There are five stages of grief. Sabina goes through them like a grocery list in an effort to make sense of it all.

Denial

Sabina thought she could fuck it out of her system. Maybe she's just needy. Maybe she just got used to Tristan—his smell, his sounds, the shape of his body. She hasn't gotten laid in a long time.

The guy she took home from the club, the one she's been eyeing all night, the one she danced with and messed around with in the car, doesn't feel right. Her fingers in his hair seem twisted and tight and her skin itches with every touch their bodies make. It doesn't take long before Sabina knows that she doesn't want this, so she kicks him out. Goes through her contacts of convenient booty calls and asks one to come over.

She's already in a bad mood, so when she attaches her lips to her neck and fumbles with her robe, Sabina snaps, "Just take off your pants and hurry up, God, stop eating me."

As soon as they're done, Sabina picks up her robe and curls on the sofa, red wine in her hand. "Get out."

"You're so mean," the girl laughs, and slides in her ripped jeans. "Whoever it is, call them."

The model scowls. "Call who?"

"That person you're trying so hard not to like but clearly do."

"I don't like anybody. Get out." Sabina punches her fingers against the screen of her phone and waits until her booty call is out the door before pressing call. She doesn't want to be alone, and she doesn't want more sex, she wants someone to drink with. "You free?"

"Sweetheart," comes Jenner's teasing voice. "The last time we had sex was pre-Tristan. Is it post-Tristan now?"

Sabina lets out an irritated scoff. "Not for that, idiot. I'm drinking alone and I want some company. MJ is working late, Andy is busy making some flashcards for those little creatures. Rhysand and Adrian are stupid men and with you, I can get high."

She hears his smile when he responds, "Busy right now. Drinks on me next time, I promise. Sorry, babe."

Sabina rolls her eyes. "No, you're not. Bye."

She tosses her phone on the couch when she hangs up, tapping her fingers against her glass.

It's the quiet that drives her to do it. Maybe it's her second glass. Or her third. But in the quiet, her mind says, "If Tristan were here, he'd be standing against your counter, making coffee with only his jeans on. He always makes coffee after you hook up—the disgustingly sweet kind. He'd make one for you, too. But he's not here, he's out with nice girls like Camie Brown."

There's a sneer on her lips from the name. She decides to call him.

The other line is loud and boisterous and it takes a couple of seconds before Tristan says, in confusion, "Kyle?"

"Bishop." Sabina pulls at a thread in her robe. "I'm kind of drunk. And I want someone to be drunk with."

The noise quiets down. She imagines him stepping out, holding the phone to his ear, a frown on his beautiful face. "Are you at home?"

"Yeah. Can't leave the party early?"

Her voice is nonchalant. Tristan pauses for a second before saying, "I'll be there in fifteen."

Tristan dumps his wallet, keys, and phone on the coffee table as soon as he punches in her security code and sits on the couch, glancing at her. "You smell like sex."

Sabina tries not to grimace. She scrunches her nose and hugs her legs to her chest. "You smell like booze."

"I was out with some of the other staffers," Tristan says, standing up. He heads to the kitchen. "Which you would know about if you bothered to be an actual human being at work."

Sabina's face sours. She watches him move around her kitchen like he knows where the cooking oil, the mugs, the garlic is. He probably does. He opens one cupboard and grabs a wine glass, filling it with red. "You have friends at work?"

Tristan flashes her a grin. "I'm charming. People like me."

"People like me, too."

"People are scared of you. There's a difference." Sabina watches him close the bottle. He snags one of the chips at the snack bar and moves back to the sofa. "Your fucktoy bailed? S'that why you called me?"

Sabina purses her lips. Tristan doesn't look or sound mad. He sounds genuinely curious. "I kicked her out."

He scoffs, tearing open the chips. "Of course you did."

Sabina can blame the next words on her lips on the alcohol. "And I called because I wanted to. How was your date with Camie last night? Is it the second? Third?"

Tristan raises an eyebrow. He sits down next to her. "You drunk enough to tell me why you're upset about it?"

Sabina kicks his thigh. It's the only part of his body she can reach. "I'm not upset."

