On Saturday, Tristan opens the door and peeks his head out. When he sees her, he raises an eyebrow. "I texted you and said to wear something comfortable."

"This is comfortable," Sabina argues, frowning and looking down at herself. She's in low rise black jeans and a cute long-sleeved crop top in yellow, paired with a black bucket hat and white sneakers. Her stomach is showing but it's an amazing stomach, she worked hard for it, she has a right to show it off and it's her stomach. Plus, Sabina knows for a fact that Tristan loves her body. Where's the appreciation? "I don't think you were expecting me to show up in pajamas."

He sighs. "I said something you could get dirty in. That's an Anette Corsan top and Madwell jeans."

Sabina blinks. She likes a man who knows fashion, but more importantly, she likes the man who knows her fashion. "Oh, actual dirty? Not hands-on-each-other dirty...?"

His mouth twitches. He shakes his head. It's still peeking out from the door, and his body's inside his measly condo unit, so Sabina can't salivate over what he's wearing, but his face, as always, with his damp hair and amazing smell and stubble, is glorious. "Wait here."

Sabina crosses her arms over her chest as Tristan goes back inside and locks the door. Actual dirty? She doesn't do anything physical that requires more than her gym workout plan and sex, and she doesn't like getting sweaty or dirtying her clothes. Especially when she's going on a date.

The door opens again and Tristan steps out. He pushes his back against it and hands her a shirt, jutting his chin out when Sabina takes it hesitantly. "I can't do anything about the jeans but trust me, you're not going to want to mess up your blouse."

Sabina wrinkles her nose and holds the shirt up. It's his, obviously, it's a plain gray shirt with huge sleeves. Her face tightens in distaste and she looks at him. "Is this really necessary? I think I look cute in my outfit."

"I didn't say you didn't. Wear it."

Sabina scoffs incredulously and holds her palm out to the door. "Let me inside."

Tristan purses his lips and keeps his back pressed to the door. "Sorry, honey. I can't. Go change in the car and I'll meet you down—"

Sabina dumps her bag on the floor (one more of this and she's going to break Tristan's neck) and takes off her blouse in the middle of the hallway. Standing in her black bra, Tristan stares at her, and she slides her arms inside the ridiculously long sleeves of this huge-ass shirt and puts it on, tucking it inside her pants and keeping her eyes on Tristan.

His eyes are everywhere. Sabina wants to laugh. "This smells nice," she comments, pushing her hand down her jeans. "You do the laundry or does the person inside do it? It's either that or you still think I'm a bitch who judges you for owning a beat-up Dodge."

He only half-smiles. "You look good in my shirt," he says instead.

Sabina puts on her bucket hat. He's wearing a fitted black shirt and ripped jeans, holy hell. "Death row, sweetheart," she reminds him.

"Soon," he promises, kissing her quickly and turning her around. He smacks her butt and puts on his ball cap, then he interlaces their fingers together. "Come on."

Where he's taking her involves a suit, helmet, and kneepads. And a gun. Sabina points the gun at him and scowls. "So we're not allowed to shoot in the groin? Where's the fun in that?"

Tristan comes around her to check her suit, handing her a helmet, and then he bends down and checks her kneepads, too. "You can't shoot in the face or any of the marshals, either."

"If I'd known your thing was a paintball park, I wouldn't have bothered."

"But you are, because you're into me. And I went to be stuffy at Adrian's thing." Tristan scoffs once and checks his own gun. "So get loose."

Sabina scowls some more and drops her arms. Sweat is starting to bead at her forehead and upper lip.

"And I hope you left your cute act at home," her boyfriend continues. "Because I want the competitive Kyle now. We're playing against my friends."

"Your friends?" Sabina screeches. "I'm in fucking armor like I'm from Sparta or some shit! This is ridiculous! You're supposed to give me a warning three business days before, and I'm supposed to look gorgeous and cute, not like fucking—I don't know, Oscar the Grouch!"

This is a disaster. This is a fucking disaster. Sabina doesn't like people. She hates people, the only people she likes are Tristan (now debatable) and her friends (Rhysand is already a stretch), and now she's supposed to meet people who are supposed to like her? Bitch, she is going to smack Tristan in the fucking balls until they don't work—

"Oscar the Grouch is right." He's grinning.

"Shut up."

"They're just stupid frat brothers from my football team back in college, babe. Calm down."

