Page 62 of Dirty Little Mistake

"This is… amazing."

"Are you hungry?"

"Starving."

"Kaia put food on the table." My gaze shifted over the room spotting a covered plate on the table next to one of the candles.

"So, how does this work?" I slid into the chair at the table.

"Put the phone in the stand." The white phone stand waited beside an arrangement of tea lights, their flames reflecting off the polished surface of a silver dome. I adjusted my phone until Trystan's face aligned perfectly in the frame, the candlelight softening his features. Behind him, his hotel room faded into warm shadows, making it feel like we existed in our own private bubble. "Now, we eat a meal together. Like a date."

The setup transformed my usual study corner into an intimate café for two. A crisp white tablecloth draped over my desk, its corners brushing against my knees. Crystal stemware caught and scattered the candlelight. A single red rose lay across my napkin, its petals still beaded with moisture.

When I lifted the silver dome, a cloud of steam rose that momentarily obscured Trystan's face on the screen. The aroma hit me in waves—first the sharp kick of cayenne, then the earthy warmth of paprika, followed by the rich undertones of butter and herbs. The plate beneath was a work of art, the food arranged with the same care I'd seen in expensive restaurants, making this corner of my bedroom feel like the most exclusive dining room in the city.

They'd both gone to a lot to make this special for me.

My stomach fluttered. This was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for me.

My stomach growled, but I couldn't look away from his face on the screen, couldn't stop watching how his eyes softened when they met mine.

"What are you having?"

He smiled. "Steak. I ordered from the hotel restaurant."

"Mmm… Yummy."

Trystan twirled his fork between his fingers. "So, how was boxing practice?"

I rolled my shoulders, still feeling the burn from today's session. "It was good. I'm getting better." Steam rose from my plate as I shoved my fork into the noodles, stirring it together. "How was traveling today?"

He scrubbed a hand down his face, dark circles visible even through the phone screen. "It was long, and Creed snores so fucking loud. I don't think I've slept in three days."

"Where's everyone tonight?" The question came out between bites.

"They all went with the guys from Wicked Sinners to a club." His hotel room's ceiling fan cast rotating shadows behind him.

My fork paused halfway to my mouth. "You didn't want to go?"

He set down his knife, his fingers drumming once against the table. "The only place I'd want to be other than here with you, is there with you."

My fingers tightened around my fork. Heat bloomed in my chest, spreading until even my fingertips tingled.

How did he still do this to me, even through a phone screen?

"I wish I was there."

"I can book you a plane ticket tonight. You just say when."

"I wish I could," I lied. I already had my tickets to see his last concert, but I wanted to surprise him just like he'd surprised me tonight. "Everything is kind of hectic with school and practice right now."

"Only a couple more weeks and I'll be home, and then you are all mine."

"All yours."

"Actually," he said, "make sure you have no plans the first forty-eight hours after I get home."

"Forty-eight hours," my eyes widened. "What are we going to do for forty-eight hours?"

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