#TristanThursday & The Last Sneak Preview of Crash Into Me

I threw the trash in the Dumpster behind the building and locked the gallery's back door. Lost in thought, I heard someone behind me say, "Nice show, huh?"

The sound of his deep voice nearly made me jump out of my skin, and I spun around to see him. The man from earlier. Tristan. He stood leaning against a black sports car, arms folded across his chest, still dressed in that grey suit and looking even more incredible than when I'd first seen him. As I stared at him, drinking in how gorgeous he looked, my brain switched from pure fear back to normal to ask the obvious question.

Why is he here?

"Yeah, it was great. The artist is quite talented," I lied.

"It was shit and you know it. Nice outfit, though."

Instantly, I was once again acutely aware of how silly I looked in my waitress getup. His remark stung, and I snapped back, "It's called working. Now unless I can help you with something, I have to go. Have a good night."

I checked the lock on the gallery door and turned to walk away. I hadn't made it two steps before he quietly said, "I didn't mean anything bad by that. You look nice."

Was that sincerity in his voice? I didn't know. I just knew I didn't want to feel embarrassed by my work anymore that night.

Turning around, I tried to get a feel for this guy, but he just stood there staring at me like I was the most important person in the world at that moment. "Thanks."

"What do you say we go for a ride?"

"A ride?" I was confused, but I probably should have been afraid. I was standing in a back alley with a strange man, no matter how incredibly sexy he was, and there wasn't anyone nearby. How the hell was it possible that in a city of eight million Tristan and I were the only two there at that moment?

"A ride," he repeated in a slow, silky voice that made my stomach flip. "At least I can give you a ride home."

"You don't even know my name."

He stepped away from the car and in two strides was in front of me just inches away. Looking down at me, he smiled. "You're Nina Edwards, you work at this gallery, and unless I'm mistaken, you don't live anywhere near here."

As much as I wished he wasn't right, he was. Sunset Park, Brooklyn was miles away. However, that didn't mean I should forget everything I'd been taught all my life, even if he was the hottest man I'd ever spoken to. And even if this was one of my fantasies come true.

"I don't even know your name," I lied again.

A slow smile spread across his perfect mouth. "My apologies. I'm Tristan Stone and I'd like it if you'd let me take you home."

He extended his hand and I shook it, noticing how powerful it felt as it enveloped mine. His very expensive suit coat sleeve rode up just enough to show his Rolex, and I smiled at the fact that I'd called it correctly earlier. He probably had gold cufflinks just under those sleeves too. But where was the brunette?

As my mind raced with these ideas, I realized he knew my name. "How do you know my name? We've never met."

Placing his hand on my lower back, he guided me to the passenger side of his car. His touch was light, yet it was thrilling, making my head spin. As he opened the door, he stepped aside and let me sit down before he leaned in close and said, "I asked."