The Reinvention of the Rose - Christina C. Jones Page 0,26

can keep your pants on, I promise.”

Why the fuck did you say that?

“Uh… yeah. I can come up there,” he replied. “Only since you promised.”

I’d already started up the stairs, but looked back, smirking when I realized his eyes were glued to my ass as he followed me up. “There’s plenty of things that don’t require your pants coming off, Tristan.”

“Could you not?” he groaned, and I laughed as I finished climbing the last few steps. I pushed my door open and went inside, searching out socks, shoes, and a tee shirt to complete my outfit for this…

“Is this a date?” I asked, peeking around the partition I’d put up as a bedroom “wall”. I couldn’t be sure he actually heard me – he was too busy looking around in awe.

“So this is your space, huh?” he asked, the wonderment on his face being taken over by a smile. “It’s… bright.”

I took a sip from the drink he’d brought – a mocha matcha madness – then raised an eyebrow. “Why do you seem so surprised by that?”

“It’s … not what I expected,” he said, stepping over to the window to look out. “I mean, you had me tattoo a storm on you, and you’re all on your mystery shit… I thought your space would be moody or something. This is … pretty.”

Once I’d pulled my shirt over my head, I looked around, trying to see what he saw. And… yeah, I guess I did. My chosen color palette involved lots of whites and delicate grays, with the occasional pale touch of teal. Lots of soft textures to break up the hard surfaces, no darkness.

I wanted a space that made me feel good, and… this did.

When I told him that, his lips spread into a full-blown smile. “Thank you for inviting me into your sanctuary.”

I shrugged. “Thank my mentor. She’s the one who encouraged me to be more trusting, and open, so…”

“A mentor? That’s dope,” Tristan nodded, following me back to the door now that I had on shoes and had grabbed my latte, keys, and everything for my little crossbody pouch. “It’s nice to have that guidance and all that.”

“Yeah. She um… used to be in the same industry as me, so she kinda understands all the… unique challenges of transitioning out of it. She’s really been a life saver for me.”

“Ay – you never did tell me what you used to do,” he spoke up, as we stepped out of the shop. “Did I tell you Kiara thinks you’re a spy?”

I smiled. “I thought it was an assassin. At least, that’s what she said to me.”

“It’s evolved to both,” he explained, chuckling. “I suppose I shouldn’t complain about the girl having an imagination, right?”

“Let her dream.” I took a sip from my drink, enjoying the kick of warmth against the cool spring morning – the sun wasn’t quite up yet, so my shorts and tee shirt weren’t quite doing the trick. “I’m not offended.”

“Hm… is that because you are a spy?”

“It’s because I understand that kids are kids, and should be free to make decisions, and have their own minds. She wasn’t timid, or afraid to say what she was thinking – which I think says a lot about you, as her parent. So… I guess… good job.”

Tristan grinned. “Well thank you… but you do realize you didn’t actually deny being a spy, right?” he laughed. “Why are you being so cagey about this job thing? You used to run drugs or something? Cause there’s plenty of folks like that around here, nothing to be embarrassed about. Hell, I introduced you to several felons that night I invited you to Urban Grind.”

My eyes went wide. “Duly noted. And I hear you, I get where you’re coming from, but… I really don’t want to talk about my job. Won’t talk about it. It was pretty traumatizing, and … something I want to move past, completely.” I stopped walking. “I get it, if you’re not willing to accept that. We can turn back now, and drop this here.”

He sucked his teeth, shifting the hand he was holding his cup with to grab mine, pulling me to get me walking again. “I thought I told you to stop playing with me?”

“What?”

“If there’s shit you don’t want to talk about, we don’t have to talk about it. But you’re loco if you think something like that is gonna scare me off easily. You can cross that one off your list of excuses –