A knowing smile behind his glass. "You can stop being a little liar any time."

The wine has blocked out her mind-to-mouth filter. She puts her feet on his lap and mutters, "What website was she talking about?"

"Ah." His mouth curls further up. One of his hands go to her ankle, and Sabina's skin instantly feels hot. "I own a book blog. It's for book reviews, book recommendations. Nerdy shit like that."

That's cute. "I already knew you were a nerd. Not this much, though."

"Shut up," he says, chuckling once. He tips his head back and drinks. "Your turn."

Sabina sighs. She leans back against a pillow and mumbles, "I can only sleep if there's a mug of water on my bedside. I'm obsessed with Sleeping on a Sunday's latest album. I like the, um, Hubba Bubba gums—the original strawberry flavor, not the blue raspberry or the tangy tropical, the grape thingy."

"I can't eat mayonnaise," Tristan continues, staring at her. "I find the rain a hassle sometimes. I can talk about the aortic valve replacement procedure I learned in med school. I think eating burgers with a knife and a fork is a crime."

Sabina squeezes her eyes shut for a second. It's hard. It is, it's hard talking about herself. Everything MJ and Andy know about her—they learned through the years. "Um, I had a shrink before. I despise those pearls in milk teas, I have trypophobia. I don't know if that's a thing, but I hate holes, small ones that are packed together. I like Korean dramas."

Tristan masks his surprise with a cough and continues chewing. "Korean dramas."

Sabina shrugs. "Some of them have good stories. It's a good distraction sometimes."

"I'm a gamer. I stream sometimes, get some money out of it." He's still stroking her ankle. "I like cooking. I'm a dog person, I think 'ox' is a weird word. It's too short."

"I knew I was bi when I watched this movie." Sabina licks her lips. "Megan Fox was the main role. And I didn't know if I wanted to be her or be with her. It was both, obviously. And, um, I love Thai food. I was slut-shamed in high school."

"My sister got mad when I quit med school," he says, downing the rest of his drink. He puts it down on the table and leans back again, staring at the ceiling. "My brother, too. I know how to sew clothes, I love sashimi. I love blueberries."

Sabina puts her legs up, and Tristan's hand falls slack. She scoots closer, puts her back against the cushion, near enough to feel his body warmth but not dangerously near enough for their breathing and speaking bodies to touch, and murmurs, "Tell me about your weird obsession with blueberries."

His laugh is breathy and soft. It's just one laugh, and then he answers, in a quiet voice, like he's trying to picture it, "Uh, we own a blueberry farm back at home. It's...it supplies the four local farmers' market, and a grocery chain, and we sell jars of preserves, and there's a field for the tourists to pick their own. Mom makes homemade ice cream in the summer."

Sabina feels sleepy. "Where is this?"

"Down at Malta." He sounds sleepy, too. "I can spot the Bluegold and Blueray pretty easy."

"Farm boy," Sabina mutters, snickering. "Blueberry boy."

He's smiling when he says, "Your turn."

"Hm. I like playing Monopoly. I'm not religious, but my dad is. We celebrate Christmas."

"We're Catholic. We celebrate it. My sister still jumps during New Year. I can read a seven hundred page book in two hours with no interruptions."

"I cried when I graduated, my first night at my new place." She laughs a bit. "My friends don't know that."

"I played football in college."

Sabina raises an eyebrow. "That's what you were like in college? Straight A student, popular crowd, athlete? Frat boy?"

His teeth show when he grins, and he meets her eyes. "And you: party animal, popular crowd, lived in the moment."

"If we met in college, I would've stayed away from you."

"I would've stayed away from you." He leans back against the couch, and his thumb starts to stroke her skin. Sabina tries not to squirm, but her fingers tighten on her glass. "Or we would've met at a party. Probably hooked up there."

"You're not cool enough to interest me."

"Oh, you would've been all over me, Kyle."

"I really think it would've been the other way around, Bishop. Besides, I'm not your type."

He scoffs, shaking his head. Some strands of his hair fall on his forehead, over his eyes. "What do you know about my type?"

"Nice. Brunettes. Try hard to grab your attention."

