My cell started ringing around three in the afternoon when I was right in the middle of showering. Reaching out of the tub to check the screen, I read ‘Magellan’ off the display.

"You're early, Mag," I said as loudly as I could into the speaker. I balanced the phone on the tips of my fingers as far away from the shower as I could, because I knew my luck. I'd probably electrocute myself if it were possible.

"I got off early, goldie. Ready to go?"

"No, I'm in the shower. Just come up. I'm in 214, and there's a key on top of the doorframe so just let yourself in."

The other end of the line was silent for a few heartbeats. "Please tell me you don't have a key on your doorframe," his voice sounded desperate.

"I don't have a key on my doorframe," I laughed.

"Kat."

"Just come up, I need to finish showering. 214," I hung up, not bothering to wait for a goodbye. A couple of minutes later, I finished my shower and got dressed before shimmying into my leggings and blouse. Opening up the bathroom door, I walked into the living room of my small apartment to find him sitting on the couch with Matlock curled up on his lap, purring.

The little shit.

I could count on two hands the number of times the furry asshole had sat on my lap.

"Hey," he said softly, petting the big white ball of poof on top him. His eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, causing Matlock to jump off his lap and scurry into my bedroom. "What in the world is wrong with your face?"

I snorted and stepped closer to him, watching his eyes widen. "Josh hit me in the face," I told him bluntly, squeezing into the spot open between him and the armrest.

Tristan shifted forward more, his apple green eyes scanning the bruised skin. He didn't say a thing as he got closer to me. I knew without his glasses he couldn't see very well. "What happened?"

"We went to a gay club on Saturday and this guy was harassing Josh. One thing led to another, and when he went to punch the guy, he elbowed me in the face," I said, trying to repress the smile creeping up on my face. I'd kept the number of people I'd seen since Saturday to a minimum, but each time I had to retell my story it sounded more and more funny. Sometimes I felt like someone up in heaven was laughing his or her ass off at the crazy stuff that happened to me.

My lovely friend on the other hand, gave me a small smile that just kept growing second by second until it covered the lower half of his face. He was so close to me his breath washed over my cheek, his teeth were even more strikingly white than usual it seemed. I saw his hand reach up in my peripheral vision, and I expected him to touch my bruise like everyone else had, but instead his fingertips pressed into the underside of his chin to tilt my face up. His smile was all encompassing, it warmed me up from the inside out. "Does it hurt?" he murmured.

"Only if you touch it," I managed a dry swallow.

He raised a single dark eyebrow. "So, can I touch it?"

His words sunk in and I had to snort, shoving him away lightly. "No, ass."

Tristan laughed and reached both large hands up to hold my face between them with mischief written all over his features. "I'm kidding!" His fingers cupped my cheeks tighter as he leaned forward again, scanning his eyes over the discolored skin. "I thought I was going to have murder someone," he sighed dramatically, the sweet scent of peppermint wafting into my nose from his closeness. "I think you look pretty badass."

"Why thank you, " I said, pulling away from his grasp to get off the couch. My throat seemed really dry all of a sudden. "Want something to drink?"

"Freshly squeezed orange juice would be nice," he suggested.