How about another drink?” Tristan asked, watching intently as Dylan slurped up the last of her rum and Coke. Her cheeks were looking a bit flushed and her hair had more bounce in it than usual. It suited her.
“You bet your ass,” chirped Dylan. This was her third drink and it wasn’t even seven thirty. She shoved her glass playfully toward Tristan, but misjudged the distance and sent it flying onto the carpet instead.
“Oops!” she giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.
Tristan zigzagged his way to the bar. He was feeling a bit tipsy too, after only eating a bag of salt and vinegar chips for lunch and then downing three pints in the space of about twenty minutes. Maybe that was why he was remembering how much he enjoyed spending time with Dylan. She seemed so… open compared to most girls. So guileless. It was refreshing.
Dylan stared at Tristan’s back as he leaned casually toward the bartender in his slouchy Carhartt jeans and white polo shirt with the collar popped up. It was amazing to see him again. Somehow he made everything fun, even stupid English football. During the match he’d explained all the teams to her, and afterward he’d been so sensitive and considerate, asking about her dad and her sister and of course Madison, her golden retriever. He hadn’t met her mom—Piper had been in London with Victor for the entire summer—or he would no doubt have asked about her, too.
Dylan stroked the soft fabric of the booth where Tristan had been sitting. It was indented and slightly creased and still a little warm. On the seat, he’d left a small blue and white plastic bag with letters on it. B-O-O… Curious, she pulled it toward her.
“’Scuse me,” Tristan said abruptly, snatching the bag away and throwing it onto the bench behind him. He looked momentarily panicked, but quickly shrugged it off as he set their drinks down.
“Here you go. One JD and Coke for the lady.” He winked, making Dylan’s tummy do somersaults. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” She hiccuped.
“To us.” Tristan was sitting much nearer to her than before and Dylan watched his lips as he took a slow first sip of his lager. A golden stream of bubbles fizzed on the glass.
“Listen, Dyl,” the lips suddenly said. Dylan dragged her gaze upward.
“Er, if I upset you…,” Tristan said stiffly. He cleared his throat. “You know, it wasn’t intentional.”
Dylan stared at him. He had such beautiful eyebrows; why had she never noticed?
“Whatever,” she slurred. “I mean, I guess you were like, not cool, but… we’ll work it out.” She inched her fingers toward his thigh.
“Wicked.” Tristan drank off about half his pint. Now that the football match was finished, the pub was filling up with a Saturday-night crowd of riotous single people. He could stay here all night. Screw Jas’s house. Screw the party.
Dylan sucked up the last of her drink and shuffled closer. Tristan felt her head nestle onto his bicep.
“I keep thinking,” she said coyly, “it was such a shame things didn’t work out on your last night in East Hampton. Maybe we should try again.”
Tristan stiffened. He didn’t want to be reminded of that night. It had been the most shameful one of his life. After making him wait most of the summer to have sex with her, Dylan had decided that their final evening together would be the one. He’d thought it was pretty stupid to shag just when he was about to leave, but he wasn’t about to pass up the chance.
Then he’d messed it up. Totally messed it up. Maybe it was the condoms, stupid things. Maybe he was just nervous; it was his first time if you didn’t count that one-night stand in the orchard at Jasper’s country-house party, and he’d been so drunk then that he couldn’t even remember it.
Dylan breathed on him and her breath smelled sweet and sugary. There was a splash of Coke on her top lip and all he could think about was reaching out his tongue and licking it off. Tristan swallowed. Then he was kissing her. He pulled her toward him, remembering the fun they’d had over all those long, sultry summer days. It was impossible to get enough.
“Oh shit!” Suddenly he came to his senses. He jumped up from his seat like it was an electric fence. “What am I doing? I’ve got to get out of here.”
“No. Come back!” Dylan cried, watching him bolt through the pub.
She slumped backward. Something rustled behind her. He’d forgotten his plastic bag.