He turns his head and looks at her. The blueness is captivating. "You drunk enough now?"

Sabina purses her lips. She's drunk enough now. "Because I can't imagine you being with anyone else but me."

The pause he takes is torturous.

"And you ask me why I don't want you anymore," he finally muses. Sabina's eyes are trained on his Adam's apple. She hugs her robe tighter to herself and narrows her eyes at him. "This is the reason why, Kyle. You don't get what you want and you look for it somewhere else. But you can try—you've been trying. Just by talking to me. I've known you for four years and it's the first time I found out you chew gum. But." There's a mocking smile on his lips. "Well, I thought you chose the boss-employee route."

"I did." She swallows hard. She tries to look at his eyes, because what she's about to say next—Tristan deserves to hear it while she's looking at him. "I do. Because I don't know if this is just craving," she says quietly.

Tristan abruptly leans over and snatches her hand. Sabina gasps in surprise, and her glass almost falls over if Tristan hadn't steadied it. His fingers are tight, and he's searching her face. They're close enough now, his leg slotted in between her thighs, head tilting to the side, nose brushing hers. Sabina's breath is in her throat, and she's engulfed in his scent. "Sabina," he murmurs in her ear, "You wouldn't be trying so hard if this is just craving."

And she thinks he'll kiss her. On the mouth, on her neck, on her jaw—anywhere that will stimulate her body and prove him wrong. If she could just get him out of her system—

But she's frozen and unable to move, because he puts his other hand on her waist, and he moves up, and presses his lips to her forehead.

If this is just craving, her heart wouldn't be beating with this—with this fear and panic—the kind you feel when you're getting a new piercing, a one-time big-time kind of pain, when the ride is just going up, and up, and you know that any second it's going to fall, leaving your soul and the scream in your throat in the air, but the torture is the anticipation of the drop. You don't know when it's going to happen.

If this is just craving, Sabina wouldn't be so scared of Tristan.

She finds herself, somehow, in all that mess, and gently pushes him off. Sabina stands, hugs her robe to herself with one arm, her fingers burning and her chest burning, and tells him, "I'm scared of you."

"I'm scared of you too," he says in response, standing to his full height. Even with this, Sabina feels small. "You asked me about my date with Camie. Fine. Honest. If you didn't exist, it would have been a fine date. She would've been a good partner." His jaw clenches tight, and his eyes go hard. "I've had—worse dates, worse girlfriends. But I couldn't—Kyle, I felt like you were sitting at a third chair at our table. Like you were watching and judging me, reminding me that with you, I feel something when we kiss. Even when we don't kiss. Even here, just sitting with you, talking about my blueberries. When Camie and I—when we kissed, I begged myself to feel something."

Sabina stares at him. Her lips tell her to whisper, "I'm scared of you. But I like you. I like you, I want to be with you."

But what comes out is, "I'm not even sure if I want this. I don't think I want this. Tristan, this could just be the lust."

That's a lie. And Tristan knows it. He stares back, and the silence is loud. Sabina's fingers are shaking on her glass. Tristan sighs and picks up his belongings on the table. He turns around. "I'll see you on Monday."

And then he's gone. Sabina sinks to the floor and finishes her wine.

Anger

Sabina comes back from a meeting and finds Tristan smiling at his phone on his desk. Her heels click loudly against the floor and she snaps, passing by him, "Spare some time for me once you get off the phone, Tristan."

He follows her into her office with his tablet in hand. Sabina massages her temple and adjusts her chair, taking off her blazer. "The project team visited the warehouse today and fixed the manufacturing problem," he starts, lips pressed together in a tight line. "They need your approval."

"They have it. As long as it's fixed. Where's the report?"

He passes it to her. "Analytics has last week's numbers, too. The stories are doing well. You haven't RSVP'd for tomorrow's company team building, and Mr. Miller wants a word with you. Your agency left a message as well, they're booking you for an interview with Abel."

"I don't see the models for the collab with WFW," Sabina says, furrowing her eyebrows, looking through the report. She looks at Tristan. "They haven't been contacted yet?"

