Page 106 of The Killer Card

“Fuck…”

I snort. “Yeah, I’m going to let you handle that.”

“I love you, Mimi. See you tomorrow.”“Love you too…” I hang up, tapping my phone against my chin several times, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. Before I can think better of it, I open my notes app and begin typing the most difficult message I think I’ve ever crafted.

✽✽✽

I manage to stay hidden away in my room through the arrival of Clara and Nelly, both of them laughing their way up to Nelly’s room where they crash around for pajamas. It’s only when the creak of the old bed echoes through the floorboard above that I brave walking out into the kitchen. I showered and changed after getting off the phone with my brother, changing into a pair of Graham’s sweats and a t-shirt he left behind. They smell deliciously like him.

Do I fully intend on touching myself in his clothes?

Yes. Yes I do, and I will explain it all to him tomorrow in great detail.

Grabbing a glass from the rack next to the sink, I very quietly fill it and take a slow sip as I turn around to the dark living room—

“Hey there—”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” I gasp, nearly dropping the cup. Cristian grins a little as he tosses his tie over his jacket in the chair. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I lost the coin toss and have been appointed the honorary protector of the bride.” He sighs in defeat, dropping onto the couch to remove his dress shoes with a wince. “Fucking shitty ass shoes.”

“Can’t bear not to wear sneakers for one night?”

“Fucking no.”

“You grew up in dress shoes, Cristian.”

“I haven’t put on a pair in exactly four years,” he groans as he removes the other. “Give me a break.”

Sucking at my teeth, I cross over, dropping into the chair next to the couch. I glance at the stairs behind him. “They’re asleep?”

He quietly looks up at the ceiling, waiting….

Nelly’s snoring echoes from beneath the bedroom door. “Yep,” he confirms. We both snort out a laugh when he adds, “I have to admit I do not miss that.”

Curious, I tilt my head. “And what do you miss, man formerly known as Cristian Winchester?”

He firmly took his father’s name only for his uniforms when he joined the Sharks. He never uses his mother’s family name in interviews or signing merch. As far as his fans know, unless they dig super deep, Cristian is a Santos through and through. Son of a chart-topping musician and, admittedly, a phenomenal soccer player.

He’s pretty much buried his connection to Lightning Cove and his past with Penelope Hastings but there’s something on his face that softens just a little when he remembers the days when he used to call her his.

“To be honest,” he sinks into the couch. “Not a whole lot. She’s still my best friend and always was. I know you’re expecting me to say kissing her, holding her, the sex,” I shrug, because he does know me despite our quarrels over the years. “But I don’t. She’s very happy with my dad, and I’m happy she’s happy. We’re better off as friends.”

I lift a brow. “How very mature of you.”

He mocks a bow from where he sits before rising with a huff. “I’m going to turn in, early morning tomorrow.” He pauses before turning to the stairs. “Unless you needed something?”

I blink. “What on Earth would I ever need from you—”

“Just trying to be supportive.” He raises his hands in surrender. “Goodnight, cunt.”

I smile as I finish my water, glad to be back to normal territory. Standing, I return my glass to the kitchen. “Cristian.”

He looks back, one socked foot on the stairs. “Yeah?”

I take a deep breath. “Thank you.” He blinks his thick lashes several dozen times. “For not saying anything about my sobriety, or Graham and I. Obviously that’s all irrelevant now, but,” I sigh as I meet his gaze. “I appreciate your discretion.”

Cristian presses a hand to his chest. “It was really nothing. But I do request that this newfound friendship status does not come with me having to witness anymore sneak peaks at you getting dicked down in closets—”