Lovely Trigger (Tristan & Danika #3)(45)

I changed my clothes four times in the hours I waited for him.

Also, I typed out three texts to him, canceling our plans, because what were we thinking?  This wasn’t even dinner, which was bad enough.

This was straight-up booty call hours.

In the end, no texts were sent.

I was only human, and I wanted to see him.

Why did he have to be so much fun on top of everything else?  It was just so unfair.  And so addictive.

I put on a pair of gray sweatpants and a slouchy, off the shoulder gray sweatshirt.  This was outfit number one, my ‘It’s past my bedtime, and I’m not even trying to be sexy for you’ getup.  I put my hair up in a messy ponytail, put on makeup that made it look like I wasn’t wearing makeup, and then stared at myself in the full-length mirror in my bedroom for a solid five minutes.

I went into my home office and caught up on work for less than ten minutes before I headed back into my closet and changed.

I switched into some white cheer shorts, but left the sweatshirt on.  This was outfit number two, my ‘I’m dressing down, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be a little bit sexy’ getup.

That one lasted less than five minutes.

I changed into a half shirt that barely covered my br**sts (I had to dig deep in my closet to find this one) and rolled the waistband of my white shorts up, making them miniscule.  I took my bra off and my hair down.  This was outfit number three, my ‘Let’s see how long you can last until we’re f**king tonight’ getup.

That outfit lasted nearly an hour, and my vibrator got some serious attention just because of where my mind went when I thought of how he’d react to seeing me dressed in it.

I buried that outfit back into my closet after I took it off.

Next I changed into a loose, pale pink, lace edged camisole with a built in bra, and found (after much digging) my favorite old pair of shorts.  The ones that read ‘sassy pants’ on the butt.  I’d had them forever.  Tristan loved them, I knew.  This was outfit number four, my ‘Yes, it’s sexy, but at least I didn’t have to masturbate for a half hour after I put it on’ getup.  This one ended up being the winner.  I left my hair down, and glossed my lips up three times in the five-minute window when I was expecting Tristan, before he actually showed up.

I opened my door to him with trembling hands and a racing heart.

We smiled at each other, him looking too devastating, still dressed in his suit, me in my thoughtful loungewear that I could tell he appreciated at a glance.

He stepped inside without a word, heading straight into my living room, which was directly accessed from my small entry hall.

He shrugged off his jacket, his back to me, and tossed it on the back of one of a set of armchairs.  He rolled up his sleeves as he turned back around, then, looking up at me, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt.  It was baby blue today.

“How was your show?” I breathlessly asked.

He strode to me, hands going to my hips.  It was so unexpected that it made me jump.

He smiled that heart-stopping smile.  “Relax.  I’m just saying hi.”  With that, he pulled me closer, putting his arms over my shoulders, and kissed the top of my head.

Since my face was already there, I let it rest against his chest, rubbing my cheek against the swollen flesh of his pectoral.  I kept my hands at my sides, attempting some form of restraint, no matter how feeble.

He pulled back, then stepped back, shoving his hands in his pocket.  He watched me, keeping his expression neutral.

I wasn’t sure what to do.  “You hungry?” I asked him.

“If you’re cooking, yes.”

I led him into my kitchen, and started pulling various items out of my fridge.  I knew how much he ate, so I’d planned for feeding him, though I’d only prepped, not cooked, just in case.

He made an appreciative noise when he realized what I was planning.  He went and preheated my oven without having to be asked.

He’d been the one, after all, that had taught me the recipe.

He helped me stuff several jalapeños and then wrap them in bacon.  We didn’t talk much, I don’t know why, but I was just enjoying the company, even in silence.

After I’d put the appetizers in the oven and set the timer, we went into the living room.

He sprawled out on the couch, and I took an armchair.

We smiled at each other.

‘Tell me something’ was a game we’d played back in the day.  It had started out as a game we’d played over the phone when we were doing the long distance thing, and evolved into a bullshit test, where we lied half the time, only admitting it was a lie when we thought we had the other convinced.  The best get, though, was when you said something legit and got called bullshit on the truth.  I’m not even sure why, but we’d both decided that was the win of all wins.  It was the most fun, I supposed.

We were twisted, but it was so much more fun to be twisted when you had a partner.

“Tell me something,” he said fondly.

I propped my feet up on the coffee table, chewing on my lip.  We hadn’t played in so long; I didn’t even know where to begin.  I beamed as I thought of a good one.  “I’m a huge Josh Groban fan now.”

He barked out a laugh.  I’d known he’d get a kick out of that.  That kind of music was so not his cup of tea.  “You are shitting me.  This one is easy.  Lie.”