Lovely Trigger (Tristan & Danika #3)(61)

“Well, there’s your answer.  No chance in hell.”

“Not even one hookup?”

“Fuck no.  Not a chance.  You happy or sad that you were so wrong?”

I made a noise of noncommittal, but I was pretty damned ecstatic about it.

“She did come up in therapy a few times, mostly because my relationship with her pointed to the fact that back when we were teenagers, I wanted to save her more than I wanted to be happy.  Savior complex, my therapist called it.”

My chest was tight.  “Is that how you felt about you and me?  Were you trying to save me?”

He turned his head and kissed my knee again.  “God no.  You’ve got that so twisted.  You were the one saving me.  Always.”

I closed my eyes and let that wash over me.  The only thing that brought me out of it was some bright blue colored powder to the face.

“So Mona and Natalie are both going to be at the after party for this thing?” I finally asked him.

“Yes.  If it makes you feel better, I think Natalie hates Mona even more than she hated you.”

That did not make me feel better.  In terms of things in the world that didn’t make me feel better, that one got a top spot.

I made him put me down and walked briskly for the next few paint stations.

He ignored my protests, throwing me back on his shoulders to cross the colorful finish line, dragging me to one of the pack of color throwers, holding still until every inch of us was drenched.

I was giggling and dusting off the top of his head when a smiling, colorful Mona approached us.

She greeted us both warmly.  She didn’t act at all threatened by me, and I didn’t know what to make of that.  I hadn’t gotten the impression, for even a second, that she was over Tristan.

But perhaps that was my baggage, since six long years later, I was still completely infatuated with the man.

“They’re setting up a photo op with the other girls,” she told Tristan.  “They want to do it while all of the paint is still fresh.”  She pointed towards a stage that was being set up.  “They want us all there in five minutes.”

“Let me down,” I told him, tugging on his hair.  He did so without a word.

“You can come too, of course, if you want,” Mona told me.

“No, thanks,” I said instantly.

Tristan was looking at me, and Mona was looking at him.  I wanted to be literally anywhere else on the planet right then.

“Go on,” I told him.  “I’ll be around.”  I tapped the armband on my bicep that held my phone.

He moved close, as though Mona wasn’t even there, and cupped my face in his palms.  “Come with me.  I don’t want to get separated in this crowd.  It could take me hours to find you again.”

I shook my head, but it didn’t dislodge his gentle hands.  “I have my phone.  Go on.  I’ll be fine.”

He bent and started kissing me, powdered faces and all.  He didn’t pull back until I was clutching the front of his shirt in both hands, and Mona had long since moved on without him.

I still refused to go with him, but when he left, I trailed slowly, intending to watch the shoot from a distance.

All around me people were dancing and in general just having a blast, everyone so covered in paint powder that it was peppering the air with every movement.  A few people had even brought their children, and they seemed to be getting as big of a kick out of it all as the adults.

Only with Tristan would I find myself in a place like this and the second he was away from my side, I wanted to leave.

I stuck with it, though, watching the drawn-out photo op that involved him putting his arm around a lot of busty, paint colored women in half shirts.

I was about one second from saying to hell with it and catching a cab when a female voice spoke just to my right.

“I guess the bitch is back.”

It took me a minute, while I turned and studied the paint-colored, hostile woman that had taken up residence beside me.

Finally, I recognized the collagen injected, puffed up features under the powder.  Even under a pound of color, I could tell she wasn’t aging well.  She was going overboard with the surgery.

“Natalie,” I said, then turned away again.

I ignored her as much as I could.  I figured that was the nicest thing I could do.  And the mature thing to do.

Even she didn’t deserve the things I wanted to say to her.  The last six years of our mess wasn’t her fault.

“I saw you and Tristan during the race.  It’s so sweet that he was helping you out back there.  He’s such a nice guy, helping the disabled.”

“Disabled?” I said softly, giving her my full attention now.  Now she deserved it.

A part of me kind of lived for that moment when my claws could come out, and I didn’t have to feel bad about the consequences, because I felt I’d been properly provoked.  This was definitely one of those moments.

“If you ask me, those giant silicone filled balloons on your chest that have you nearly tipping over every time you try to stand upright, and those clown lips of yours have to make it hard to eat without drooling.  Now those are a disability.”

She made a disgusted noise, but had no comeback.