R. Lilley - Lovely Trigger

I took a long drink, moaning appreciatively, like it was the best shake I’d ever had, though I barely tasted it.

“Want a drink?”

She shook her head stubbornly.

“One drink won’t affect your diet.”

I slid it her way, and she tried it.  Apparently, it did taste good, because she just kept drinking, and as she always said, she didn’t waste calories on sub-par food.

She finished the whole thing, then blamed me for letting her have it.  “Now I have to hit the gym extra hard tomorrow.”

“I could always give you another workout tonight.”  Even if we were in friend mode for the moment, what could it hurt to flirt?

Of course, if she’d taken me up on it, nothing on earth could have kept me from following through.

Unfortunately she didn’t.  Instead, she glared.

I ordered cherry pie a la mode, just to keep dragging the night out, then proceeded to go on and on about how much I loved to eat pie.

Just to make her laugh.

And it did.  And her laugh made me happy, as it always had.

Next I ordered coffee, and she had a cup as well.

I was stuffed, but I ordered an omelet next.

She’d caught on by then, folding her arms across her chest.  “I’m tired.  I need to get to bed, sometime tonight.”

“You want me to go to bed undernourished?  Let me finish this last thing, and then I’ll take you back.”

I finished the entire omelet, and all of the sides that came with it, dragging it out to the last.

“You flying or driving back to Vegas?” I asked her, as I finally took her back to her hotel.

“I have a flight in the morning.  Early.”

I nodded.  I’d driven, as this trip had been a last minute impulse; I’d learned about the show the morning prior.  Also, I liked to drive.  If I thought I had a chance in hell, I’d have put some real effort into getting her to drive with me.

“Well, I drive in the morning.  Let me know if you miss your flight, or just want to sleep in, you can come with.”

She didn’t respond.  I hadn’t thought she would.

I walked her in and got a room there myself.

I tossed and turned all night, obsessed with the fact that she was under the same roof, somewhere.

DANIKA

I’d bought a house the year prior, less than two months after I’d moved back to Las Vegas.

It was an odd move, because I’d never even considered buying a place before.  I’d been a pretty happy renter.

But I made good money, and I’d just started looking at houses, with a mind to planting some roots.  Very quickly, I’d found a cute little place in Seven Hills.  The commute wasn’t bad into work.  The traffic was a dream, compared to what I’d gotten used to in Los Angeles, and my location gave me a few route options, if I hit it at the wrong times.

It was a quiet area, and for the most part, my neighbors kept to themselves.

The lady next door had what seemed like thirty cats, but that didn’t bother me.  I didn’t have pets, but I loved pets, so I found myself buying cat food, and putting it on my back porch, shamelessly feeding the felines so they’d like me.

I traveled too much to have my own pets, so I just borrowed a few sometimes.

There was an orange tabby and a blue point Himalayan I was particularly fond of, and those ones even got to come into my house.

I had a promising future as a lonely cat lady.

I’d been back in town for two days and still hadn’t had any contact with Tristan.  I’d gotten right back into work, and I knew Tristan’d had his show the last two nights.

Some days I enjoyed the peaceful solitude of my little house in Seven Hills.  Some days there was nothing I loved more than coming home from work, putting on a pair of sweats, collecting my furry friends, and curling up with a good book, shutting out the world, getting lost in fantasyland.  Nothing beat an absorbing book in terms of distraction.

I wasn’t feeling that need for solitude so much that night.  I wasn’t in the mood for reading or borrowing cats.

In fact, I felt so lonely that I found myself doing something I almost never did.

Logging onto Facebook.

It was my personal account, so there wasn’t much going on.  I had two friend requests, but only one of them had my heart racing.  I clicked confirm on both before I could talk myself out of it.

Less than two minutes later, a little red number one appeared above my message box, and breathless, I clicked on it.

Tristan had left me a short message.

Tristan Vega:  Thanks for accepting my friend request.  I promise to try my hardest to refrain from sending you too many dick pics.  

That surprised a laugh out of me, and then a smile that just wouldn’t go away.

Danika Markova:  How sweet.  What a gentleman you are.  

Tristan Vega:  By too many, I mean more than a dozen, just so you can’t say I didn’t give you fair warning.

Danika Markova:  Don’t make me find the unfriend button.

I sent it as a joke, but his response back was effusive and apologetic.

Tristan Vega:  I’m very sorry.  I was totally joking.

Danika Markova:  I was only joking, too.  

Tristan Vega:  You have any exciting plans this weekend?  

I sighed, not knowing what to tell him, not knowing what to do.  What I wanted to do and how I needed to handle things were two polar opposites at the moment, actively working against each other.

Danika Markova:  I do have plans.  How was the show tonight?  

Tristan Vega:  Good.  Want to have lunch tomorrow, at the casino?  I’ll be in early, and I know you’re working.  

I shut my eyes, knowing that I should find an excuse to say no.  I needed to slow this thing down, and if we started seeing each other on a daily basis, that wasn’t going to happen.

He was easing his way into being a big part of my life again, and I knew that it was nothing that I should encourage.  He took a mile for every inch I gave.  He always had.

Still, I told myself it was only lunch.  And if he was already going to be there, it seemed over the top rude to turn him down.

