My Heart

But Alexis is her own person. Her laughter is beautiful all by itself, a sign that we’re friends and nothing is going to threaten that.

We’ve all been living under the same roof, but Alexis meant it when she said she wanted to get her own place. She was thinking about it before we told her, she said, and this just hurried her along.

“You’re welcome to still live here,” Triston said last night.

“I know. But I’d like to try a little independence.”

Triston nodded, accepting her decision even though I know it must be hard for him to let her go.

I had already ended the lease on my apartment, and Triston was encouraging me to quit my dead-end jobs and pursue my photography. At first, I was nervous, not wanting to take advantage of his generosity.

He kissed my cheek last night after we’d made love, our bodies sweaty and content. “Take advantage? You’re mine, Tamia. Let me help you.”

“Um, hello?” Alexis calls me back to the present, glaring. “Is this good enough for madam?”

I laugh and snap the pictures, using a few different angles. Alexis moves around the garden, her face bright with happiness as she spins one way and then the other.

“What time are you meeting dad?” she asks after we’re done as we go through the photos.

“In thirty minutes,” I reply. “I’ve got no idea where he’s taking me. It’s midday on a Monday.”

“I don’t know.”

Alexis is doing it again, staring down at the camera as though she can’t meet my gaze. But instead of the frown that marked her face when she found us in the living room, it’s a secret smile. I’m sure she knows something.

“You’re acting suspicious,” I say.

She laughs shakily. “I don’t have a clue what you mean.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?”

She grins, finally meeting my eyes. “I just hope you enjoy your afternoon. That’s all. No ulterior motives, I promise.”

My heart flutters when I think about later. Soon it’s time to get ready.

I head upstairs and brush my hair, wearing one of the spring dresses Triston bought me last week. He had to bite down on his finger when he saw me in this one, sitting in the changing room, his free hand clenched into a fist, his eyes telling me he wanted to devour me.

And then he did, the second we got home, his hungry hands never losing interest.

Triston is waiting for me outside once I’m ready, leaning against the car. He’s wearing my favorite T-shirt and faded blue jeans, with thick chunky boots. Just like I’m wearing a dress I know drives him crazy, he’s chosen an outfit that does the same to me. I covertly check for drool the man is so handsome. No, not just handsome but capital H-O-T hot and I told him so the day he wore this same outfit.

“You look so freaking hot wearing this,” I said, smoothing my hands up and down his rock hard body.

He grinned down at me.

He keeps telling me how much he loves it when I get sassy, when I let my confidence flourish instead of allowing my shy side to take over.

“Really?” he snarled. “Why?”

“You look so rugged, so manly. You look like you’re ready to do something hard and tough and then come back to me and… well, do something else hard.”

He kissed me and there was no holding back that time. We didn’t have to wonder if what we were doing could end in ruin when we had his daughters and my friend's blessing.

Now, as we kiss, Triston wraps his arms around me. I sense how much further he wants to take this. It’s in the way his hands hold onto me like he’s trying not to squeeze too hard.

“Are you ready for your surprise?” he asks.

I smile up at him, the sun catching the silver of his hair. Last night, he had an iron shadow across his strong jaw, but now he’s clean shaven.

“Is it a good surprise or a bad one?” I say.

He kisses my forehead. “Good. I hope.”

“You hope?”

“Come on.”

He opens the car's passenger door and gestures me inside. I climb in, trailing my hand along his chest. I can’t resist the urge, my fingertips brushing against his stony muscles. Once in the car, Triston drives us toward the city.

“Have you thought any more about names?” he asks.

My hands automatically go to my belly, as the tingling happens again. “For a girl, I want to call her Lisa.”

Triston looks over at me, smiling widely. His smiles have taken on a different quality lately, less of a wolf’s grin or an intense smirk – though he still gifts me with those sometimes – and more unchained joy.

“That’s a great idea,” he says huskily. “Let’s do it.”

“Hold on.” I giggle. “Aren’t we forgetting something?”

I point at my belly, the laughter dying as a thought strikes me.