“I don't have a condom,” Tristan whispers, and something clicks in me. He isn't carrying condoms around because he's not sleeping with other girls. And he isn't carrying them around because he's not scheming or trying to get with me. For maybe the first time in his life, he's not planning anything at all. “I …” I start, breathing hard, squeezing my hand around his shaft. “I've seen your results, and I started birth control this summer, so …” There's a long stretch of silence before I look back at him, and his mouth curves into the sharpest, most wicked of smiles. “Excellent.”
