“Cait. She’s a good kisser. But then we always knew she would be. Don’t think you got past her mouth, but believe you me, the rest of her is just as responsive.”
Before Matt’s words fully pierced the haze in his brain, Tris noted his best friend’s smirk. He’d seen that smirk before. That was the expression Matt wore when he’d set his sights on a new conquest.
Or had already enjoyed one.
In an instant, Tris hurtled out of his chair and pushed Matt against the wall. He lifted his knee, fully intent on shoving it into Matt’s groin. “What did you do to her?” he demanded.
“Not nearly enough. And you might want to mind the knee. You’ll regret it later.”
“I asked you a goddamned question. How do you know what kind of kisser she is?”
“Sit down. You’re hungry and you’re tired, and as usual your testosterone’s doing the talking.” Matt’s jaw popped as he yawned. “We’re both tired. So ease off and I’ll tell you.”
Tris stepped back a fraction. “This is as far as I’m going. Start talking.”
“You’re getting the abridged version. There’s a couple of reasons for that, mainly that she doesn’t want you to know.”
Now he sat. “Why?”
Matt rolled back up to his desk. He resumed whatever he’d been doing, moving his hand in wide swings on the mouse. “You know Cait,” he said dismissively. “Always has her reasons. But in this case, I don’t think she’s altogether wrong. You’re both impossible to deal with. Which is why from here on out, we’re doing this my way.”
Tristan reached for the laminated menu, then let it drop forgotten in his lap. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t concentrate on food at the moment, roaring stomach be damned.
He’d been having enough trouble all morning, between trying to forget the feeling of Caity’s mouth on his and his futile efforts to decipher the thick-as-mud tension between his two partners. Maybe he’d finally figure out just what the hell was going on in his own damn house.
Because something clearly was. Sometime between when Matt had gone downstairs to supposedly call his mother last night and this morning, something had transpired between Caity and Matt.
Whatever it was, that had to be the explanation for Caity kissing him this morning. He’d been turning it over all day, wondering why the hell she’d made a move on him. Why now? He certainly hadn’t minded. In fact, he was already counting the minutes until it happened again.
But still. Something had to have given her a push.
And he had a feeling he was looking at him.
“You kissed her,” Tris stated. “When?”
“Last night.”
“When last night? You were with me last night, if you’ve forgotten.” Even Tristan could hear the undercurrent in his tone. Hell if he could decipher if he was jealous about Matt getting with Cait—or vice versa.
Either way they hadn’t been with him.
“Yeah, I remember.” Matt banged his mouse. “I also remember looking at the doorway while you were cleaning up and realizing we had an observer.”
Tristan fisted his hands on the arms of his chair. “You’re not serious.”
“Deadly.”
“Jesus.” Tris closed his eyes and tried not to imagine what Caity had witnessed. “Did she—is she—”
“She’s all right. Now. She was shocked, but she got over it fast.” Again the smirk, and Tris’s stomach tightened. “I distracted her.”
“How?”
Matt arched a brow and shifted to face him, hands sprawled on his stomach. “Sure you want the gory details?”
“The details of how you clearly left my bed and went to hers? Why not?”
Though he wasn’t altogether sure he did. But he’d be damned if they left him out of the loop any longer.