Lovely Trigger(43)

I snorted. “Not likely. I’ve been to your house twice, and I haven’t even seen the second floor. You aren’t getting a tour of mine until I get one of yours.”

“Okay. Come by my house tonight. I’ll give you a key, and you can let yourself in and wait for me.”

“No.”

“Okay. Back to the original plan. I’ll be by your place later tonight.”

“I work in the morning. If you want to come by after a performance, at least do it when I’m off the next day.”

He smiled big. “Tomorrow night then. That’s perfect.”

I glared at him. He’d done it again. That tactic seemed to work on me every time. “You can only get away with that trick so many times before I stop falling for it.”

“I can live with that. I’ll just move onto another one. You’re forgetting just how many tricks I have up my sleeve.”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t seem to stop smiling.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN





DANIKA





I found myself challenged with the issue of non-dressing up for his visit to my house. Obviously, by the time he showed up after his show, it would be late at night, and I’d look like I was trying too hard if I was still dressed up for work.

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 breasts (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*cking 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.