He puts down his tablet. "No, I believe not."

"And do I have to do that for you?" Sabina asks, tapping her fingernails against the surface of her desk. "You know how busy models are, Tristan. If we don't get them to be at the photoshoot, this collaboration is done."

He takes a deep breath. "I'll follow up on that."

"Follow up on the location and the pegs, too. Have the team redo this. Tell them to read the theme and the project details if they're literate." She snatches the report off the table and holds it up for him to take. "RSVP yes for the team building, I won't be more than an hour. Pencil Miller for dinner today. Yes to the interview with Abel. I'll meet analytics now if they're free."

"They are."

"What's after that?"

"Budget meeting with finance, conceptualization meeting with content strategy and operations. And then your four o'clock with Ms. Van Doren."

"Good." She sighs, turning to her computer. "Where's the list of retail shops we need to visit? Is it already in my email?"

A pause. And then, "No, not yet. I haven't compiled them yet."

"I asked for that last week. Did we respond back to the director of Preen's runway?"

"Not yet, but I—"

"And my socials, I hear they're blowing up. What's happening with that?"

A deep breath comes from Tristan's chest. "I'm sorry, I'll get to those right away."

"If you're going to be flirting in my office, Tristan, do it at your own time," she says. "Or do it once you've done your job."

He steps closer to her desk, face masked in anger, "If this is about last Saturday—"

"We're not going to talk about personal matters in the office. Leave if there's nothing else."

"God," he spits out suddenly, and Sabina looks up with an arched eyebrow. Her secretary's jaw is set, and his eyes are hard. "You have no right to be angry."

"I'm not angry." Sabina's voice is calm. "I'm telling you to do your job and to do it right."

"That list was non-urgent," Tristan argues, teeth gritting together. "Responding back to that director was on my task list today. Your socials are being handled. You wouldn't have asked for those if you weren't finding something to be angry about with me. And I wasn't flirting, for fuck's sake."

"I don't care what you were doing," she says. Slowly. "If you're done bitching at me, you can get back to work."

He stares at her with disbelief. "You may be my boss, but it doesn't give you the right to be an asshole about it, Kyle."

"Get out of my office, Bishop. And it's Ms. Kyle to you," Sabina snaps.

Tristan turns on his back and leaves, and Sabina suddenly remembers: the only other time Tristan blew his cool was when they were on a business trip abroad three years ago. She had just been promoted to managing editor, and Tristan made a mistake.

"Do you realize how humiliating that was?" she began, breathing heavily, cheeks flushed. "I couldn't go to that dinner because you humiliated me!"

"I'm sorry," Tristan muttered, swallowing hard. "I'll call right now and apologize—"

"No, you've done enough," Sabina snapped, pacing around her hotel room and massaging her forehead roughly. "That was important to The Fit, and it was the first job assigned to me abroad, God, what am I going to tell Elyse!"

Tristan shut his eyes. "I'll tell her it was my fault."

"And then it'll be my fault when you get fired because of it, no thanks," Sabina hissed, jaw clenching tight. "I told you to learn the common French phrases. Can't you do one thing right? Were you not studying enough that I couldn't leave you alone for one second with a global director—"

"Learning French isn't as easy as you think," he suddenly snapped, eyebrows furrowing. "Nor is adjusting here, or—or getting little sleep because God knows the work will be gone tomorrow! I'm trying my best, Ms. Kyle, I'm sorry, but there is a solution for this if you just let me fix it instead of being an asshole about it."

Sabina was stunned. She stared at him. "Did—did you just call me an asshole?"

"It's what you're being this whole trip here," Tristan said, standing his ground. "I like this job, Ms. Kyle, I learn a lot. I know it was my mistake, but it doesn't give you the right to treat me like I'm stupid. Let me fix it, and then you can go to the dinner, and I can continue learning French, and then we can both go to sleep because we're both obviously tired and overworked and we can't go to the event tomorrow like this."

And he fixed it. But Sabina doubts things can be fixed as easily as that at this point.

Because at the company team building, during the breakout rooms, she's stuck with both Tristan and Camie, and she's going to hurl herself out the window if she sees them smile at each other one more time.

