Page 30 of Ghost Business (Boneyard Key #2)

“I am so sorry.” The words burst from somewhere in the middle of her chest, and Tristan turned to her, a question in his eyes.

“Thanks,” he said, “but it was a while back. He and I are both over it by now, and we’re much better off as friends. He’s got a boyfriend now, though, honestly, I think his true love is spreadsheets.”

“No, I mean that I…” Sophie gestured between them as her brain began to lose the ability to form coherent sentences. “I didn’t realize that you…When I kissed you, I didn’t know that you’re…”

Tristan’s eyebrows shot up when he understood what she was fumbling to say. “Bisexuals,” he said. “They’re a thing.” His expression was guarded, wary.

“Oh,” she said. Then, “ Oh ,” again as her memories reordered themselves a second time.

Relief flooded through her, but there was something about the set of his shoulders that showed tension.

It was a scary thing, being vulnerable. She’d given him a peek at her soft underbelly, back there at the picnic table.

And he’d just given her a peek at his in return.

She cleared her throat. “Well,” she said, “I’m glad to know that I didn’t completely misread the situation.”

Tristan’s laugh was a surprised bark. “You didn’t misread a thing.”

Sophie spent the rest of the walk home trying not to think about how comfortable this was. They weren’t friends. They certainly couldn’t be more than friends. She absolutely should not be thinking about kissing him again.

When they got to the outer stairs leading up to their floor, he gestured her to walk ahead, and Sophie hitched up her dress as she started the climb; the last thing she wanted was to trip and face-plant in front of him.

He followed at a respectful distance, falling into step with her again as they headed down the breezeway to their units.

“Thanks for not walking me home.” Sophie tossed the words over her shoulder as she unlocked the top lock on her front door. Tristan snorted, walking past her toward his own door.

“Hey, it’s what not-friends do.” She heard the jingle of his keys, the thocky sound of the bolt being thrown back. She was about to unlock her own bottom lock, her mind already on which frozen meal she was going to stick in the microwave, when his hand caught her elbow.

“What…” She whirled, tried to fall back a step, but his hand slid up to her upper arm, tugging her closer.

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry. He didn’t sound like much at all, his voice little more than a murmur.

His other hand caught her cheek, hot against her skin, and despite the residual heat of the evening, she found herself leaning into it.

“I know we’re not friends. I know you don’t want me around.

But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this…

” He stepped closer now, impossibly closer, fitting his body against hers, and Sophie’s mouth went dry. “About you.”

“Me neither.” It was a tiny confession, two little words dropped into the space between them. She tilted her head to look up at him, and his eyes roamed across her face as though trying to memorize every little detail. “We need to, though.”

He nodded solemnly. “This is a terrible idea.” He bent to her, lips parting, just a breath away from hers. She gusted out the tiniest of sighs and he breathed it in.

“Awful,” she agreed, tilting her head up some more, so close that she could feel the heat of him, that perfect anticipation of being close enough to touch but just. Not. Quite.

And then his mouth was there, a tentative brush against her own.

The contact made her whimper, and all thoughts of frozen microwave meals were forgotten as his hand slid into her hair, holding her, tilting her head just the way he wanted it.

His nose bumped against her glasses, and his jaw against her palms had that faint rasp of five o’clock shadow, and his hair felt as silky as it looked, slipping through her fingers like warm water.

He held her like she was something delicate that he was afraid he’d break if he played with it too hard.

She wanted him to play with her too hard.

She pressed closer, mouth opening, and he groaned from deep in his chest as their kiss deepened. His hand slid up to the curve of her shoulder, fingertips flirting with the strap of her sundress, and she wanted more. She wanted him to push those straps off her shoulders, let her dress fall…let him…

No. No, she didn’t. She didn’t want that at all. Or she shouldn’t want it. Everything had become so confusing. She felt safer than she ever had, there in the arms of the man who was threatening to destroy everything.

She shouldn’t want this.

She wanted it more than anything.

She shook her head, pulling back just enough to take a breath, and Tristan let her go immediately, if reluctantly. He blinked, his eyes glassy and color high in his cheeks.

“Sorry.” His voice was breathy, his chest heaving for air, and he still didn’t sound sorry.

“We can’t do this.” Tears stung the corners of her eyes even as she spoke, as though her heart knew she was saying the exact wrong thing. But her heart wasn’t in charge; her brain was. It had to be.

“I know.” He pressed his kiss-swollen lips together—she had done that—and shoved his hands in the pockets of his khakis. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

Well, that was terrible news. But Sophie made herself nod firmly, accepting those terms. “Good night, then.” She pushed open her front door, retrieving her keys with fumbling fingers.

She didn’t let herself look back at him, but she could feel his eyes on her, watching her until the very last moment.

“Good night.” His parting words were swallowed by the firm close of her door, and she wanted to open it again. Take back everything she’d just said.

Instead she threw her locks. Upper first, then lower. Each thud felt like another bar in the cage around her heart. Keeping him out. Keeping her in. This was for the best.

At some point, it would even feel like it.