Page 37 of The Tryst List
Jordan
Twenty Minutes Later
I’m so fucking confused.
As much as I’ve tried to deny it to myself and everyone else, Peter’s the only man I’ve thought about for years. Even during my relationship with Cameron.
The guilt. The desire. The hurt. The regret. The what-ifs.
It’s been emotional quicksand or, as Merc calls it, “dicksand.”
Am I this big of a fool?
Cocooned in a blanket, facing the wall on the makeshift bed, I find myself struggling. The sway of the boat might be a soothing contrast to the turmoil inside me, but it sure isn’t comforting.
Not at all.
Peter’s presence looms in the small cabin. He’s next to me but the comfort and closeness we shared earlier is tainted. For a minute there, I was ecstatic—sure we had a new chance to finally see where this would take us. All our past misunderstandings had reasonable explanations, but was I too quick to forgive?
“Jordan, I know finding your list the way I did wasn’t right.” Peter’s voice, tinged with regret, astonishes me. “I should’ve respected your privacy. I’m sorry. If you don't feel safe, please let me call Vessel Assist. I promise, getting stranded is a coincidence, but considering everything I understand why you'd worry.”
He puts on his sweater and starts up the ladder to the deck. I sit up, stretch my own sweater over my legs and hug my knees. “Wait. Let’s talk this through.”
“Okay.” He stops on the second rung and waits for me to continue.
I take a deep breath. “My list was personal to me, filled with my sexual fantasies. I wasn’t ready to share it. Do you still have the photo?”
“Yeah, I do.” He reaches for his phone and punches his code in. “It was wrong of me. We hadn’t cleared the air yet. It’s just…when I saw that list, it made me…fucking jealous. I couldn’t stand the thought of you doing those things with anyone but me. I want to be the man in your life, for a minute I thought…” His blue eyes, clearly remorseful, barely retain contact with mine. “Ah, fuck. No need to explain. I was wrong. I’ll delete it.”
It’s exactly the response I wanted. Accountability. Action. Except, knowing my all-consuming desire for this man invariably clouds my ability to think rationally, I bury my face in my hands. I can’t look at him. It’s too confusing.
“There. Deleted,” I hear him say.
I peer up at him. “Peter, given our history how do I know you and I aren’t a mistake waiting to happen? You realize what a red flag this is, right?”
“I do. I can’t change our past, but hopefully my being honest shows you I’ve grown because I didn’t have to say anything. I could have deleted it without telling you and you'd be none the wiser.” He reaches over, his hand hesitating in the air before resting on my knee. “I elected to be honest to build trust. I’m not the same man who walked away. You can be damn sure, if you give me another shot, I won't let you down.”
I look into his eyes, searching for the sincerity I desperately need from him. “Your tattoo is supposed to embody virtues about balance and harmony. Is this you living up to those ideals? Being honest with me?”
“Yes.” Peter squeezes my knee. “It is. Given everything that’s gone on with my family, I’m adamant about owning bad behavior and facing the consequences of my actions. I’m a dumbass. It’s a given I’ll make mistakes, but I want to be a person you can rely on. A person you can trust.”
“I want to believe you. I really do.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “You seem sincere and…”
A shadow crosses his face. He moves closer. “I can’t promise everything will be perfect. What I can promise is I’ll try my best every day to be the person you deserve.”
The combo of honesty in his voice and earnestness in his eyes breaks through my defenses. Despite my trepidation, I want him desperately. I want to take this chance. To see where this rekindled connection with Peter can lead.
If I don't, I'll regret it for the rest of my life.
“It would be a leap of faith.” My voice is barely above a whisper.
Peter’s hands pry mine from where they’re clasped around my legs. He threads his fingers with mine, squeezing gently. “We don’t have to rush into anything.”
Maybe we aren’t rushing. Maybe we’re…continuing.
“I don’t want to wait.” Using the leverage of our entwined hands, I lean over and my eyes lock on to Peter’s.
There’s a pause, a breathless moment of anticipation, before he leans in. His lips meet mine and, once again, it’s like a spark igniting a long-smoldering fire. What starts as a tender, mellow exploration quickly deepens into something urgent. Something that speaks of suppressed longing and new promises.