I stepped out.
Tristian paused. “Hello, doll. Well rested?”
I nodded. “S-sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“No problem,” he rumbled. “I hope I didn’t wake you?”
I hesitated. If I said yes,then what next?Would he ask if I’d heard anything? If he did, could I lie convincingly? I didn’t think so. I was already pretty certain my tired act wasn’t convincing. Tristian seemed tobe looking at me very closely. Did he know I’d overheard him? Or was his close look because he was hiding something, too?
“No, you didn’t,” I said, hoping it came out smooth. “I just woke up.”
He nodded. “Good.”
But still, I had to ask.
“Were you on the phone to Kane?” I breathed.
Tristian loomed down over me, his suddenly presence overwhelming. “…I thought I didn’t wake you?”
“You didn’t,” I said quickly. “I heard you saying goodbye to someone as I was coming to see you. I figure it was probably Kane.”
Another nod, another impenetrable look. “It was him. Thought we’d catch up. Busy day tomorrow, you know?”
“R-right,” I said.
We stood there for a moment, neither of us saying a word. Did he suspect me? Or did he think I bought it? Or was he wondering right now if I suspectedhim?
The silence was stretching too long. I cleared my throat, breaking it. “I-I’d better get home. It’s late, and…”
“Right. Your father. Of course.” A sour look crossed his face, and his words on the phone echoed back to me.We need to look into her father… figure out what the hell is going on.Then he smoothed it over, stepping back. “I’ll grab my keys.”
The drive back was quiet. I forced a conversation halfway through, desperate to cover myself. I worried Tristian would notice, but he didn’t say a word. When I glanced at him five minutes before we got back to mine, he looked distracted. By the phone call? By the business with his father? By something else? I couldn’t be sure—and right now, I wasn’t going to ask.
When we pulled up to my house, I expected him to wait in the car as he always did. But when I went to hop out, he was already there, opening my door. A cold spike of worry shot through me. He had never walkedme to the door before. Was he checking the house? Looking for more things to look into?
“T-Tristian, you don’t have to,” I said, my voice small.
“I’m walking you in, Ingrid.”
It wasn’t a suggestion.
As we reached the porch, the front door swung open. My abuelita stood there, her eyes widening as they landed on the tall, tattooed man looming over me.
“Ingrid, you didn’t tell me you were spending time with such a fine young man,” she said, her voice dripping with that sharp, observant sarcasm she saved for special occasions. She looked at the hoodie draped around my shoulders—his hoodie—and a knowing grin spread across her face as she continued in Spanish. “That hoodie is a little big on you.”
I felt the heat climb my neck at her observation and quickly changed the subject. “Abuelita… this is Tristian. My… friend. Tristian, this is Mariana, my abuelita.”
Tristian stepped forward with a practiced, dark charm. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mariana.”
My heart did a painful flip.
I practically pushed my grandmother back into the house. “Okay, Abuelita! I’ll be inside in a sec!”
Hurriedly closing the door on her, I turned to Tristian to see his expression had returned to that brooding, unreadable mask.
“Get inside, doll,” he said quietly. “I’ll call you.”
I watched him walk back to his car, his gait steady and dangerous. My attraction to him was growing, but as the door closed, and that phone call echoed back to me once more, the weight of his hoodie felt less like a hug and more like a warning.