She doesn't even know why there's a fucking team building every year, but Elyse had insisted it was for the betterment of the company.

So against her will, she's standing opposite Tristan in this little circle, and the facilitator claps her hands and says cheerily, "Alright! We're going to play a little game, it's called 'guess who?'! All you need to do is describe anyone from your team, three positive things, and use 'I'. And the rest will guess! Whoever's described will go next, okay?"

Oh, yippee.

Remy starts. "Um, I'm great with people, I make awesome videos, and my desk has tiny little dolls with motivational post-its."

Everyone guesses it to be Kristin. Sabina rolls her eyes. "Okay, um, I make a mean crème brûlée, I have two adorable kids, and I know a lot about beauty."

"I take amazing photos, I have amazing ideas, and I bring coffee for everyone in the staff room."

"I'm a great writer, I'm bubbly and cheerful—which is why everyone likes me, and my story recently got the most hits!"

Everyone claps for that. It's Camie.

Sabina suppresses her sneer. She stares at the writer, crossing her arms over her chest, as she laughs in delight and, to Sabina's horror, turns her head to look at Tristan. "I'm sweet, kind, and charming," Camie starts. "Nobody can do what I do for this company, and I love books."

Sabina would've said blueberries.

Everyone guesses it's Tristan, of course it is. He gives her an appreciative smile.

And then he looks up, and he meets Sabina's eyes. His smile fades, and flatly, he says, "I'm a workaholic. I'm good at what I do, but I can be mean sometimes."

Sabina takes the bait. She stands straight and loudly counters, "I'm organized and competent. I go on dates with horribly average people. I'm arrogant, and I think I know better than my boss."

Tristan's jaw tightens. He keeps his gaze locked with hers. "I'm insufferable and confusing. I'm judgmental, and God knows if I don't get what I want, I throw a tantrum."

"I expect too much from people," Sabina snaps, anger rushing through her like she's on drugs, "I—"

"I can't adjust for anyone because they have to and they need to adjust for me," Tristan cuts her off, balling his hands into fists. "And no one sane would ever want me because I dangle people around like they're toys—"

"Enough!" the facilitator shouts suddenly, breaking them out of their little bubble. She holds up her two hands and stands in the middle of the circle, and Sabina, past her fury and anger, sees her co-workers' faces—surprised, and confused, and Sabina can care less about Camie, but she looks hurt. Sabina's chest is rising and falling rapidly, and Tristan's catching his breath. They don't look at each other. "Okay, enough. I said positive things, people. Now, why don't we try that again—"

This time, it's Sabina who turns around and leaves.

Bargaining

Tristan follows her out. "Kyle."

"Oh, did you miss something?" she asks, an innocent tilt to her voice. She turns around and faces him. He looks wrecked. Good. "Let's hear it."

He takes a deep breath. "It was out of line, I'm sorry."

"I told you I was scared," Sabina says, feeling her veins come alive with anger once again. "I told you I was scared and you attack me for it."

"I told you I was scared too and you get angry because of it. There's nothing I said that wasn't wrong."

She sputters out a scoff in disbelief. "No one sane would ever want me? What do you call yourself then?"

"Insane. Crazy. Fucking out of my mind." Tristan's Adam's apple bobs up and down. "We can't do this at work."

"No, we can't," Sabina snaps. "I'm still your boss, and you're still my employee."

"God," Tristan spits out, reaching up to loosen his tie. "We're back to that again? How many times are we going to circle around like this, Kyle? You can't leave me alone. I can't leave you alone, I'm crazy, that's what I am."

Sabina stretches her arm out and forcefully pushes the elevator button. Turning back to her secretary, she says, "We can be friends. That's it."

Tristan is staring at her blankly. "Friends."

"It's all I can offer you."

"No, it's not," Tristan says.

He knows she's lying. Sabina swallows hard. "We can try. You don't want to be?"

The elevator doors open. He steps inside first. "Fine. Friends."

*

Trying to be friends with Tristan goes like this:

1. Working late at night, him agreeing to go overtime against Sabina's insistence, and saying, "My friends here are accusing me of sleeping with you."

