The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(114)

“No, she’s not.” The voice comes from behind me.

I turn to see Tristan standing behind me on the grass.

He puts his hands on his hips, indignant. “What fucking bullshit are you going on with, woman?” He frowns.

“What are you doing here?” I ask as I stand.

He puts his hands out wide, as if I’m a fool. “I’m coming home to sleep—what does it look like?”

“But . . . Mary?”

He takes me into his arms, and his lips softly take mine.

“Mary . . . ,” I whisper.

“Was like seeing a sister. Nothing there at all. Just like I knew it would be. I went there to mollify my mother.”

“What?”

“I love you.” He kisses me softly. “And to be honest, I’m glad I went, because it proved something to me . . . my mother’s got it all wrong.” He takes my face into his hands, and I stare up at him through tears. “You and the boys . . . are saving me. Not the other way around.”

His lips touch mine, and I screw up my face against his.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I don’t want to be anywhere else. In fact I’ve decided that I want to move in here.”

Hope blooms in my chest. “You do?”

“I have some of my stuff in the car. I was actually at home packing a suitcase.” He gestures out to the street, and I see a brand-new black Range Rover.

“What is that car?” I frown.

He shrugs casually. “I got us a new car.”

I smile up at the beautiful man in front of me. “Are you sure about this . . . about us, Tris?” I whisper.

“Claire.” He smiles down at me as he pushes the hair back from my face. “I love you more than anything. This . . . is where I want to be.”

His lips take mine.

“And I’m going to kill Fletcher for listening through doors,” he adds.

I giggle through tears.

“And the Muff Cat is going fucking down. I’m going inside to piss in its bed right now.”

I laugh out loud as he drags me into the house. “And how dare you think I was in love with Mary?” he whispers. “I’m fucking your ass for that, Anderson.” He slaps me hard on the behind as I take the bottom step.

I giggle. My man is home.

Tristan hovers in the kitchen, making his coffee, and I brace myself. I have to talk to the boys. I just want to make it a casual conversation as they sit at the counter eating their breakfast.

“So . . .” I frown as I swallow the sand in my throat. “I wanted to talk to you boys.”

Tristan drains his coffee cup and rushes into the living room. He doesn’t want to hear this.

“Yeah.” They all keep eating their cereal.

“I was wondering if Tristan could move in.”

They all stop eating and stare at me.

“It would mean that . . .” I pause, feeling faint. “It would mean that he would live here with us . . . and that he doesn’t have to sleep on the couch anymore—that’s all. It’s beginning to hurt his back.”

“Okay,” Patrick says as he eats.

I look to the other two. “And of course, he would become part of our family now.”

Tristan reappears through the door, and Harry’s eyes rise to meet his. “Do you want to move in here?”

Tristan nods. “Yes.”

Harry shrugs and keeps chewing.

“What does that mean?” I ask nervously.

“Yeah . . . okay.”

I frown. “Okay what?”

“If he must.”

Tristan’s and my eyes meet. Surely it can’t be that simple. I turn my attention to Fletcher. “I’ll think about it.” He glares at Tristan, and I remember what he heard yesterday.

“Okay,” Tristan says. “Come on. We need to leave soon.” He turns to Harry. “You get your grade back today, don’t you, Wiz?”

“Yeah.” Harry sighs. “I won’t pass. I never do.”

“I predict you’re getting a one hundred,” Tristan replies with a smile. “That assignment was on point. I checked it myself.”

Fletcher goes up to get his things, and I follow Tristan out to the car. “Oh my God, Fletcher said no,” I whisper.

“It will be fine. I’ll talk to him today. He’s angry at me; he’ll be fine.” He smiles down at me. “I love you.”

I giggle up at my beautiful man. “I love you too.”

“What?” Tristan’s angry voice bellows through the entire house. “Thirty!” he yells. “A fucking thirty? Are you kidding me?” he cries as he holds the paper in the air.

“Tristan, language,” I snap.

Fletcher and Patrick sit quietly on the couch as they watch, scared to speak.

Harry has just shown Tristan his grade for the space assignment they have done over the last week.

“There is no way in hell this assignment is a thirty!” he yells as he begins to pace. “What are these idiotic, stupid . . . incompetent assholes doing at this school?” he bellows.

“Mrs. Henderson hates me.” Harry sighs.

“Will you calm down?” I say to Tristan. “Stop swearing.”