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sitting on a kitchen stool at the table, twisting his spoon over a big cup of tea. He was wearing his usual black sweatpants and white singlet shirt, hair all roughened up and a thin stubble darkening his jaw. He looked sexy. Even when he’d just got up in the morning, Tristan looked annoyingly good. And it wasn’t just me who thought it. An article once ran photos of him and discussed: “Does Lost Boy Tristan always look this good?” It was published in a teen magazine and afterwards the boys kept teasing him with “Wonderboy” and “Looking good”. But the fact remained that he did indeed always look this good. You could get him exhausted, sweaty, soaking wet, hungover, and he still managed to look effortlessly well put together. Everybody in the band had occasional unflattering moments caught on camera, but Tristan … Tristan was in the Greek Pantheon of Gods department. It was very irritating.
    “Hey, good morning, sunshine,” he greeted cheerfully. His face fell after taking a good look at my face, and he corrected himself: “I mean, good morning, thunderous black clouds of doom and gloom.”
    “Oh, ha ha. Hilarious,” I snapped.
    “You and Josh done training? I could hear a lot of noisecoming from there. Sounded like an exciting training session.”
    “Yeah. If by ‘exciting’ you mean getting my ass repeatedly kicked, then yes, sure,” I mumbled, slouching on to the stool next to him.
    “I can try to make this morning a little more exciting for you, then,” Tristan said, pushing his tea away. He grabbed me from my seat and lifted me on to the table, facing him.
    “Is that so? How are you planning to do that, then?” I asked, trying to hold back my smile. I locked my legs around his waist and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer.
    “It’s not something I can say. I need to show you,” he murmured in a husky tone, his eyes darkening dangerously as he stared at me.
    “Show me,” I whispered in his ear, grazing his earlobe with my teeth. It made him shiver. Suddenly I was feeling up for some “excitement”, my bad mood forgotten.
    He took a sharp intake of breath and pulled me even closer, hungrily claiming my lips.
    We usually didn’t have much alone time when we were on tour. Most nights we spent in our bunk beds on the bus, and there wasn’t much space for privacy there. After shows we crashed in hotels, but we were always too tired for anything more than sleep. So I’d been missing these kinds of intimate moments with Tristan. And by the way he was touching me now, I reckon he’d been missing them just as much.
    I grabbed him by the neck as he leaned me down on to the table, and kissed him back, hard. Hmm … Tristan’s kisses. They were electrifying. They made me melt. He was almost lying on top of me when I heard Harry’s freaked-out voice from the kitchen door.
    “Eeew! Oh my God! I can’t believe you guys. We
eat
at that table, you know that?” He covered his eyes with his hands. “Becca messaged me saying to be home early in the morning and
this
is what I find in my kitchen?”
    “Erm, sorry, we got a bit carried away,” Tristan mumbled, embarrassed. He leaned away from me and liftly me gently back to the floor.
    “And I had to sit through Tristan’s torturing lecture, listening to how we ‘all’ had to behave decently around here. That was such bull,” he complained. “I would say that ‘practically having sex on the kitchen table’ does not qualify as ‘decent behavior’, mister!” he said, pointing an accusing finger at a flustered Tristan.
    “I’m sorry, man. It won’t happen again. Plus, she started it!” he said, pointing at me. “You know how it is. You kinda stop thinking when they wrap their legs around you, whispering in your ear and biting your—”
    “Tristan!” I blushed fiercely.
    Tristan faked innocence by my side.
    Harry snickered.
    “Harry, I’m serious. I did not!” The more I denied it, the more they snickered. Then