Page 53 of Trigger

Carternodded as if he understood our estrangement on some level.

“Whatabout your folks?” I asked him after a slight hesitation, knowing I wasbringing up a sensitive subject.

“They’realive, but they don’t want to hear about me, and the feeling is mutual.”

Hisface was blank, but I could feel the storm of emotions inside him.

“Becauseyou left home?” I guessed.

“Mostly.They never approved of a single decision I’d made… not leaving home, notquitting the professional sport, not joining the police force. And then therewas this religion thing. They’re both devout, while I asked too many questionsthey didn’t like.”

“Likewhat? If the bearded man in the sky really exists, just like Santa?”

Carterchuckled. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Whatabout you, Dominic?” I said, deciding to change the subject. “Can you cook?”

“Hmm,I can boil eggs. Does that count?”

“Ofcourse. But it doesn’t matter if you can’t cook. You have me now. I can makeall kinds of romantic meals for you and Vicky.”

“Asshole,”he murmured, but I could see him stifling a smile. “You don’t deserve it, buthow can I help? Do you need me to chop onions or something?”

“Iwould love to see you cry, but everything is already done. You can make a saladwhile I shower.”

“Okay.I left you a clean towel in the bathroom. Just stay away from my toothbrush.”

“But howwill I kiss you if I don’t wash my teeth?”

“Gross.And not funny.”

“Thanksfor the towel, babe.”

“You’rewelcome, asshole.”

AfterI’d showered and changed into sweats and a T-shirt, we had dinner together. Hechanged into something more comfortable too, meaning joggers and a T-shirt thatlooked so good on him I considered asking him to change.

“Isthere anything you can’t do, Thorsen?” Carter mumbled with his mouth full.“Because this pasta tastes delicious.”

“Notmuch,” I replied without false modesty. “But cooking is a passion of mine, so Iexcel at it. How about you? What do you like to do for fun?”

“Ilike to read, I guess,” he said, pointing his chin at the shelf across from us.“Dostoevsky, Hemingway, Faulkner, Fitzgerald… Classics, mostly.”

“Whatelse?” I asked him as he opened the second bottle of wine and refilled ourglasses.

“Besidesreading, I like to learn new stuff,” he replied. “Last month, I finished anonline course in graphic design. A month before that, cybersecurity. A monthbefore that, knitting.”

Ichoked on my wine, looking at him incredulously. Did he say knitting?

“Gotyou,” he said with a grin, winking at me. “Babe.”

My jawdropped. First, that wink gave me a semi. Second, was he flirting? No way hewas flirting. I opened my stupid mouth to ask him when his phone rang.

“It’sVic,” he murmured, standing up. “Excuse me for a minute.”

It wasa boner-killer. Immediate. A good thing too, because this was starting to looklike a date to me, and it was a dangerous thought. Delusional, too. Tragic aswell because after our rocky start, it turned out that my grumpy partner and Igot on like a house on fire. We conversed with ease, we had fun together, andsomething told me we would be dynamite in bed. This type of compatibility couldlead to some sensational fucking, but sadly I would never know.

Insteadof wallowing in self-pity, I cleared the table, wondering if he had any morealcohol lying around. When I found tequila and some lemons in the fridge, Ithanked my lucky stars. I rejoined him in the living room, just as he put on hiseyeglasses and scribbled something into the notepad.

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