“Sooo,” Tristan drawled. “Was there something you needed, or did you just miss the sound of my voice?”
“Ugh,” I groaned. “Why are you like this?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t love it.” I heard the smile in his tone, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, grittier. “Or that it doesn’t do sinful things to you.”
He was so spot-on, it freaked me the hell out. I would’ve hung up if I hadn’t caught sight of Millie’s expectant expression.
Grinding my molars, I forced the words over my lips. “You’d make Millie’s day if you joined us for pancakes.”
“Why are you changing the subject, Kate?” He didn’t miss a damn beat. “Afraid to admit the truth?”
I ignored the question and did nothing to hide my annoyance. “Breakfast?”
A deep, delicious rumble filtered through the line, skittering over my skin and setting my pulse on fire. “Seems like I got my answer.”
I hated that he knew he affected me.
“Good for you,” I snapped. “Are you coming for breakfast or not?”
More freaking chuckling. That asshole. “I’d love tocome. I’m quite famished.”
This time I did poke the red button. He could take his inuendo and stick it up his…
“Is he coming?”
Millie had moved across the room, silent as a freaking ninja. She stood in front of me, eyes big and wide.
It was impossible not to smile at her. “Yeah, Bug, I think he is.”Unfortunately.
“Yesss.” Her little fist punched the air, and poor Mochi got squished to death. Then she was off, sprinting through the apartment, doing heaven only knew what.
At least the place was small enough that whatever havoc she created wouldn’t be too difficult to clean up.
My appearance on the other hand, not so much.
Still wearing my skimpyBT21pajamas and rocking a mighty bedhead, I looked like I’d gone up against a tornado and lost.
I could do something about the clothes, but there’d be no time to smooth out or style my curls. An uncomfortable feeling settled in my bones. I wasn’t a self-conscious person, except when it came to my hair.
I didn’t even know why. Most people envied my tight bouncy curls. All except Eleanor. Since she and Izzy both had our mother’s beautiful silky straight hair, she’d made it her mission to point out how different mine was.
It hadn’t always been like that. But a lot of things changed after I’d caught her in my boyfriend’s bed.
Shoving thoughts of the past away, I crossed the room to my closet. I yanked it open and instead of grabbing the first things I saw like I normally did, I stared. What was I going to wear? And why the hell did it matter?
Ugh. This was a bad idea. No, a terrible, terrible idea.
I shouldn’t have invited him over.
My groan bounced off the wall. It wasn’t like I could uninvite him. I’d have to deal with these new, weird, and very unwelcome things Tristan Blake had me feeling.
I’d successfully avoided them for five years. Surely, I could do it for a few more months. Or hopefully, indefinitely.
With a renewed belief in my power of resistance, I snatched a T-shirt and pair of cutoff shorts and pulled them on before I had time to second-guess myself. My face got a few dots of foundation—after my morning skincare routine of course—followed by a little blush and bronzer.
Two strokes of mascara and a bit of mousse to the curls finished my look.
Just in time too.
