The words make me smile as I remember watching him during class. He may not have meditated, but he came and he sat… and he was all right. “One step at a time.”
Silence falls between us. Dinner is over and the business stuff has been dealt with. There’s no reason for Tristan to stay any longer.
I’m tempted to draw out the conversation, but hold back. He made it clear downstairs he’s not actually interested in me, even if his eyes do get carried away sometimes. I don’t want to make a fool of myself by chasing him.
More moments pass. Tristan fiddles with the handle of his empty mug. “How did you get into meditation?” he asks, drawing out the conversation.
A grin erupts onto my face and I lift a hand to cover it. “I… um… had some issues at school as a kid. I started late. It was hard.”
“What do you mean started late?”
I hesitate, wondering how much to share. My childhood isn’t some big secret, but I’ve learned not to tell people too much. I don’t like the way they look at me afterward. Like I’m a freak. Or something to be pitied. I don’t want Tristan to look at me that way.
“Mum home-schooled me until high school. Lots of families do it,” I add, as if my childhood were no different than any other home-schooled child. “Starting at a regular school was a huge transition. My doctor suggested meditation as a way to stay calm in stressful environments.” Like the playground, or the classroom, the library, basically any place occupied by more than two people.
“It helped?” Tristan asks.
“Once I got the hang of it,” I say with a nod. “As I got older, I realised I wanted to help other people find their calm place.”
He smiles. “And Siren Sam was born.”
A dismayed groan escapes me. “How do you know that name?”
“I know all the things.” Laughing, he waggles his eyebrows. “How did it come about?”
“From a review. Apparently, someone had been using the app for,” my hands make some obscure gestures, “something other than meditation, if you catch my drift.”
Looking away, he bites down on his bottom lip. “I do.”
“Others must have read the review because the name started popping up in other reviews. Then my students saw it.” My face feels like it’s on fire and I press my palms to my cheeks. “It snowballed from there.”
“Do you…” There’s a short pause before he clears his throat. “Do you have a problem with people using your app for other purposes?”
Something in his tone draws my attention. He looks so guilty. Oh my flippity goodness, has Tristan been getting off on my voice? “Between us,” I admit, “I think it’s kind of awesome, even if I don’t really get it.”
“I get it.” He shifts in his chair, looking generally uncomfortable with the topic of conversation. “I’ve only been using the app for a few weeks but… it’s saved my life.” Though he’s not looking at me, the intensity of his tone gives weight to his words. “The sound of your voice, it’s like a shot of whiskey to my system. My whole body gives in to it and I can’t help but—” He stalls, as if realising he’s said too much.
“Don’t stop there,” I murmur, low and teasing. “I’d love to know what you can’t help but do.”
Both hands run through his hair as he shifts again. “I think you get the idea.”
I break out into a grin. “What are you, gay or something?”
“Yes,” he confirms without hesitation.
My insides do a happy dance, even as my brain urges caution. It’s entirely possible Tristan’s attraction to me begins and ends with my voice. I don’t want to let my imagination run away with me only to discover his interest is limited to my vocal cords. “It must have been a relief to meet me in person,” I suggest, “and realise there’s nothing siren-ish about me, after all. Not in the flesh.”
Tristan’s gaze flicks over me before dropping away again. “You underestimate your flesh.” His words are thick and heavy with desire.
Shivers of pleasure rush through me and my eyes slide closed briefly. “Well, I’m also gay,” I say, trying not to sound like I’m thrusting the information in his face. Which, okay, I am, but I don’t want to be obvious about it. “The thought of a gorgeous man finding pleasure in my voice is never going to be a bad thing. As for the flesh…” I allow the words to trail away as our eyes meet.
Tristan’s throat moves as he swallows. “Sam, I can’t,” he rasps. “We’re working together.”
Is that what’s holding him back? “We have a blood ink pact,” I correct him. “It’s entirely more intimate.”
Huffing out a laugh, he tilts his head to one side. “You’re mouthy tonight.”
“I know, sorry about that.” I don’t sound sorry because I’m not really. “I get this way when I start feeling comfortable with someone.”