"Oh. Great. Boys. That makes everything so much better."

"Kyle."

"Do you realize what kind of physical pain you'll be putting me through? I have to make an effort to be nice, Bishop, you shouldn't have sprung this on me—"

A high-pitched howl cuts her off. "Bishop!"

Sabina turns around. Cavemen are starting to run towards them and Sabina gets a little scared from this Neanderthal behavior, so she moves back, but Tristan puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes. Leaning down, he whispers, "I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you."

"You fucking better. God, Tristan." She's sweating. "I expect four earth-shattering orgasms after this. And you don't get to have one until I'm done."

His laugh is fucking loud. "Done. God, you drive me crazy."

"You make me want to tear your fucking head off." She turns around, cups his jaw, and kisses him. "If they're assholes, I'm going home."

"I'll drive you."

Tristan lets go of her briefly to do the handshake-hug thing bros do with his former teammates. Sabina looks stupid standing there, but one of them comes close, grins, and holds out his hand. "Hi, I'm Isaac. You must be Tris's bitchy boss and girl."

Sabina likes how Tristan described her. "In the flesh. Sabina Kyle." She shakes his hand and offers him a tight smile. She's going to try and be nice.

"Well, Sabina." He looks her up and down. And then meets her eyes again. He's still grinning, and curly hair falls on his forehead. "It's very nice to meet you."

Never mind about being nice. "Check me out one more time and I'll gouge your eyes out."

He laughs and raises his hands. "Whoa. Claws out."

Sabina gives him a sweet smile.

Tristan pushes him by the chest and comes up behind Sabina, holding her by the waist. "Already on the kill list, Taylor." He points to the other three. "That asshole's Asher. That one's Everett. That last prick is Jayden."

"I don't want to hurt a model," the asshole named Everett says, tilting his head at her. Then, he twists his head to look at Tristan with furrowed eyebrows. "Wait. No exceptions, right? All fair game?"

"What does my being a model have to do with this?" Sabina asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Well." Asher rubs the nape of his neck. "You're pretty."

"Obviously."

"And...we don't want to hurt a pretty girl."

"But if I weren't, you wouldn't have a problem with it?" Sabina snaps.

"No," Jayden says, shaking his head. "No, we just—"

Tristan sighs. "Okay. Shut the fuck up. Kyle's playing fair game. No exceptions."

Isaac's eyes twinkle. He smiles wickedly. "So we're allowed to shoot her?"

"Isn't that the point of paintball?" Sabina huffs.

"Yes," Tristan answers his friend. "Shoot all you want."

All of them howl and cheer.

"Okay." Sabina faces her boyfriend. "Explain."

He lets out a quiet chuckle. "Uh, they were expecting me to tell them not to shoot you."

Sabina's face sours. "What, because I'm a model? Or because I'm a woman?"

"Both."

"Okay, you sexist pieces of shits." Sabina faces Tristan's friends and holds up her gun. "Shoot all you want and bring it the fuck on."

Another round of howling and cheering. They pick teams using rock paper scissors, and Sabina goes with Isaac and Jayden. Asher and Everett are with Tristan. Sabina learns that these boys are like little children with fucking toys, Tristan was their school's ace quarterback in college, and that she wants to win. Badly.

They're playing capture the flag. Each team gets a flag in their base, and the first team who captures the other's flag wins.

Tristan knocks his hand over her helmet. "Still wanna go home?"

Sabina smiles at him. "After we beat you."

He lets out a loud ha! "Don't be so cocky, sweetheart."

She blows him a kiss, and goes off to convene with her teammates.

"We can't play defense since we're only three a team," Jayden says in their huddle, positioning his finger on his gun, "so we're all going for the flag."

"We'll protect you, don't worry," Isaac tells her, wagging his eyebrows.

"I'll protect myself, male." Sabina rolls her eyes. "Stupid ass. Flirt with me again and I'll personally shoot you in the balls."

He's grinning as they file out and take cover. "You do know we don't play lightly, right? You're coming out of this bruised, battered, and paint-splattered. You're not out until they get ten shots in you."

Sabina stops and turns around, shoving a finger in his chest. "Guess what. I don't play lightly, either. And I don't like losing."

"Good." He cocks his gun, eyes shining. "Neither do I."

There's a horn blast, and they all drop down on their stomachs.

"Spread out first. Get as close as you can to the flag," Isaac whispers to them.