Sabina snorts. "Not anymore, though."

"It was difficult to convince them with what our show at the team building, but I also managed to fix things with Camie. Not that you were any help."

"Good," Sabina says, distracted, even as her stomach sinks. "What'd you tell her, that you don't find her horribly average?"

"Being my friend means not being a bitch about it."

"Fine. Then congrats to you and your new girlfriend."

"I said I fixed things with her, not that we were together." He's watching her closely. "I didn't want to be."

Sabina looks at him. She points to her drawer. "There's a bottle of whiskey in there and glasses. Let's drink to your sort-of-breakup."

"You happy about it?"

"Being friends with you means I'm supposed to be sad about it. So let's drink to sadness. Cheers."

2. Eating at a burger chain after an incredibly long photoshoot, him terrorizing her because she's eating her burger with a fork and a knife, "I told you that's a crime."

Sabina gives him a sweet smile and puts a piece of patty with dismantled lettuce and cheese in her mouth. "I'm in public. I can be photographed any moment. I can't have grease all over me in the photos."

Tristan is unimpressed as he chews. "You're not famous enough for that. Come here."

"What?"

"No grease all over you but you have ketchup—" he stops, sighs, and makes an impatient gesture with his fingers. "Lean over."

She does. Tristan carefully touches her lips with a napkin, and Sabina tries very hard to look at the wall behind his head. She mutters, "Hey, Bishop. This is what friends do?"

"Friends make sure friends aren't embarrassing in their photos. Sit down."

3. Letting him sleep in the car the morning after a tiring event the night before. Stan winks at Sabina through the mirror. She snaps, "Pass me his tablet so I can see my sched—do it carefully, wait, don't wake him up—!"

4. Adjusting his tie when she notices it's crooked. Sabina pretends she doesn't feel his stare on her face. (It's the first time she's done this.)

5. Hands burning when they accidentally touch.

6. Wanting to kiss him.

7. Wanting to do more than kiss him.

8. Wanting to hold his hand. (Disgusting.)

9. Wanting to smack the smug look on his face whenever he catches her staring at him from inside her office.

10. Wanting to kiss him some more. Wanting the coffee he makes. Wanting more than what she already knows.

11. A lot of wanting. Sabina is screwed.

Depression

"Tell me all the reasons why I should."

"One, you'll die from jealousy when he moves on," MJ rattles off, holding up one finger. "Two, great sex with one person. Three, you get to show him off. Adrian's mine, he's hot as hell. But Tristan's hot too. Good job, hoe."

Sabina gestures for Andy to go next. She claps and bounces on her seat, eyes shiny. "Okay, um, one, you get all the kisses you want. Two, you get to steal all his clothes. Three, you get cuddles all the time. Alongside, of course, love, support, comfort, those kinds of things."

The model appreciates how carefully worded her friends' answers are. If she heard, "You get to be happy," or, "You finally feel complete, or whole, like a part of you has been missing all this time," she would put a flyer up for applications for other friends.

"Okay." Sabina takes a donut and hums thoughtfully. Bake Away is a little crowded, filled with students, but they get to have a booth of their own and drinks are on the house. Perks of being best friends with the owner.

She leans forward on the table and says, "Hit me with all the reasons why I shouldn't."

"You're incredibly expensive," the orange head starts immediately with a snicker, leisurely sipping her latte. "You get jealous easily. You tend to pick fights a lot and you hate admitting when you're wrong. You might get bored of him."

Sabina smiles at her. "Thank you, MJ. That was incredibly insightful."

She smiles back at her friend, satisfied. "No problem, babe."

Andy looks up from her laptop and shrugs. "I don't know, I don't think there should be any reason why you shouldn't. Even with everything MJ said, it's still worth a shot. He's not asking to marry you, Sab. He likes you and wants to be with you, doesn't he? And vice versa?"

Sabina makes a noncommittal sound.

"Well." The youngest smiles widely. "You already know he's worth a shot. You wouldn't be asking us the reasons why you should and shouldn't if you didn't think so."

Sabina points an accusing finger at her. "I hate you."

