Lovely Trigger(35)

“Oh yeah? What are your plans?” Tristan asked, and if he was trying to disguise the tense new note in his voice, he was doing it poorly.

I looked at him, and his attitude seemed to rein itself in before my eyes.

“A rain check then,” he told me.

I shrugged, refusing to commit to anything.

It was a strange meal, though I couldn’t deny that it was enjoyable.

He was big and the bench wasn’t, so we sat hip to hip and ate and joked with Frankie for a good hour.

It was like being transported back in time. I didn’t begin to know what to feel about that.

Frankie headed straight to her shop after we finished, but Tristan walked me back to work, strolling slowly beside me, hands in the pockets of his slacks. He was well turned out, in an all-black suit with no tie. The effects were devastating, though I tried not to dwell on them.

“You’re all dressed up today. What’s the occasion?” I asked him, my tone idle, my eyes hungry.

“Don’t you like it? I know you aren’t a fan of my T-shirt and jeans uniform.”

My mouth twisted as I shot him a look out of the corner of my eye. “I do like it, but why on earth would you say that? I have never in my life complained about the way you dress.”

He shrugged, fidgeting with his collar. “I haven’t failed to notice that you only date professionals. The kind that wear suits, not jeans.”

I stopped to give him my full attention. “Don’t tell me you dressed like this for me.”

He looked distinctly uncomfortable. He shrugged again. “I wear suits sometimes. Not a big deal.”

We started walking again. My eyes were glued to the carpet on the casino floor. It was elaborately patterned in blue and gold, very nice, but somehow managed to look like the floor of every other casino I’d ever been in. What was with that? Why did they all look the same? Was it all of the slot machines, the sounds, the sights?

I realized I was trying to distract myself and snapped out of it.

“I am a fan of T-shirts and jeans, Tristan.”

Especially when they were wrapped around his spectacular body, but I sure as hell wasn’t telling him that.

He stopped abruptly, looking at me like I was supposed to be reacting to something.

I didn’t care for the look. Something in it scared me. Threatened me, or at least, my well-being.

I glanced around. We were near some slot machines and to our left was a women’s restroom.

My eyes widened, then narrowed.

I started walking again.

In my mind, I’d systematically gotten used to moving past that spot, just as I had the sports book that we would pass next.

There were memories in this place, memories that I’d had to push far back in my mind, to keep sane.

“Do you remember—”

“Don’t. We’re not doing that. We’re not taking a walk down memory lane. We just aren’t. Is that clear?”

He sighed, but agreed.

But I did remember. Oh Lord, did I remember.

I remembered so well that it had me seeing into the very near future, that very night in fact, when I would go home by myself, go to bed by myself, and fantasize, obsessively, about getting f*cked in the stall of that bathroom over six years ago.

We walked the rest of the way in silence, but he didn’t leave me at the entrance, following me all the way to my office.

I went and stood at my tall project desk, looking down at it, knowing I had things to do, but unable to focus on anything to do with work.

Forgetting, for a moment, what my work even was.

“What are you doing?” I asked Tristan, who was in my office, leaning against the wall, just looking at me.

“I want to cook for you. When can you come to my house for dinner?”

I should have turned him down flat, but something he’d said and something I’d heard made me too curious to pass up the chance to ask about it.

“Your house?” I questioned. “I heard the strangest rumor that you live in the casino.”

His mouth quirked up just enough to flash a dimple. “It’s required in my contract that they keep a room available for my own personal use for the duration of the show. It’s a suite, my own personal suite, for nights that run late, but it is not where I live. I do have a house, out near Seven Hills.”

My eyes widened, but I didn’t tell him that I lived in that direction, as well. Then he’d ask questions, and possibly find out exactly where, and I did not need that on top of everything else.

“How about tomorrow?” he asked, tucking his hands into his pockets.

I shook my head, admiring the lines of his suit. It was amazing how well it fit him, sexy, giant biceps and all. “No. No. That sounds like a date. We are not dating. Friends don’t date.”

“Frankie is coming to my house tonight, by herself, and I’m cooking her dinner. Same damn thing that I’m proposing for tomorrow. You going to tell me I’m dating Frankie now?”

As far as arguments went, he got the award for best angle on a shitty one.

I had a thought. “I bet Estella is coming too, so that makes it completely different.”

“She’s not. Estella is busy. Tonight is just me and Frankie, since you refuse to come.”

“I said I have plans.”

“Okay, fine. So come tomorrow. A friendly dinner. You can see my house. Aren’t you curious about my house?”