“You ready to pop your ass cherry?” He smirks when I unzip his pants. “I’m game.”
“No, you’re not. And that’s not happening tonight. You’ll have to pop it another night.”
“Aw, man. I should’ve done it with the detective watching. I bet he’s a bottom, right? We should send him to the gelato shop. Let him scare the shit out of Emanuele. They would make a cute couple.”
I tug his pants off before I realize he’s not just talking gibberish, he’s actually conspiring to play matchmaker for the two men. “That’s not a terrible idea.”
“Just because I’m high, doesn’t mean we can’t fuck.”
“Hush.” I place my finger to his lips. “Tonight, we’re just going to cuddle.”
“You just want to cuddle?” He looks up at me with glassy eyes.
“Yes. I’m going to be the big spoon, and you’re going to be the little spoon.”
Tristan closes his eyes and shakes his head. “No. You’re so pretty.”
“You’re injured,” I remind him.
“I want to see your face. You’re too pretty to hide behind me. Unless bullets are flying…”
“You’re sweet. Just don’t do anything that hurts, okay?”
“Okay,” he agrees.
I go to the restroom to get ready for bed, and remove the plug before returning to Tristan. He looks like he’s sound asleep, so I put his phone and mine on the charger, then turn off the light and slip underneath the covers with him. As soon as my head hits the pillow, Tristan reaches out with his sore arm to pull me to his chest. I go rather than put up a fight about him hurting himself, just happy to be here in his arms.
Stubborn, sweet man.
He places a kiss on the top of my head, and I instantly drift off to sleep.
27
Tristan
Waking up in bed with Kirsten is just as surprising this morning as usual. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to seeing the angelic, golden-haired prosecutor sleeping next to me, but I’d give anything to have her here every morning for the rest of my life.
God, getting shot last night must’ve made me more of a pussy-whipped asshole.
I don’t even remember anything after leaving the hospital, other than Kirsten insisting we stop by the pharmacy.
Oh, right. The pain meds she made me take. They did help ease the throbbing ache. While I’m still a little sore, it’s nothing I can’t endure.
After I lie there and watch Kirsten sleep for a few minutes, I get up to search for my phone, wanting to take a picture of her before she wakes. Or disappears from my life.
The device is lying on the nightstand plugged in next to hers, and I have several missed calls from Creed and Andre as well as text messages.
I check those first. They ask how I am, and then Creed sent me a link to an online article.
Former Defendant Saves DA in Drive-By Shootingis the title.
“Oh shit,” I mutter, then glance at Kirsten’s innocent, sleeping form. Maybe Creed knows someone who can take the article down before she sees it and loses her damn mind. I start skimming through the words on the page, broken up by a ton of advertisements, before I see a quote from Kirsten herself.
How the hell did the reporter get that? Are they lying and making shit up?
Then I read it. And I’m so fucking glad she’s still asleep because I would hate for her to see the single tear slip down my cheek.
“I didn’t plan on falling for a former defendant. It just happened. And I’m so glad that it did because if not for Tristan Ferraro’s bravery, I wouldn’t be alive right now. He risked his life not once but twice to save me, the first time before we officially met. So, while I remain committed to seeking justice for all victims of crimes in Manhattan, I’m also able to see the world between my black and white one, where mistakes happen, and good people deserve second chances.”
