Tristan leads me into a room with props and racks of costumes everywhere, checking back a couple of times as if to make sure I'm still there. He smiles warmly, stirring my curiosity even more. After moving some of the racks in front of the far yellowish-beige wall, he reveals a medium sized square impression on the wall's surface. With a couple of forceful pushes, drawing my attention to the muscles and chords pressing against his exposed forearms, he pushes the square open to a hallway.

"Woah." I lean down and take in the dimly lit hall that ends with a rickety wooden staircase. "Are you finally going to kill me?"

He laughs, the timbre melting into my skin and dancing into my veins. I follow after him, crouching through the entryway toward the stairs. "If that were my plan don't you think I would've done it last night?" he says over his shoulder as he ascends the stairs.

In the darkness of the space, his deep voice wraps me up in a blanket of nostalgia. I close my eyes briefly, replaying the sound. It's as if I've heard it before. He must have that type of voice that's tailor-made for radio.

"You might be one of those killers that seduces his prey before he kills them," I say as we reach the top of the stairs, where there is a single closed door.

Tristan turns back with a crooked smile. "Do you feel seduced by me?" We're face to face now. He leans in a smidge of a smidge closer, revealing a kaleidoscope of green in his eyes. This close I catch a whiff of a delicious almond and musk scent.

Heat fills my cheeks, but I school my expression. "Of course, how could I not be? What with your gentlemanly spirit last night and how you graciously gave me your bed."

Breathing out a laugh, he shakes his head. "Sorry about that. I get cranky when I'm tired."

I smile and we're silent for a moment, my heart beating a little faster in my chest. "I get it. I'm the same way." Needing to get some distance, I step away from him. The air is feeling too dense. I cross my arms. "So, are you going to show me what you so desperately need to show me, or what?"

He answers by opening the door next to us, lifting up a hand, and saying, "After you, sweetheart."

Ignoring the way the nickname reminds of last night when he was shirtless, I step through the frame. Dark wood paints my vision and encases the small room before us. There's an opening along the side with bright light streaming in, likely from the stage on the other side, that illuminates half of the room while keeping the other in shadows. There's a wide gray couch in the shadow on the opposite wall of the opening with a low level coffee table. There's also various knick knacks like comics, board games, and props along the shelf that wraps around the room.

"What is this place?"

"It's where the stash is kept."

"The stash?"

Tristan sits on the couch and lifts a deep red ornate carpet off of the dark wood floor. He presses a piece of wood to lift it, revealing a small cubby that's filled with different types of mini alcohol bottles. He takes in a subtle breath of gladness, as if relieved it's here.

"Alcohol at a Middle School?" I whisper. "Naughty, naughty!"

"This auditorium isn't just for the middle school. The high school uses it as well. And my friends and I weren't exactly the angels everyone thought we were over the years. We found this room ages ago, and it was our secret spot to hang out and drink. Responsibly of course." He smirks and I rub my lips together, wondering why he would show me his secret spot. "Here," he says from the couch, lifting up a mini bottle of what looks like a Christmas themed peppermint vodka with candy cane stripes. "Let's take a shot before we get started."

"Um, what?"

"It'll help ease the nerves. I'll take one with you and then we'll head back down and get you back on that platform thing." He cracks two small bottles open and pockets the lids as I make my way over to him.

"Why are you helping me? I haven't exactly done anything to warrant it." I take the bottle he hands me and eye him. Is he trying to get me in trouble? He's drinking too so that doesn't make sense. I sit next to him on the couch as he sighs.

"I was stressed out of my mind not that long ago." The gravity settling into his voice stills my bones. "I wasn't going to come home this Christmas because of a project for work. But it turned out the project got canceled and I might not have a job anymore when I get back to New York." He scrubs a hand over his handsome face and my heart lurches forward. "I worked the hardest I have in my life and it still didn't get me where I wanted to go. So, I guess I know what it feels like to feel overwhelmed and not in control of how something goes."

