Page 11 of Wicked Rockstar

I shrugged. “Just thinking about how far we’ve come.”

Peter’s eyes lit up, and the trademark mischievous grin lit his face. “Boone’s Farm.”

With those two words, I knew he was remembering those times, too. “Remember we used to dream about nights like this? Fancy restaurants, expensive wine… ”

I held my hand out for him to take. “We’ve come a long way from stolen Boone’s behind the garage. Sometimes I miss the simplicity of those days. Don’t you?”

Peter paused. “Those weren’t simple days, Tris. They were survival.”

“Maybe. But we had each other. All three of us. I wouldn’t have made it without the two of you.”

Peter frowned at my mention of Killian but didn’t hesitate to hold my hand again. “I wouldn’t have made it without you and your eternal optimism. My life was a shitshow. Your friendship helped get me on the straight and narrow.”

I nodded. We had helped each other through the darkest times in our lives.

Our food arrived, breaking the little bubble we’d been in.

Tonight meant more to me than Peter knew, even more than the possibility that he might see a romantic future for us. Over the past few years, our alone time had gotten less and less.

I missed him.

I missed us.

Peter took a bite of his filet mignon. “I think Jareth will be impressed by the interview today.”

“It did go well.” I watched the recording when I got back to my apartment.

It still amazed me that Peter was practically comatose and yet could charm the socks off the hosts as he did. He’d always had that ability, even when we were young. It allowed him to get away with most things that others couldn’t. All he had to do was toss his disarming smile at someone or pay a pretty compliment, and he could usually make people forget what he’d just done.

Killian was the only one who was immune. Even as much as I tried to stay objective, it was far too easy for me to fall under Peter’s spell.

Usually.

I couldn’t stop myself. While I half-listened to Peter, I checked the bar area to see if Killian was still there.

His seat was empty.

The unoccupied barstool left an ache in my chest. Part of me was relieved Killian had gone, sparing us further awkwardness. But another part—a part I was scared to acknowledge—wished he’d stayed.

“You okay, Tris?” Peter asked, his eyes narrowed in concern. “You’re quieter than usual.”

“Just… thinking about the past.”

Peter frowned. “Good memories, I hope.”

“Some good, some… complicated.” I sipped my wine, trying to make sense of all the conflicting thoughts running through my mind. I quickly swallowed, trying not to grimace at the taste.

He nodded. “I get that. Our past is part of us like you’re a part of me.”

I gave him a trembling smile, loving that he understood and felt like I did about him. “I’ve missed spending time like this with you.”

“Me too. You’re good for my soul, songbird.”

My hand twitched against the table at his old nickname for me. I’m sure he just forgot how much I freaking hated birds. I didn’t mind gently reminding him, “Peter?—”

“I got something for you,” Peter burst out, his excitement written all over his face.

“You did?” I’d address the bird thing with him later.

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