"Because I'm right," she says smugly. "That's why I'm married."

"Shut up."

Acceptance

Severe abandonment issues is what the shrink called it.

Sabina calls it severe fear of the unknown.

"I like you. I want to get to know you," Sabina repeats. "I want to spend time with you outside of work and bed and do all that relationship shit. We'll date with no rules."

MJ nods approvingly, crossing her legs. "Good. Now say it again without sounding like a robot."

Sabina groans in frustration and flops down on her chair, scowling. "Okay, first of all, why does he expect so much from me? Can't we, I don't know, take it slow? Jesus, I don't do this shit and I want to try with him. Him! He should feel fucking honored."

"Then tell him that," MJ says, waving her hand around like it's obvious. She rolls her eyes and inspects her manicure. "He is right about the rules thing, though. That's weird."

"Says the one who made a contract with Adrian about no hooking up and no kissing and now lives with him. Shut your trap, whore."

"You shut your trap, coward. Just ask him out to my party and tell him what you said to me."

And MJ's birthdays usually means the heart of their friend group convened on the floor of whoever's living room (it's Andy's mansion this year), and clouds of smoke above their heads, with bass-loud shitty music except it's not shitty anymore because Rhysand's handling it, and strong drinks, dirty dancing, and lame, lame games like King's cup, beer pong, and truth or dare like they're a couple of high school kids giggling about schoolgirl crushes, and usually, Sabina would be sitting next to Jenner. Would probably hook up with him after. But Tristan's here, much looser than he was at the clinic launch, smiling and actually drinking, and there's no reason for him to look this good in a white shirt, jeans, and a sinful leather jacket, watch shining on his wrist. Sabina wants to eat him.

When Sabina asked him to come to this party, leaning over his desk one day at work, fiddling with her coffee, he raised an eyebrow and said, "You're asking me as your friend?"

Well, that was what they were at the moment. Sabina shrugged. "Yeah. And they're not the assholes you think they are. You need to loosen up."

He scoffed. "I need to loosen up?"

"No standing around stiff like a guard dog or something, okay? I'll pick you up at nine. Get to work."

So now they're seated beside each other on the floor, touching but not quite, buzzed enough to feel warm and silly. Andy's getting a little flushed, body in between Rhysand's legs on the floor, and MJ is half-draped on Adrian's lap, and Jenner's sitting on the armrest. There are red cups strewn everywhere, the carpet and floor are fucking dirty, and there are a couple of sticky, squeezed-out lime halves on the table.

The bottle stops at Andy. She yells, "Dare!"

"You don't want to do that, sunshine," Rhysand mutters, smiling. There's a lollipop in between his teeth.

"Quiet, husband." She pushes her index finger on his mouth. "Okay, go."

"Give Rhys a lap dance," Jenner says.

"I don't want to see this, Andy will do it then they'll get horny," Sabina says, rolling her eyes. She stands up. "I'm going to get wine, anyone want wine?"

Tristan downs his last drink and pushes up to his feet. "I'll come with you."

The Hartons have a glass wine cellar at their basement. It's downstairs from the kitchen, filled with dark-stained cross-cut and step wine racks facing a mahogany island.

"They're nice," Tristan says. "Nicer. And funny."

Sabina smiles, facing the racks. "Well, you would've noticed that the first time at Adrian's clinic opening. Ah, speaking of—what about that favor I owe you?"

His eyes twinkle. "Ah. It's on Saturday, but I'm not sure if it's your thing."

Sabina raises an eyebrow. "Okay, but a deal's a deal. What, did you ask someone else already?"

She's joking. But when Tristan doesn't answer, she twists around and bites, "You did?"

He shrugs. "Just asked Camie if she was free. We're friends, you know."

Jesus. Sabina grits her teeth. "We're friends, too! What is this thing? Why is it not my thing? I agreed to be your date, why did you ask Camie Brown?" There's a bitter taste in her mouth.

Tristan doesn't get a chance to answer this time, because the door slams shut with a loud sound.

Sabina's head twists, and she finds the orange head outside the glass, dangling the key in her hand.