My chest tightens. Have I thoroughly misjudged this guy? The sadness in his expression makes me want to reach out a hand and take away everything that ails him. But that's not something I have any place to be doing. Instead, I lift up the bottle between us. "Cheers to figuring out the shit life throws at us."

"Cheers, Franklin."

We clink bottles and down the contents together. The sharp peppermint liquid bites at my esophagus as it travels down to my stomach. I cough as I try gulping down the remnants in my mouth. "That is truly disgusting."

He laughs and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "You should try this cranberry one." He reaches into the cubby and pulls out an amber colored bottle. "But there's a fifty-fifty chance of hospitalization afterward."

I laugh, already feeling the warmth of the alcohol stream into my blood. "So that's how you're going to kill me?"

"And skip right over the seducing part? There's not a chance." He tosses the bottle back into the pile.

"How would you seduce me?" I ask, a little surprised by my question when it registers.

If he's surprised he doesn't show it. He simply presses his lips together and searches my face. "I'd tell you that you're a very beautiful woman." A stream of pleasure courses through my abdomen but I remain still as he continues. "I'd tell you that your laugh reminds me of something sweet and addictive."

Butterflies dance across my stomach and I smile as I lean back against the couch, head falling on the backrest. "Good thing you're not trying to seduce me then," I say, throat as dry as day-old acrylic paint.

He nods, a subtle crease forming between his brows. "Good thing."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot." He mimics my stance and leans back. Awareness of the space between us floods into me. If I wanted to, I could reach out and easily touch his hand or his thigh.

"Are you interested in dating my sister?"

Through my peripherals I spot his head turning toward me. I turn to face him and the flutters in my stomach intensify. I gulp, trying to stifle the feeling down.

"It seems I don't really have a choice in the matter." His gaze drops down to my lips briefly and the activity in my stomach comes back with a vengeance.

"Choice aside. Are you interested in her?" I don't know why I'm pushing on this. I wish it was because I want to protect Erika, but something else, a more selfish part of me, gnaws at my senses.

He's thoughtful for a moment and then asks, "Should I be?"

I open my mouth but no words come out. We remain silent, getting lost in space and time. Tristan and I lean in a little closer to each other, like two magnets unable to escape the pull. His face is now a few inches from mine and there's a flurry of activity in my body, telling me something I can't quite hear. The thickness in the air is like a cloak over any semblance of reason.

A loud crash from the direction of the stage makes me jump. I sit up and reality falls on me like a smack to the face after a fainting spell. What am I doing? I shouldn't be getting cozy on this couch with this man. I shouldn't be entertaining thoughts about how attractive he is or listening to how he would seduce me. Not only am I a mess, destined to be single, my sister is extremely interested in him. Oh, my God! What the hell is wrong with me?

Whatever is happening here needs to be nipped in the bud. Tied up. Locked tight. Throw away the key. "Of course, you should be interested in her. In Erika," I say a little too forcefully, responding to the question he asked earlier. "She's um, she is amazing!" I shake my head to try to muster up any sensible thought. "She's very smart and extremely accomplished. She gets awards for her social media campaigns all the time and is very well respected in her industry. And she's my best friend. Growing up, she always had my back."

His expression is hard to read as I stand up and wipe my palms against my jeans. "Thanks for getting me out of my stress funk, Londer. We really need to get started if we want the backdrop to finish in time."

And note to self: whatever just happened with him was nothing. It was just my imagination.

"Yeah. Of course." He stands up. "Hey, if you don't mind it, let's just keep my job thing between us? I haven't told my family yet, and I'd really like to enjoy Christmas without them pestering me with questions about it."

My heart hammers. Another secret that he's let me in on. Everything in me is shooting off alarm bells.

Shut it down. Shut it down.

"Sure. But you should tell Erika too. She can help you with work stuff. She's very much a branding expert and can help with whatever. "Anyways, ready to get to work?" I briskly head toward the door and set my palm on the handle while looking back at him. "I can't say I'll be an easy lead on this project. And you may cry in a corner every so often. Are you sure you're up for the challenge?"

He laughs while nodding. "Bring it on, Franklin."