, with everyone applying a lot of pressure, but the flow and rhythm is so good that I don't even mind the extra exertion. I was already exhausted when I stepped on the mat, so my body has automatically forced itself into fight-or-flight mode. I'm so far past my energy limitations that I don't have any left to overthink or worry about perfect technique. I just… roll.

"Remy, I've got you next round."

Breathing heavily, I look up to see Tristan is beckoning me to his side of the mat. And because I'm too tired to even argue, I crawl over without a word.

We shake hands to begin the round. I try to catch him off guard with a reach for his legs, but he sidesteps easily and ends up beside me. Before I can even react, he's wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me off the ground.

If this were a real fight, he would slam me into the ground and probably knock the wind out of me. But because we're training—and because it's common etiquette when you outweigh someone by seventy pounds—he drops me gently. I've barely touched the ground before I'm scrambling to try to face him. The worst position you can be in is having someone behind you, when you're blind to their moves and they have all the control.

But no matter how hard I try to move, Tristan is not letting go of my back. Eventually he slips his forearm under my neck and applies a chokehold that has me instantly tapping in defeat.

I jump back to my feet, annoyed and ready to start over. We shake hands and go again.

This time he's the first to attempt a takedown. He tackles me easily. The second my back touches the ground I wrap my legs around him in an effort to control his position. But as soon as I move one of my legs to attempt a submission, he uses the opening to spin to a more dominant position. Not long after that, he's used his position to isolate my arm and force me into an armlock submission. I tap again.

I'm silently fuming at myself. I'm not under any delusion that I'm even close to Tristan's skill level but I thought I could at least hold my own. So far, we're barely two minutes into the round and he's already submitted me twice. As we stand and start again, I study his face to look for any signs of egotistical motivation. It's not uncommon for guys to want to assert their dominance just because they feel threatened by women in martial arts.

But Tristan's face is completely expressionless. He's not submitting me for any other reason than he's training hard and giving me a good, honest round. Which is the best thing anyone can do on the mats—it shows respect.

We shake hands and go again.

A minute later, he's submitted me with an ankle lock.

Two minutes after that, he gets another chokehold.

The bell rings to signal the end of the round but I barely hear it. "Again," I bark at Tristan.

Still expressionless, we shake hands and start again. He submits me with a toehold.

"Again." This time, it's a kneebar.

"Again," I pant. My muscles are shaking with exhaustion and I've given up playing my usual game of chess-like strategy. I’ve been reduced to using blatant physicality to try to survive.

But it's still not enough. Tristan is just too good. He shows no mercy, submitting me with another armlock and yet another chokehold.

"Again," I rasp as I roll away from him.

"No. You're done, Remy," I hear my coach call. I look over to see the entire gym is staring at Tristan and I. Aiden and Max are standing with their mouths gaping in shock.

I glance at Tristan. I note with satisfaction that he's breathing heavily, too. Even though he just kicked my ass for—I look at the timer and blanch—fourteen minutes straight, I at least put up enough of a fight to make him tired. It's a small consolation but a consolation nonetheless.

"You did enough today," Coach continues. "Good work. But you're done."

I peek at Tristan again, then look back at Coach. I nod weakly—and then immediately collapse onto my ass.

"I'm exhausted just from watching that," I hear Aiden mumble. "You two are nuts."

It takes me a good five minutes to peel myself off the mats. Lucy is waiting for me with my water bottle like the brilliant friend that she is. I smile gratefully when I reach her.

"For the record, you’re insane,” she says bluntly. When I only glare at her she shakes her head with a grin and continues. “But on another note, do you want to come out with us tonight? I meant to ask you earlier. Me and the guys want to check out that new bar on 8th Street. Ask Hailey if she wants to come, too."

I nod as I gulp down more water. "Okay, I'll call her when I leave here. Is that the place that's kind of upscale compared to the typical hipster bars in that area? Do I need to dress up?"

