I glanced down at us, at me, getting a ride on the broad set of shoulders that I dreamed about, my hands free to roam all over that beloved head, and covered in pink powder.
Yes, I was having fun. It was a perfect day, and even me, the Queen of Denial, could not deny that Tristan had waltzed back into my life, and brought my joy back with him.
I shifted on his shoulders, stroking his hair. “Yes, Tristan, I’m having fun.”
He turned his head, kissing my bad knee, one hand moving up to start rubbing at it. And just as though our thoughts were as interwoven as our souls, he said quietly, “You make me happy. You know that, right?”
I teared up and cursed about it, because tears would leave obvious tracks down my powder-covered face.
“Don’t,” I said weakly.
“Don’t what? Be happy? I can’t help it when you’re in my life.
I took a few deep, steadying breaths, hand to my racing heart. He was relentless.
When I’d been silent for a long time, he took pity on me and changed the subject.
We were pelted with yellow at the next paint station. I rubbed it into his hair, saying, “Dammit, I really wanted some pictures of you covered in just the pink. For blackmail purposes.”
“Boo, you can take pictures of me buried in your pink anytime you like.”
I pulled his hair for that one.
“I need to give you fair warning. I ran into Natalie earlier, before the race, so she’s here somewhere.”
I stiffened. “Twatalie Natalie? She’s still hanging around?”
I felt his shoulders shift under my thighs. He was getting uncomfortable, which made me stiffen even more.
“She works at the casino. Has for years. She bartends at Decadence on the weekends, and I think she’s a cocktail waitress in the casino a few days a week. She’s mellowed out some, but she can still be a handful, thus the warning.”
“So you and her are still close, huh?”
I felt him sigh under me. “No, we’re not. We’re friendly enough, when we run into each other, but that’s about it. She gave up on getting me back a long time ago.”
“I always wondered if you two would get back together if you and I broke up.”
“Well, there’s your answer. No chance in hell.”
“Not even one hookup?”
“Fuck no. Not a chance. You happy or sad that you were so wrong?”
I made a noise of noncommittal, but I was pretty damned ecstatic about it.
“She did come up in therapy a few times, mostly because my relationship with her pointed to the fact that back when we were teenagers, I wanted to save her more than I wanted to be happy. Savior complex, my therapist called it.”
My chest was tight. “Is that how you felt about you and me? Were you trying to save me?”
He turned his head and kissed my knee again. “God no. You’ve got that so twisted. You were the one saving me. Always.”
I closed my eyes and let that wash over me. The only thing that brought me out of it was some bright blue colored powder to the face.
“So Mona and Natalie are both going to be at the after party for this thing?” I finally asked him.
“Yes. If it makes you feel better, I think Natalie hates Mona even more than she hated you.”
That did not make me feel better. In terms of things in the world that didn’t make me feel better, that one got a top spot.
I made him put me down and walked briskly for the next few paint stations.
He ignored my protests, throwing me back on his shoulders to cross the colorful finish line, dragging me to one of the pack of color throwers, holding still until every inch of us was drenched.
I was giggling and dusting off the top of his head when a smiling, colorful Mona approached us.
She greeted us both warmly. She didn’t act at all threatened by me, and I didn’t know what to make of that. I hadn’t gotten the impression, for even a second, that she was over Tristan.
But perhaps that was my baggage, since six long years later, I was still completely infatuated with the man.
“They’re setting up a photo op with the other girls,” she told Tristan. “They want to do it while all of the paint is still fresh.” She pointed towards a stage that was being set up. “They want us all there in five minutes.”
“Let me down,” I told him, tugging on his hair. He did so without a word.
“You can come too, of course, if you want,” Mona told me.
“No, thanks,” I said instantly.
Tristan was looking at me, and Mona was looking at him. I wanted to be literally anywhere else on the planet right then.
“Go on,” I told him. “I’ll be around.” I tapped the armband on my bicep that held my phone.
He moved close, as though Mona wasn’t even there, and cupped my face in his palms. “Come with me. I don’t want to get separated in this crowd. It could take me hours to find you again.”
I shook my head, but it didn’t dislodge his gentle hands. “I have my phone. Go on. I’ll be fine.”
He bent and started kissing me, powdered faces and all. He didn’t pull back until I was clutching the front of his shirt in both hands, and Mona had long since moved on without him.
I still refused to go with him, but when he left, I trailed slowly, intending to watch the shoot from a distance.
All around me people were dancing and in general just having a blast, everyone so covered in paint powder that it was peppering the air with every movement. A few people had even brought their children, and they seemed to be getting as big of a kick out of it all as the adults.
Only with Tristan would I find myself in a place like this and the second he was away from my side, I wanted to leave.
I stuck with it, though, watching the drawn-out photo op that involved him putting his arm around a lot of busty, paint colored women in half shirts.
I was about one second from saying to hell with it and catching a cab when a female voice spoke just to my right.
“I guess the bitch is back.”
It took me a minute, while I turned and studied the paint-colored, hostile woman that had taken up residence beside me.
Finally, I recognized the collagen injected, puffed up features under the powder. Even under a pound of color, I could tell she wasn’t aging well. She was going overboard with the surgery.