Danika Markova:  Sounds good.  Just let me know when you want to go.  My lunch hour is flexible.

Tristan Vega:  Perfect.  I’ll text you around noon, when I get close.  

I logged off quickly after that, making a note not to go on Facebook again.  That had backfired on me in a hurry.  But even as I had the thought, I was smiling.

I dressed with care the next day, wanting to look my best for the most obvious reasons.

I loved clothes, loved fashion.  I always had, and my fashion sense had been constantly evolving through the years.  I had a great job, and little in the way of expenses, so I indulged myself in this.

I’d been very into pleats and collars last season, bringing a bit of prep into my business attire.  I liked this look because it was cute and feminine, but still classy.  My hemline was usually at my knee or lower, my neckline high, and though everything was usually fitted to complement my figure, it was all very modest.  My color palette was usually neutral, with lots of creams, beiges, grays.  Colors, when I’d worn them, had been muted.

I found myself shopping more than usual the last few weeks, though (specifically since the wedding), and it seemed that my style preferences had changed seemingly overnight.

Now what caught my eye were plunging necklines and raised hems.  A bit more skin.  A flash of vibrant color.  Still classy, still professional, but I’d definitely found my sexy side again.

I didn’t have to think hard to know why this had changed for me.

Needless to say, I’d been shopping a lot, updating my wardrobe, turning it up a notch.  Lucky for me, I worked in a building with some of the best shopping in town.  And Vegas was a town with some killer shopping.

Today I wore a fitted black tuxedo jacket, and a white pleated skirt that hit me mid-thigh.  I kept the jacket buttoned, because underneath I wore nothing but a violet bralette.  It was modest enough, as long as I kept the jacket buttoned, just a glaring flash of lace showing at the neckline.

I wore bright white patent leather loafers with it.  They were flats.  That couldn’t be helped.

I parted my hair down the middle and curled it into thick ringlets, then tousled it a bit.  My makeup got as much care, with a dark eye and glossy pale lips.

My extra time paid off when I walked into work feeling sexy.   Pride was a perverse thing.

The morning dragged and right before noon, I went to the bathroom, refreshing all of my makeup.  It was foolish, but even if we were just being friends, I wanted to look my best in front of Tristan.  And by my best, I mean sexy as hell.

It was Frankie who came strolling into the gallery at about eleven forty-five.

“I hate to be the one to break it to you,” I called out to her, smiling, “but I’m ninety-five percent sure that some wild animal ate the bottom half of your tank top.”

She smiled ruefully.  “You’re just jealous because your job has a dress code that doesn’t include belly shirts.  I can recall you rockin’ your own under boob a time or two, or have you forgotten?”

I hadn’t forgotten.  I still had a few of the trashy shirts, for the random rainy day indoors.

“Tristan is going to meet us at the restaurant,” she continued.  “I invited myself to lunch with you guys.  Hope you don’t mind.”

I shook my head, eyes wide.  “Not at all.  Sounds like a great idea.”

She laughed.  “Well, your reaction was better than Tristan’s, at least.  He actually threatened to start getting his tats elsewhere.  Can you imagine?”

I blushed, pleased at the notion that he’d wanted to have lunch alone with me.  But again, I knew I was being foolish.  Stupid, even.

To say I was conflicted where Tristan was concerned was the understatement of a lifetime.

“Where we headed for lunch?” I asked her, going to grab my bag.

I waved at Sandra before we started to walk.  Frankie naturally slowed down for me.  She was used to my slow walking.

“The Mexican place.  What else?  I love to get the enchiladas when I’m with Tristan so he can rant about how much better he makes them, and then I rope him into cooking for me.  Works one hundred percent of the time.  Try it.  See if I’m wrong.”

I just shook my head at her and smiled.

Sounded like Trouble to me.  It didn’t help that just thinking about his cooking had me salivating.

We were seated and chatting when Tristan showed up promptly at noon.  We were in a booth, so he had to sit next to one of us.

He squeezed in next to me, throwing an arm over the back of my seat.

I flushed when he said quietly into my ear, “Jesus.  You look beautiful.”

I tried to order a salad, but that about gave Tristan a conniption.

“Don’t tell me about your fucking diet again,” Frankie chimed in, taking his side.

I made a face and shrugged.  “Must be nice not to have to diet and keep a great figure, you two, but that isn’t how it works for me.”

Tristan ignored that completely, and then ordered tamale combos for all of us.  “It’s their best dish.  Trust me on this.”

“I was craving some enchiladas,” Frankie complained.

“Well then come have dinner at my house tonight, before my show.  I’ll cook.”

“Done,” she stated before he’d even finished talking.

“Both of you,” he added.

I was looking down at the menu, but I felt his eyes on me.

“Oh, well, thanks for the offer, but I have plans tonight.”  It was lame, but it was the best I could do on short notice.

“Oh yeah?  What are your plans?” Tristan asked, and if he was trying to disguise the tense new note in his voice, he was doing it poorly.

I looked at him, and his attitude seemed to rein itself in before my eyes.

“A rain check then,” he told me.

I shrugged, refusing to commit to anything.

It was a strange meal, though I couldn’t deny that it was enjoyable.