"It's not upscale but yeah, it's not an oversized tee and beanie kind of place. Just wear your usual jeans and combat boots but pick a sexy top or something. You don't have to go crazy."

I nod. "I can do that. What time are you going?"

"Let's just say 9:00. Does that work for you?"

I nod again. "I'm going to go home and take the world's biggest nap and then I'll get Hailey and meet you there."

"Perfect." She pauses and then glowers at me. "And tell Hailey it would be great if she didn't show us all up with her perfect outfits for once. It's not fair that she demands all the male—and female—attention in the bars. She already has a boyfriend, she shouldn't even need the attention."

I chuckle, shaking my head. "That's like telling her not to breathe. She can't even help it, it’s disgusting. But I'll try to get her to tone down the unassumingly gorgeous vibe." I roll my eyes, already knowing that task is a nearly impossible one.

Lucy grins. "That's all I ask."

I lean down to grab my bag with a groan. "I might regret this. Let's hope my nap is a miracle one that reinvigorates my body and soothes all of its aches and pains."

She claps me on the back, ignoring my sound of protest. "You're fine. Just throw down a couple of tequila shots and you'll be good as new."

* * *

A few hours later I've showered, eaten, and napped. I feel like a brand new person.

"I will never understand how naps act like an electroshock for you," Hailey grumbles from where she's sifting through the closet. "You close your eyes for fifteen minutes and down a Red Bull and it's like you got a full eight hours of sleep. It's inhuman."

I take a sip of said Red Bull and lean back against Jax's headboard with a content smile. "What can I say, it's a gift."

As Hailey shakes her head in disbelief, her attention seems to lock on something hanging in the closet. She pulls out a little black dress.

"This is perfect," she decides with a smile. "Simple, subtle, but sexy as fuck. You can wear those black heels you have from Ally's wedding."

I look suspiciously at the dress she's holding. It really is a simple and beautiful black dress: it's got thin straps, a neckline just scandalous enough that it will show the curve of my cleavage, and it fits tight against my body until it reaches the top of my thighs. It's the perfect LBD.

"Lucy said I should just wear jeans and a nice top," I argue. I wear enough skirts at work that I try to dress comfortably when I'm not in the office. Jeans and combat boots are my preferred outfit.

Hailey rolls her eyes. "Lucy doesn't know what she's talking about. Either that, or she thinks that's the extent of you dressing up."

I sigh. "Probably the latter. Okay, I'll wear it. But there's not a chance in hell I'm doing heels. I'll wear my combat boots."

Hailey shakes her head as she turns to hang the dress on the closet door. "Fine, but wear the high heeled combat boots instead of your normal flat ones. You could afford to at least try to look like a woman instead of a KGB spy."

I raise an eyebrow and point to the dress. "That dress is barely long enough to cover my ass. I assure you, I will look like a woman regardless of the height of my shoes."

I hear her chuckle even as she pulls her own outfit from her bag. I peek curiously at the clothes she pulls on.

She’s wearing black high-waisted jeans and a dark gray long sleeve shirt that has extra fabric connecting the arms to the body of the shirt. It’s thin and flowy and would look cute if it was tight, but it’s so loose that it looks more like a poncho than a top. Between the dark colors and the fit of the clothes themselves, Hailey’s body is completely hidden. The icing on the cake is when Hailey hides away her beautiful hair by pulling it into a ponytail.

I bite the inside of my cheek as I think about how I can ask my next question without sounding like a total judgmental ass. "That's… pretty conservative for what you usually wear when we go out. What's going on?"

Hailey fidgets with the zipper on her bag, avoiding eye contact. "Steve's not really comfortable with me wearing what I usually wear," she finally mumbles. "I figured I'd tone it down a bit and cover up more. No big deal."

