Lovely Trigger(34)

Tristan Vega: Perfect. I’ll text you around noon, when I get close.





I logged off quickly after that, making a note not to go on Facebook again. That had backfired on me in a hurry. But even as I had the thought, I was smiling.

I dressed with care the next day, wanting to look my best for the most obvious reasons.

I loved clothes, loved fashion. I always had, and my fashion sense had been constantly evolving through the years. I had a great job, and little in the way of expenses, so I indulged myself in this.

I’d been very into pleats and collars last season, bringing a bit of prep into my business attire. I liked this look because it was cute and feminine, but still classy. My hemline was usually at my knee or lower, my neckline high, and though everything was usually fitted to complement my figure, it was all very modest. My color palette was usually neutral, with lots of creams, beiges, grays. Colors, when I’d worn them, had been muted.

I found myself shopping more than usual the last few weeks, though (specifically since the wedding), and it seemed that my style preferences had changed seemingly overnight.

Now what caught my eye were plunging necklines and raised hems. A bit more skin. A flash of vibrant color. Still classy, still professional, but I’d definitely found my sexy side again.

I didn’t have to think hard to know why this had changed for me.

Needless to say, I’d been shopping a lot, updating my wardrobe, turning it up a notch. Lucky for me, I worked in a building with some of the best shopping in town. And Vegas was a town with some killer shopping.

Today I wore a fitted black tuxedo jacket, and a white pleated skirt that hit me mid-thigh. I kept the jacket buttoned, because underneath I wore nothing but a violet bralette. It was modest enough, as long as I kept the jacket buttoned, just a glaring flash of lace showing at the neckline.

I wore bright white patent leather loafers with it. They were flats. That couldn’t be helped.

I parted my hair down the middle and curled it into thick ringlets, then tousled it a bit. My makeup got as much care, with a dark eye and glossy pale lips.

My extra time paid off when I walked into work feeling sexy. Pride was a perverse thing.

The morning dragged and right before noon, I went to the bathroom, refreshing all of my makeup. It was foolish, but even if we were just being friends, I wanted to look my best in front of Tristan. And by my best, I mean sexy as hell.

It was Frankie who came strolling into the gallery at about eleven forty-five.

“I hate to be the one to break it to you,” I called out to her, smiling, “but I’m ninety-five percent sure that some wild animal ate the bottom half of your tank top.”

She smiled ruefully. “You’re just jealous because your job has a dress code that doesn’t include belly shirts. I can recall you rockin’ your own under boob a time or two, or have you forgotten?”

I hadn’t forgotten. I still had a few of the trashy shirts, for the random rainy day indoors.

“Tristan is going to meet us at the restaurant,” she continued. “I invited myself to lunch with you guys. Hope you don’t mind.”

I shook my head, eyes wide. “Not at all. Sounds like a great idea.”

She laughed. “Well, your reaction was better than Tristan’s, at least. He actually threatened to start getting his tats elsewhere. Can you imagine?”

I blushed, pleased at the notion that he’d wanted to have lunch alone with me. But again, I knew I was being foolish. Stupid, even.

To say I was conflicted where Tristan was concerned was the understatement of a lifetime.

“Where we headed for lunch?” I asked her, going to grab my bag.

I waved at Sandra before we started to walk. Frankie naturally slowed down for me. She was used to my slow walking.

“The Mexican place. What else? I love to get the enchiladas when I’m with Tristan so he can rant about how much better he makes them, and then I rope him into cooking for me. Works one hundred percent of the time. Try it. See if I’m wrong.”

I just shook my head at her and smiled.

Sounded like Trouble to me. It didn’t help that just thinking about his cooking had me salivating.

We were seated and chatting when Tristan showed up promptly at noon. We were in a booth, so he had to sit next to one of us.

He squeezed in next to me, throwing an arm over the back of my seat.

I flushed when he said quietly into my ear, “Jesus. You look beautiful.”

I tried to order a salad, but that about gave Tristan a conniption.

“Don’t tell me about your f*cking diet again,” Frankie chimed in, taking his side.

I made a face and shrugged. “Must be nice not to have to diet and keep a great figure, you two, but that isn’t how it works for me.”

Tristan ignored that completely, and then ordered tamale combos for all of us. “It’s their best dish. Trust me on this.”

“I was craving some enchiladas,” Frankie complained.

“Well then come have dinner at my house tonight, before my show. I’ll cook.”

“Done,” she stated before he’d even finished talking.

“Both of you,” he added.

I was looking down at the menu, but I felt his eyes on me.

“Oh, well, thanks for the offer, but I have plans tonight.” It was lame, but it was the best I could do on short notice.