"Don't tell me what to do," Sabina snaps, but she's up and running, falling behind a boulder to the left. Isaac is moving across the field stealthily, and Jayden takes cover behind a tree, and the flag is an orange scrap in the distance.

Sabina spots red hair. She raises her gun and fires off a round, clipping Asher in the shoulder.

Everyone begins firing off. And no shit, Isaac wasn't kidding when he said they don't play lightly.

The air is filled with pops, cracks, and curses. Sabina is running out of breath, hiding, shooting, falling on her knees. She's shot in her arms and on the back of her thighs, and they hurt like a bitch, but she still has four shots left before she's out, and she's shot Asher and Everett. There's no sign of Tristan, and she's getting suspicious.

Isaac grabs a handful of her suit and moves her along. The flag is about thirty yards away. They're light on their feet, sidestepping a volley of shots, and they take cover again behind a tree when he fails to dodge a shot in his torso.

"Good job," Sabina says, snorting.

"Where is Bishop?" Isaac mutters, narrowing his eyes. He glances at her. "Your aim is spot on. I'm impressed."

"Oh, you're just impressed because I'm a woman. Stop talking shit and be quiet."

A twig cracks behind them. Sabina grabs Isaac, pivots him around to block the shots, and runs. "Cover me, I'm getting the flag!"

Sabina doesn't bother turning around to see who snuck up on them—she knows it was her boyfriend. Sneaky little shit. She sidesteps, jumps, and ducks, as dozens of shots aim at her. She feels a hiss at her side as she fires at Tristan, spotting the flag only a few steps away. She hears him grunt in surprise.

"Sabina, go!" she hears Isaac yell, but before she can take another step, she's shot in the back, and then on her leg, and she gasps in pain, falling over. Tristan is firing shot after shot, and Sabina is crawling, trying to find cover, trying to find the trigger, but the pops in her body reach ten before she can raise her arm.

"We got it!" Everett crows in triumph, waving the flag from the opposite side of the field. The shots stop.

"Damn it!" Sabina kicks the ground. Her whole body fucking hurts.

Tristan offers his hand out with a sheepish smile. "Sorry 'bout that, honey. We play to win."

"Fuck you," Sabina says hoarsely, pushing his hand away and struggling to sit up. "Defense isn't allowed!"

She's a sore loser. "I wasn't on defense, I was on offense and I followed you," Tristan reasons, grinning, raising his hands in the air.

"Rematch!" Sabina screams. "Rematch, I demand one right now."

He grabs her off the ground and takes off her helmet. "You look terrible."

"Rematch," she growls, pushing him.

They do have a rematch, and Sabina's team wins this time. The soreness, exhaustion, and the queasiness is worth it, she feels like she scaled Everest.

Tristan takes off her gloves and her suit. His own suit is battered with paint, and his face is lined with sweat. "You okay?"

"I won. I'm fine." Sabina grins at him and wipes his forehead, brushing his hair away from his eyes.

"We're even," her boyfriend snorts.

"Fine. Rematch—"

"No more." He laughs loudly, passing her a water bottle. "We're all hurt. Casualties everywhere."

He's right. Jayden is limping. Asher is rolling his arm in his shoulder socket. Isaac is lying down on a bench, catching his breath.

Sabina sighs. She steps forward and hugs him around the waist. They're both gross and sweaty, but Sabina's entire body is thrumming with excitement, still. "Stay the night," she tells him, burying her face in his neck. She presses a kiss to his racing pulse and squeezes his body. "Want you to stay the night. You still owe me. And I want to have a relaxing bath and I want you in the tub with me."

He hums, running his hands over her back. "You're bossy."

"Also, Isaac has been flirting with me."

He laughs once. "He's not. He's looking at your reactions."

Sabina furrows her eyebrows. "Huh?"

"He's like a brother to me, babe. They all are. He wanted to know how you'd react to his flirting." He breathes out another laugh. "Some girls let it happen. Flirt back. We never see them again if they do."

"He does that with all of you?" Sabina asks incredulously. She doesn't know if she's appalled or impressed or touched. Tristan nods. "Is that why you brought me to meet them? Did you want to know how I'd react?"

"No. Isaac does that all on his own." He bends down to kiss her forehead. "He likes you. They all do. See? And you didn't even have to be nice."

"You still owe me. Stay the night."

Tristan sighs. He stares at her. Whatever he sees in her eyes seems to reassure him, because he nods. "Okay."

