Oh. My. Shit.

I felt his hands drift down my sides, over my hips, and to the bottom of my dress. Cool fingertips danced underneath the dress fabric, stroking my thighs, and I was really fucking glad I'd shaved before dressing. "I thought I was going to burn in hell when you tried this on for the wedding," he admitted. His fingers grazed the backs of my thighs before pressing into my flesh. I couldn't help but remember the way he'd looked at me when I'd put it on, the way his hands hovered over me and his heavy lidded eyes.

"Does that mean you like it?" I asked stupidly, absorbing the heat from his body.

"Do I like this?" he snickered quietly to himself. Green eyes looked up at mine, mischievously. Tristan chuckled again, raking his fingernails gently over the top of my thighs. "I like it enough not to care whether you're still on your period or not."

Chapter 57

It all started with Facebook.

There were plenty of things I could blame Facebook for. One would be the spreading of "planking." The second would be that it gave me a reason to dislike pretty much every person on my friends list. The third would be the outing of Josh's sexual preferences; he decided to post it in his profile instead of calling his family to let them know he was — literally —pitching for the other team. For a second, I thought that I would also be able to blame it for a possible heart attack.

What started off as a good first dinner with my dad and Tristan spiraled into a mess of nerves in a matter of seconds. The first minutes of dinner were tense, as Frank Berger spared no expense in sizing up my companion, my friend, my Tristan. His dark eyes had been dancing back and forth between the arm Tristan had thrown over me and the long fingers that were caressing my upper arm. I felt more like a teenager than an independent adult with the way my dad was looking. I sipped my glass of water, waiting for him to say something. Anything. It wasn't until Tristan got up to go to the bathroom that he finally leaned forward.

"So, Kitty, when did you and the movie star start dating?" my dad asked casually.

My nose became a fucking fountain. The water that had been going down the back of my throat made a detour to shoot out of my nostrils, leaving a burning pain at the bridge.

What. The. Fuck!

I coughed and gasped, passing the water from my system while he chuckled. "You hiding a squirt gun in your nose?" he teased me with a grin.

Pinching my nostrils together, I coughed a couple of times and glared at the man sitting across the table. It felt like my heart was going to burst out of my chest. "He's not a movie star, dad. Why would you think that?"

"I checked his Facebook page," he explained with a shrug of his shoulders. The expression on his face reminded me of Nicole's when she thought I said something stupid.

"Why are you stalking his page?" I asked, looking in the direction of the door that led to the bathrooms, to make sure Tristan wasn't walking back.

"A person's profile says a lot about them," I swear to God he rolled his eyes at me. My forty-five year old father rolled his eyes at me. "I just needed to make sure you weren't dating some eyeliner-wearing drill bit, Kitty."

My brain only locked onto one thing he said. "What the heck is a drill bit?"

His hairy upper lip twitched in confusion at the same time one of his thick, dark eyebrows arched. "Isn't that the saying nowadays?"

I frowned, trying to figure out what in the world he was talking about before I realized it and laughed out loud. "You mean a tool?"

Frank slapped the countertop, making his silverware shake. "That's it! A tool! I just wanted to make sure my baby wasn't dating a tool. You see, my friend's daughter was dating a guy who wears eyeliner and thinks that tank tops are appropriate everyday clothing, and there is no way in hell my girl is going to get knocked up by that kind of tool." He had the nerve to wink at the correct use of his last word.