"Sorry," MJ singsongs. The stupid party hat is still on top of her head. "Here's your dare and a birthday gift to me: kiss. Or I don't let you out. And no faking, I can see you from here. And no cheek or nose or forehead kisses, it has to be a proper one on the lips."

"MJ, you stupid bitch," Sabina says, coming closer to the glass.

"Go, kiss!" she squeaks, raising her palms in the air.

Tristan raises an eyebrow. He looks at Sabina. "Add immature to that list."

"She's drunk."

MJ is making kissy sounds. Fucking idiot.

"Is she not going to let us out?"

"No." Sabina scowls, clenching her jaw. "We are adults, for Christ's sake. Mary Jane Chaucer, I swear to fucking God—"

"S'just a kiss," Tristan says, shrugging. "We've done it before. No big deal, Kyle, come on."

Yes, big deal. Sabina can't do this. She glares at her friend. She's leaning against the wall and moving like she's dancing, arms raised above her head and holding the key in between her fingers.

Tristan comes closer. He stares at her, and Sabina sees the vein in his neck pop out. Her toes curl, wanting to taste it, but—no. Focus. Tristan wants to do the dating thing, so she'll try and do the dating thing. Jesus. Fine. Is it this hard to get a fine piece of ass?

And a fine piece of heart. He's kind, at least. When he's not being an asshole.

"Come on, I don't want to be stuck here all night. I have a feeling your friend will leave soon."

Sabina says nothing.

His mouth curls. "It's just a stupid kiss. Five seconds and we're free. Do you actually like me or something?"

Her instant reaction is to shut it down. "Get real," Sabina snaps.

It's quiet for a moment, and then a hearty laugh comes from Tristan's chest. The joyous, loud, I can't believe this kind of laugh. Sabina can't look at him. "Oh, oh. You do."

"Okay. Listen here, you little shit." Sabina turns around and stalks over, shoving her finger in his chest. Tristan's grinning, victorious and smug and hot, God, Sabina will slap him, and he's going to let her speak, damn it. He wants no bullshit? Fine. "I have feelings for you and it's time you acknowledged them." Tristan nods thoughtfully, like he's being given a lecture, and Sabina continues coldly, "I like you and you like me, but it's my first time, so give me some room, okay? And you're the first person I've ever considered doing this with and you should feel fucking honored. And I don't know what the hell Camie has that I don't, but if I'm still coming with you to your thing on Saturday, let me know because I don't want to look like an idiot if I shave my legs, spend an hour on my hair and makeup, choose a nice outfit so you can tell me I'm beautiful to my face because I actually care what you think, and bother to drive to your condo and pick you up if I'm not going to be your date to the thing after all. And I'd like to use that thing to spend time with you outside of work and bed. So. Is Camie coming with you or am I? I don't want to sound conceited, God knows I have a high confidence level, but I think I'm the better choice."

He's still nodding, still grinning, leaning forward. He says, "You are."

"Great. Text me what time." Sabina crosses her arms over her chest and steps closer. "I want to kiss you."

"Good," he says, putting his hands on her hips. "Wanna kiss you, too. So bad."

She pulls him by his jacket and presses their mouths together, and unlike the first time, it's greedy, insistent, like they're both trying to steal each other's breaths in one go.

"Ah," Tristan says. Breathes. Smile pressed into her lips., stroking her waist. "This is what feels like to kiss you, Sabina."

And it's going to be hard to sleep at night, with the imprint of his hand still searing on her skin. It looks the same—dark, smooth, no bruises or scars or marks, but she can still the rush of electricity in her veins, trace the outline of every finger of Tristan's hand.

It's going to be hard to sleep at night, knowing she just gave him the upper hand. It's over.

"We don't have to do anything," Tristan says, breathlessly, pushing her against the door of her bedroom, hands everywhere, mouth on hers.

"Personally," Sabina starts, taking his tie off, his shirt, his pants, "I want you to fuck me."

"Oh, thank God."

In the morning, Sabina watches Tristan place his palms on her counter, smiling and making his disgustingly sweet coffee with only his jeans on.

It felt like those hands were finally touching her kitchen with her permission.

*

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