"Food," Jayden moans.

"Food," Asher agrees.

Food sounds good right now. Sabina takes Tristan's hand and faces the boys. "C'mon, get up. I'm hungry, too."

Sabina finds out that these boys can wolf down three servings each. When they leave, Isaac says, "Good job, Tris." He's looking at Sabina, and he smiles at her.

"Get outta here." Tristan pushes him. "You too, you assholes."

Jayden smiles at her. "See you around, Sabina. Get ahold of Tris over here."

On the way home, Sabina drives. Tristan makes a phone call. "Hey," he says quietly, facing the window. "I won't be coming home. I'll be back tomorrow."

Sabina glances at him.

"Yeah, yeah." Tristan rubs his forehead. "You know what to do, Ian. Okay. Thank you."

It's silent for a few moments. Sabina clears her throat and asks, "Everything okay?"

He said soon. Sabina is holding him to that.

Tristan gives her a small smile. "Yeah."

The bath is relaxing and much needed. Both their bodies are bruised. Sabina trails her fingers over her arm and winces. "Oh, shit. My agency's going to kill me."

Tristan rubs soap over her skin, spreading his legs further so that Sabina can lean on his chest. "You sore?" he asks quietly.

Sabina hums. She turns her head and kisses his shoulder. "Nothing I can't handle. You make me more sore than this."

His laugh sounds pretty in her ear. "Hey. I really am sorry for not giving you a warning. I didn't want to scare you off, or make you nervous. I told you they were just stupid assholes."

"I don't get scared or nervous easily. I just wanted to be prepared, but apology accepted." Sabina turns around, cups his face, and kisses him slowly. Softly, she says, "Thank you for staying the night."

They spend their Sunday bathed in each other's scents, tangled in each other's limbs, touching each other skins. Tristan makes coffee. It's disgustingly sweet, but it tastes nice.

*

When Allan told Sabina he would go back to school if he could and get his diploma, in the middle of a muddled conversation over dinner, just a passing thought, stupid wishful thinking, something to say into the air and watch it disappear—Sabina left her food, grabbed her laptop, and looked for the best creative writing program in the country. Thankfully, it wasn't that far from South Bend.

He was hesitant. Oh, he was so hesitant. "I'm too old for this, sweetie," he'd say, shaking his head, voice cracking. "I don't think I should do this."

Allan Kyle didn't know what he was doing when he was raising Sabina. He didn't know he'd raise a bossy jackass with a sharp mouth.

"Dad, shut up," Sabina told him, swatting at him when he tried to take the computer, and Sabina looked through the enrollment process. "Oh, would you look at that, we can submit your application this weekend! There's an apartment nearby, too! Look at the courses and Dad, the thesis—you're supposed to create your own book!"

"I don't even have a computer," he said. So Sabina bought him one. "And there is no way you're commuting," Sabina said. So she bought him a car, too.

And Sabina fucking Kyle did not do all that—did not look at her father's glassy eyes when he got accepted into the college he wanted, did not celebrate with him and went for a drive in his new car, and got drunk and dancing first night in his new apartment, did not spend hours reading his manuscript and relaying all her comments and reactions via voice message last year for his final project, did not smile at her dad's stress and happiness in his voice whenever he's in class or school—for her father to be fucking bullied.

Sabina picks up her father from school. She chews her gum, leans against her car with shades over her eyes, and waits for him.

Two college girls walk over next to her parking space. One of them was seething. "I can't believe I'm paired with him! He's too old for this shit, he's what—sixty? Seventy? Dude, I mean, just an opinion, but I can't believe he's still in school."

The other snickers as they unlock the car. "Is this a home for the aged? A charity case? So fucked up."

"Right?" the blonde bitch says, and then she flips her hair over her shoulder. "Oh, you know what, I'm going to focus on what's important. I'm starting my internship this weekend at The Fit!"

Sabina spots her dad. He's fumbling with his notes and his books, but when he looks up, he smiles wide, eyes twinkling, and he raises one hand in a wave.

She pops her gum, stands straight, and slams the passenger door closed just as it's opened by blondie. She leans against it and smiles at her bewildered expression. "What's your name?"

She blinks at Sabina. "I—what?"

Sabina chews her gum. "Your name, babe."

When she stays silent, and her other friend comes around to check on what's happening, Sabina leans forward and snatches her I.D., quickly turning it over. "Ah. Jade Wesley, is it?"

