Page 53 of Meet Cute the Virgin

How is he always saying I’m a mess? Sure, I throw shit everywhere but not like this.

I stare at the blood on Tristan’s hands and shirt. It’s even smudged across his jaw like he wiped some away.

“You have very aggressive orchids.” I giggle. “Why does he kind of look like that right now?” I ask Teddy.

“You’re drunk,” Tristan says. Not accusing. Stating a fact.

“And you’re a psycho stalker.” If we’re stating the obvious. The crown slips over one eye, and I push it back up. “Happy drunk girls don’t ask questions about blood. Happy drunk girls go home with their captors and make dinner.” I wiggle my brows at Tristan.

Teddy snorts behind me. “Tradwife Lily. I’d watch that show, but we should keep the fire department on scene.”

I mean, I might have daydreamed more than a few times about married life with Tristan.

“Shut up.” But I’m smiling, swaying toward him. “Take me home, Tristan. I want to be a good little wifey for you.”

Tristan stands there not moving, bloody and beautiful, watching me like I’m a math problem he can’t solve. “You’re not going anywhere alone tonight.”

“Then come with me.” I grab his hand, sticky with whatever happened in that greenhouse. “I need supervision. Clearly.”

“Go,” Killian says. “I’ll handle... gardening.”

Tristan starts to lead me back to the house. “Teddy!” I should be spinning back around. I almost fall, but Tristan catches me.

“You got blood on me,” I huff. “At least it doesn’t have a tracker in it.” He narrows his eyes on me. “Yeah, I know allll about that, buster,” I say, poking his hand and chest and then starting to rub.

“What!” Teddy shouts back. Oh right!

“Tell Reginald I said good night. I’ll miss him.”

“Who the hell is Reginald?”

“Oh, I can’t tell you that. Reginald gets his feathers ruffled when you talk about him and he’s not there.”

“He won’t give a fuck about his feathers when he’s dead.” I snort a laugh. I keep it to myself that Reginald is already dead. A girl has got to have her secrets, secrets that annoy the shit out of her man.

“Oh noes.” I stop.

Tristan nods curtly and pulls me toward the door.

“What do you want for dinner, husband? I could make... toast. Or cereal. I’m very domestic.”

“You’re very drunk,” he says, but his voice has that soft edge. The one he uses when he’s pretending not to care.

“I could help you wash.” I reach over and finger the blood dried on his collar. “You’ve got someone else’s DNA all over you. Don’t have any of mine. You’d lose your mind if I had another man’s DNA on me.”

“Lily.” He shakes his head at me. “It was a man, not a woman.”

“That’s what I said! If I had another man’s DNA on me.”

“That’s not happening. Now, in.” He opens a truck door for me.

“What’s happening? My room is that way.” That’s where I thought we were going.

“We have to go to my place. I’ll need clothes after I shower.”

“Your place?” I ask. “Wait?! Your place! Where the hell do you live?”

“Get in and I’ll show you.”