My frown deepens as her words sink in. I'm all for toning down the hooker outfits once a girl has a boyfriend, but Hailey's never dressed provocatively. She's just naturally so beautiful that any nice outfit she wears automatically makes her beauty stand out. Right now, it seems like she's actually trying to cover herself up. The only thing more conservative would be a turtleneck.

My eyes widen when a thought occurs to me. "Did he tell you that you could only go out if you cover up?"

Hailey's head snaps toward mine, her eyes wide. "N-no, of course not," she stammers, and I immediately see through her lie.

I can feel my fury start to boil in my veins. I always had a suspicion that Steve was controlling, but this is now officially at an unacceptable level. I've noticed changes in my sister over the past few weeks, changes in her confidence and how she spends her time. She barely sees her friends anymore and where before she was a strong-willed, independent woman, she now seems to need Steve's input for everything. I knew he was changing her even before she described their issues to me; this just confirms it.

I take a deep breath to calm myself. I myself have never been in a controlling relationship, but I’ve known plenty of strong women that have found themselves in similar situations. There’s something about manipulative men that can get through to even the strongest women, so I know it can happen to anyone—even my sister.

"Hailey," I start softly. "You know I love you, and I'll support any decision you make. But Steve shouldn't be giving you ultimatums. You should be able to wear whatever the fuck you want."

I try not to sound patronizing or accusing, but she still gets defensive at my words. She glares at me. "He's not giving me ultimatums. I'm just being understanding of his concerns. We can't all just do whatever we want in relationships and not give a fuck about the other person."

I swallow and look down at my hands. I know she's just lashing out, but her words still hurt. I've always been the one to wear the pants in my relationships, partly because I'm an assertive bitch who knows what she wants, and partly because I've always been the one to care the least. Boyfriends have often accused me of being selfish and heartless.

Although if I’m being honest with myself, I’ve always thought it was just because I have yet to find someone worth caring about.

"I just don't want you to be unhappy," I say quietly. "You deserve the best, and I want you to be with someone that pushes you to go after your dreams, that makes you happy, that lets you be every bit of the confident, beautiful, intelligent woman that you are." I look up to see her eyes have softened. "If Steve is that for you, then I'll shut up. But I'm here if he's not."

She sighs and comes over to sit next to me on the bed. "You don't have to worry about that. Steve is good for me, and I'm happy. I'm just trying to compromise with him so we're both happy."

I nod, sensing that the conversation is over. I won't get any more out of her until she herself realizes that he's not who she thinks he is. Or maybe I'm wrong and they're actually good for each other. Who knows? I'd love to be wrong about this.

In a normal lovey-dovey family, I'd probably give her a big hug, but we're not that. Instead, she punches me in the arm. "Go get your curling iron. I'll grab the tequila and make us some drinks so we can start pregaming."

I grin at the word 'tequila' and bounce off the bed. I practically skip down the hallway to the bathroom.

But I pause when I pass Tristan's room. His door is wide open, and my gaze is drawn to his unmade bed. Suddenly I'm flashing back to the night that I caught him with a girl, when he was sitting half naked at the edge of said bed.

I feel my heart rate pick up. I can't help remembering his toned chest, or the way he had been gripping the girl's waist. I can't help thinking about what they would've been doing a few minutes later if I hadn't interrupted them.

Then I remember his words to me that night. I promise I can fuck you better than whatever nerds you've slept with before.

I shiver at the memory. I know Tristan's reputation and I know the way my body reacted to him that night—I have no doubt that he could keep that promise.

I clench my legs against the growing ache between them at that thought.

I jump when I hear Hailey pass by me. She pauses at the top of the steps, her hand on the railing, and looks at me with confusion. "All good?"

I mentally shake myself out of my stupor. "Yeah, I—I just thought I left the curling iron in my room for a second."

She frowns. "No, I just saw it in the bathroom."

"Oh. Okay." Hailey starts down the stairs again as I turn toward the bathroom.

I spare one last glance at Tristan's room, banishing all thoughts of sex with him from my brain.