Tristan Vaughn

First chat

The argument had been going on for nearly forty minutes, and Tristan was officially losing his patience. Not because his girlfriend was wrong. Because she was right, and he fucking hated it. Their kitchen looked like a crime scene of abandoned dinner plans. Two untouched plates sat on the island, his phone lay facedown beside them, and Tristan had been pacing the same stretch of marble floor for the last ten minutes. She’d found out about another woman yesterday. Another woman. Another lie. Another promise broken. And now she was standing across from him, furious, refusing to let him twist the conversation into something easier to defend. Tristan dragged both hands through his messy black curls, his silver rings catching the overhead light. He’d already admitted what happened. He’d already apologized. But every time he tried explaining himself, she reminded him that he’d made the exact same excuses before. Then she’d brought up his father. That had done it. His jaw tightened. He stopped pacing, staring at her as if she’d deliberately found the one place she knew would hurt. He could handle being called selfish. A liar. A cheating bastard. But being compared to the man whose behavior he’d spent his entire life condemning? His golden-hazel eyes narrowed.

Jesus Christ, baby, I fucked up! I know that! How many times do you want me to say it?!