“Well, I have been inside you.” She winks as I shake my head in resignation. “Come on.” She tugs me and we start walking back down the path. “I’m going to help you get your man…” She stops suddenly, her eyes widening. “Oh my god, this is totally like the moment inGreasewhen Sandy asks Frenchie to help her. Oh! Does this mean we get to do a makeover?”
“I’m not dressing like a slut to get my man.” I roll my eyes as we start walking again.
“And his name’s Danny too! Oh this is too perfect, are you sure you don’t want a makeover?”
“Dusty?” I say quietly as we move further away from the bandstand.
“Yeah?”
“I really do love you,” I tell her impulsively. “Don’t ever change.”
“Right back atcha, boo.” She grins. “Right back atcha.”
23
Feeling uncertain, I look down at the keys in my hand. Tristan gave them to me months ago when I began sleeping over so often. With us both finishing work at different hours it was easier to let myself in. It’s always been so easy with him. We just fit together from day one, but now… I don’t like feeling this way. I know he loves me and I know he said I hadn’t rushed him and that he really did want to move in together but…
I’m freaking out about whatever it is he wants to talk to me about. I’ve got this awful gut feeling it’s something big, something that could make or break our relationship, and I guess I’m scared. I don’t want to lose him, he’s the best thing to ever happen to me.
We need to talk. The sooner we clear the air the better, and standing on his doorstep having a meltdown is not the answer, but I can’t help it. All these crazy things keep running through my head.
I grip the keys tightly, knowing I should just use them and let myself in like I have a hundred times before. It’s not a big deal.
So why does it feel like such a big deal?
I lift my hand to knock but pause, knuckles inches from the door. This is so stupid. I drop my hand down to my side again and close my eyes, inhaling slowly. Hearing the door open, I open my eyes and see Tris staring at me in puzzlement.
“Why are you standing out here?” he asks with a small frown marring his brow.
“I…” No words. I literally have none. I can’t tell him I’ve been standing outside his door for ages having an internal debate on whether to just let myself in.
His eyes soften as he steps out onto the landing in his favourite pair of thick socks. He wraps his arms around me and, as I look down into those gorgeous green eyes of his, he pushes up on his toes and presses his mouth to mine. His lips are soft, his kiss full of love, and something inside me begins to slowly uncoil.
I feel his fingertips dancing along the nape of my neck above my collar as he pulls back. He places one more reassuring kiss on my lips and takes my hand, pulling me into the flat and closing the door behind me.
He leads me into the living room and indicates for me to take a seat on the sofa, then rubs his hands on the thighs of his jeans. I can tell he’s nervous about something, and that just sets all my alarm bells ringing again.
“Do you want me to get you a drink or something?” he asks.
“No.” I shake my head, my voice sounding a lot calmer than I feel. “I want you to tell me what’s going on. You’ve been acting strangely for days, first pulling away, then kissing me like nothing’s changed. You say you don’t feel that I’m pushing you too fast about moving in together, but maybe I am and you’re subconsciously taking a step back.”
“No!” he says firmly. “No, I swear that’s not it.” He gives a little frustrated growl under his breath, which would be cute if I wasn’t so worried. Instead, I watch as he fists his hands in his hair, making his curls wilder than usual. He breathes deeply as he fixes his gaze on me. “This is harder than I thought. I have so much to tell you and I’m not even sure where to start, and no matter what I say I’m going to sound like a completely crazy person.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” I reply.
“Okay.” He holds his hands up. “I’m going to start at the beginning and it’s a bit of a long story, but I need you to have an open mind and also for you to remember that no matter how nuts this all sounds, I can prove it.”
“Okay,” I agree as he rambles, and it’s so authentic Tris that something eases inside me, allowing a curl of curiosity to seep through my worry.
“Okay,” he repeats, as if calming himself. “It all started when we met at The Crown, the night of Seamus’ leaving do. When I embarrassingly choked on that ice cube and ended up technically dead.”
“I remember,” I murmur, trying not to think too much about what would’ve happened if I hadn’t been able to revive him.
“When I woke up, something was different… I was different.” He licks his lip nervously and I keep quiet, letting him get it all out. “I didn’t realise until the next day when you walked into the mortuary with a murder case.”
“Dusty Le Frey,” I interject, thinking back to the attractive drag queen who’d been friends with Chan and Tristan.
“Yeah, um… well, the moment Dusty was wheeled into the mortuary I discovered I could see the dead.”
