"I'd love that," I said.
Tristan raised a skeptical brow at me. "You would?"
"Yeah. Why not? Who doesn't love zombies?"
"Right?" Archie grinned. "But you should change. You need to be comfortable to watch a zombie movie. I have sweats and stuff."
Tristan cut in before I could even react. "No." His voice was firm, almost territorial. "She can wearmyclothes."
Should I be flattered? No. No, I totally shouldn't be.
Archie blinked at him, then smirked. "Okay, bro. Chill. I'm not trying to steal your girlfriend or whatever."
Tristan shot him a withering look. "You're unbearable."
Archie just grinned wider, then laughed when Tristan hooked an arm around his neck, putting him in a headlock and roughing up his hair.
Boys really were a different species. Thank goodness I only had sisters. We'd had our share of fights and disagreements, but we'd never dared to ruin each other's hair like that.
I watched as they tussled a bit longer, both of them laughing as they did so, until Tristan finally called a truce and turned to me.
"Ready to change? I'll show you to my room."
A flicker of awareness passed between us, something about the moment more intimate than I'd expected. No, not intimate. Just weird. And strange. Going deeper and deeper into enemy territory.
Stay focused. Remember the mission.
"Sure," I said.
As we walked down the hallway, Archie's voice called out after us. "Remember to use protection!"
Eighteen
Astrid
"Little smart ass," Tristan grumbled.
And once again, I found myself laughing, though I wasn't sure why. Was it genuine amusement or my nerves kicking in?
A flutter of anticipation and excitement whirled through me at the prospect of seeing Tristan's bedroom and wearing his clothes.
God, what was wrong with me?
But a terrible thought occurred to me right then. What would I do if his clothes didn't actually fit me? He was so tall and muscular that his clothing had to be oversized to an extent. But how would that translate to fitting my plus-size body?
I tried to work out the measurements in my head, but I had little to no experience in menswear.
As we walked down the hallway, then up the stairs, I tried to tamp down the worry, attempting to distract myself by being nosy. I peeked into a few open doorways to spot a workout room and then what had to be Archie's bedroom, clothes everywhere, posters all over the walls. Messy and lived in.
Tristan soon stopped in front of a door, opened it, then gestured for me to go ahead, and the sight in front of me was not what I would have expected.
The room had all the usual features like a massive bed with a heavy dark wood headboard and plush comforter in navy blue—so typical—overstuffed chairs near the floor-to-ceiling windows, and a fireplace with a mantle.
But what caught my eye was a huge pinboard on the wall opposite the bed, covered in mementos.
"Wow," I said, stepping closer to examine it.
Postcards, ticket stubs, and old faded photos crowded the surface, an entire history of Tristan's life spread out before me. My eyes didn't know where to look. The whole display seemed so personal. Too personal for someone like him.