"What the fuck?" she spits out. "Get off my car, bitch."

Sabina takes off her shades. She can see the exact moment blondie bitch's eyes widen. "I'm sure you're a very talented writer, Jade," Sabina starts, keeping her smile. "You wouldn't be in this school if you weren't, and you wouldn't have been accepted at The Fit if you weren't. However, we don't like bullies." She juts her bottom lip out and sighs. "So don't bother coming in Saturday. And your opinion is almost as bad as your eyebrows, and if you ran like your mouth, you'd actually be in pretty good shape. Talk like that again and I'll personally make sure you don't find any jobs in the fashion industry, okay?" Sabina puts her shades back on. "Call me bitch one more time and I'll show you what a real one is. Bye, have a great day."

Sabina turns around just as her father reaches her. "Hey, honey." He kisses her cheek and looks at his classmates, who are stunned to silence, standing next to their car. He gives her an exasperated look. "What did you do?"

"I was being myself." She blows the college students a kiss and opens the door for her dad. "Greek food sound good? I'm starving."

When Sabina comes to work the next day, she heads straight to HR. Tristan follows her, and there's subtle panic in his voice when he says, "Kyle. What are you doing? Are you actually going to report us?"

"Shut up," Sabina tells him, heading straight to the main office. She knocks against the wall, and the employee stands up, eyes wide, breathing, "Ms. Kyle."

"One of your interns is not an intern anymore. Take her off the list and inform security in case she tries anything. Her name is Jade Wesley."

He does as she asked. Sabina walks away.

Tristan is pursing his lips, suppressing his smile as he presses the elevator button. "Are you allowed to do that?"

"Yes." One of the benefits of her position. She turns around and tells Tristan, "If I ever say something that's rude or offending to you, tell me. Because I know I'm rude. I'm rude as fuck, and I won't back down from an argument. I'm not nice, Bishop, and I can be—no, I will be nastier to people who are nasty to me, to my family, to my friends, and now, to you as well. So tell me because I know I'm a bitch."

His mouth curves into a grin. "What happened?"

"Some onion-breathed college kids were talking shit about my dad," she says, stepping inside the elevator. "And one of them was supposed to be interning here."

"Supposed to be," Tristan repeats. Muses, as he stands behind her, ghosting his hand along her waist. "I'll tell you when you're being mean," he whispers in her ear. "But is it bad I find what you just did fucking hot?"

Sabina grins. "No."

"Good." He smiles against her cheek and kisses it. "You're hot."

"I know. Be honored."

"Mm. I am. Kyle." He pauses for a moment. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to. I'm just wondering why you've never talked about your mom—even in interviews."

"Because she's dead to me," Sabina answers honestly. "My dad says I look like her and I fucking hate it. It hurts him sometimes."

Tristan trails his fingers down her neck, shoulder, and arm. Goose bumps follow his touch. "That's not your fault," he mutters. "So it's just been the two of you all this time?"

"Yes. You wanna meet him officially?" Sabina asks, suddenly excited at the prospect. She turns around and grasps his hand, grinning. "He'll be crying tears of joy when he finds out we're together, and then he'll apologize to you because I'm a monster."

It makes him smile. He brushes her hair away from face, tucking it behind her ear, and he says, "After I tell you."

Sabina's smile drops and she stomps her foot in frustration. "So when are you going to tell me? This isn't funny anymore, Tristan. I'm getting worried, and you know what I hate more than onion-breathed college kids? Worrying."

"I'm sorry," he breathes, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her back to his chest. Sabina rolls her eyes and clutches his hands over her stomach. "Soon, I promise. I'm taking the day off tomorrow until Friday. I'll pick you up after your shoot and we can stay in and watch movies."

Sabina knows he takes his day-offs at this time of the year. Always the same dates, always three days. She'll ask him about it when he's ready. Resigned, she nods once. "Okay."

"Who's your shoot with? I remember you said it was a collab thing."

"Just an old friend." Somewhat.

Tristan hums and nods. "Okay. You can manage one little Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday on your own, right?"

"Oh, shut up."

"Make me."

Sabina turns around, cups his face, and kisses him. "Don't slack off at work, Bishop."

"My boss would kill me, Kyle," he answers, smirking, just as the elevator doors open.

*

what'd u guys think <3 what's tristan hiding :0