A Christmas Mix-Up

My cheeks grow feverishly hot and I shove my phone under my butt as I sit up. Tristan caught me staring at a shirtless photo of Dean...Shit, does he know who I was really thinking about when I was ogling? "Um, uh, that was...is my boyfriend. Um, Dean. Dean, my boyfriend." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue and causes my chest to tighten.

A flicker of something passes over Tristan's face too quickly to read. "Ah, Dean. The boyfriend." He crosses his arms as I shuffle to the edge of the bed, gathering my bearings.

"Yep! So, you can keep your naughty photos tucked away. I'm all covered," I say with a flick of my wrist.

His smile tilts up to one side as he remains rooted in his spot under the door frame. "That's too bad because I have some really good ones that tend to do the trick."

I huff out a laugh, slightly in disbelief that we're having this conversation, but then my cheeks loosen when I picture it...Holy God what is this man doing making me think about all the potential thirst traps he has?

"Alright, fine. I'll tell you about my best one since you're practically begging for it." His brows raise as if he's deigning me with this offer.

"I'm not—" I start to object when he cuts in.

"Braces," he starts counting off on his fingers, "Mild eczema. And holding my mom's hand at the swimming pool while wearing a speedo. Quite a big lady trap that photo was even if it was taken ten years ago."

I burst out laughing. "Wow. I changed my mind. I'm thirsty and I need to see it."

He grins widely. "No way, you're not ready for it. Your ovaries may explode."

I clutch my stomach as I laugh even harder and picture the photo. Ten years ago Tristan must have been..."Wait, hold up! How old are you?"

He says without missing a beat, "Twenty seven."

"Oh my God, Tristan! You're telling me, you were seventeen when you had braces and when you held your mom's hand at the pool?"

The deep, rumbling laugh that comes out of him warms my soul like hot soup on a cold day. "Yep. I told you it was a good one."

"This photo sounds iconic!"

"So, how old are you?" he asks as we're settling down from laughter. He's still at the door but his body looks more relaxed, with his arms uncrossed and with his shoulder leaning against the frame.

"How old do I look?" I'm surprised by the flirtatious undertone of my voice. Like I'm prodding him into a guessing game that will determine how attractive he finds me.

He shrugs. "Twenty five?"

I should probably take offense that he guessed older, but something satisfactory settles into my gut. He sees me as around his age. "I'm twenty two."