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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 f**king 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.
He was big and the bench wasn’t, so we sat hip to hip and ate and joked with Frankie for a good hour.
It was like being transported back in time.  I didn’t begin to know what to feel about that.
Frankie headed straight to her shop after we finished, but Tristan walked me back to work, strolling slowly beside me, hands in the pockets of his slacks.  He was well turned out, in an all-black suit with no tie.  The effects were devastating, though I tried not to dwell on them.
“You’re all dressed up today.  What’s the occasion?” I asked him, my tone idle, my eyes hungry.
“Don’t you like it?  I know you aren’t a fan of my T-shirt and jeans uniform.”
My mouth twisted as I shot him a look out of the corner of my eye.  “I do like it, but why on earth would you say that?  I have never in my life complained about the way you dress.”
He shrugged, fidgeting with his collar.  “I haven’t failed to notice that you only date professionals.  The kind that wear suits, not jeans.”
I stopped to give him my full attention.  “Don’t tell me you dressed like this for me.”
He looked distinctly uncomfortable.  He shrugged again.  “I wear suits sometimes.  Not a big deal.”
We started walking again.  My eyes were glued to the carpet on the casino floor.  It was elaborately patterned in blue and gold, very nice, but somehow managed to look like the floor of every other casino I’d ever been in.  What was with that?  Why did they all look the same?  Was it all of the slot machines, the sounds, the sights?
I realized I was trying to distract myself and snapped out of it.
“I am a fan of T-shirts and jeans, Tristan.”
Especially when they were wrapped around his spectacular body, but I sure as hell wasn’t telling him that.
He stopped abruptly, looking at me like I was supposed to be reacting to something.
I didn’t care for the look.  Something in it scared me.  Threatened me, or at least, my well-being.
I glanced around.  We were near some slot machines and to our left was a women’s restroom.
My eyes widened, then narrowed.
I started walking again.
In my mind, I’d systematically gotten used to moving past that spot, just as I had the sports book that we would pass next.
There were memories in this place, memories that I’d had to push far back in my mind, to keep sane.
“Do you remember—”
“Don’t.  We’re not doing that.  We’re not taking a walk down memory lane.  We just aren’t.  Is that clear?”
He sighed, but agreed.
But I did remember.  Oh Lord, did I remember.
I remembered so well that it had me seeing into the very near future, that very night in fact, when I would go home by myself, go to bed by myself, and fantasize, obsessively, about getting f**ked in the stall of that bathroom over six years ago.