I smiled at Trent, pretending to listen, but another creak overhead broke my concentration.
“So yeah,” he said, laughing lightly, “my mom actually?—”
Thud.
I froze.
He blinked. “Is your house... okay?”
“Totally fine,” I said too quickly. “The old wood has character. Verycolonial chic.”
He chuckled politely. “Right. Just sounds like someone’s walking around up there.”
“Yeah,” I said, forcing a laugh. “That’s—uh—my pet racoon.”
“You didn’t mention a pet.”
“Didn’t I?”
“Nope.”
“Well, now I have.”
Another long creak sounded from the ceiling.
Trent tilted his head, gazing up with concern.
I smiled through my teeth.
“That doesn’t sound like a racoon,” he said uncertainly.
“He’s overweight,” I said, standing up. “And emotionally volatile. I’ll just go ask him to stop… existing so loudly. Give him a treat or something.”
“You keep an emotionally volatile raccoon?”
“Rescue situation,” I said quickly. “It’s complicated.”
He nodded. “I’ll stay here … alone, I guess.”
“Great plan.”
I headed for the stairs, every step echoing my internal scream.
I marched up the stairs like a woman readying herself for battle. By the time I reached the attic, I was seeing red. I flung open the door and hissed, “Be quiet. I’m trying to get laid.”
Cristian stood in the middle of the attic, perfectly still, as if waiting for a cue. His eyes narrowed. He didn’t say a word.
I grabbed the nearest blanket, because it was the closest thing to my hand, and threw it at him. “Unacceptable behavior.”
He caught it, unbothered. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His glare said more than words ever could. I slammed the door, stomped back down the stairs, and took a deep breath at the landing.Therapy note number twenty- four: regulate before re-engaging.
I straightened my dress, forced a smile, and joined Trent on the couch.
“Sorry,” I said. “Racoon crisis averted.”
He grinned. “You’re cute when you panic.”
That should have been charming. It wasn’t. I tried to focus, tried to let him kiss me, but then?—
