“Ask me out?” We start for the security center. I feel jittery and unsettled.
“He was asking you about the shooting range, right?”
“Yeah, because he wanted to go to one. He wanted a recommendation.”
Tristan stops in the middle of the path, his mouth ajar. “You don’t see it.”
“See what?” I fold my arms. “Don’t give me the all-knowing Tristan act.”
His grin is cocky. “You really think Ryan wanted to talk about guns?”
“Yes.” I raise both brows. “He, like every other man, sees me as one of the boys.”
“Bailey.” Tristan shakes his head before he loops an arm around my shoulder. I hold myself stiffly. “Bailey. Bailey. What am I going to do with you?”
I poke him in the side. “Explain.”
“It was a line.” We reach the steps of the security center. My apartment is right above it.
“A line.”
“He saw a girl, wanted to talk to her, and thought of the one thing he knew something about.” Tristan snorts. “Idiot. I wouldn’t talk about the thing I knew about. I’d talk about what she was interested in.”
A thread of excitement is curling in my stomach. “You really think he was into me?”
Tristan’s eyes flare. “You were interested in him?”
“I mean—he’s hot. I wasn’tnotinterested.”
Maybe he could help me be insatiable. The thought makes my pulse skip.
Tristan’s face tightens. “I’ll be sure to pass that along. If he asks.”
“Which he probably won’t.”
“Bailey.” Tristan shakes his head. “You are adorably clueless. I’m going to bed.”
I watch his retreating back before I sigh and mount the steps to my apartment. I don’t want to be adorably clueless. I want to be hot and competent. Dangerous. Respected. One day, I want someone’s jaw to drop when I walk into the room. I want to look like Tristan’s date did earlier—womanly and mysterious and confident. And then I want tohave a twenty-four-hour marathon of sex with a man who isinsatiablefor me.
I kick off my sneakers when I get into my apartment and watch them thunk onto the floor.
Adorably clueless is probably the best I can hope for, but right now, the thought rankles.
6
KATIE
Tristan’s outside when I duck out of my apartment before dawn the next morning. He’s wearing a green hoodie and white running shorts that display an alarming amount of thigh. There’s a pulse inside me as I take him in. Laughing eyes under heavy lashes, soft mouth tilted up at the side, sharp jaw shadowed with stubble. His gaze is warm and friendly, like it always is.
“Hi.” His voice is soft, and his grin is a white slash in the dim light.
“Hi,” I whisper back. “Surprised you’re here. Don’t you have dates to prepare for? Potential spouses to woo?”
He gives me a dirty look. “Nothing is changing. Knock it off.”
“Whatever you say, sunshine.”
“Come on,” he grumbles. “Maybe I’ll beat you today.”
