Disclaimer: Nothing's mine.

A/N: SPECIAL THANKS to Nancy for being there every step of the way. Your feedback is very welcome and highly appreciated, dear! :)

CHAPTER WARNING: I'm not sure if this chapter contains any actual M material (video backup for music industry makes mature content so hard to discern these days... \"o"/ but just in case - be warned.

'Now show me your resting bitch face.'

'My what?.'

'See?' Paris turned towards Rory, shaking her head somberly. 'He has no chance. Zero. Nada.'

'Hey!' Tristan put a palm up. 'I'm no one's bitch,' he said, trying to emphasize the seriousness of the statement.

'I know, pookie,' Paris sighed in mock sympathetic tone. 'We just need to make it look more like it. Now,' she clapped her hands, getting back to her clipped business tone, 'Resting bitch face please.'

Tristan groaned, dropping his head into his palms.

'How do you expect us to coach you if you don't cooperate?' Paris asked, indignation making way into her voice.

Tristan peeked an eye up above his palms, trying to convey the pointlessness of this convention through his exasperated look.

'Okay then,' Paris stood straighter, putting her hands on her hips. 'Let's try something else. Rory, come on to him.'

'What?' both Rory and Tristan slanted their heads to the side.

'She's pregnant,' Tristan blinked, pointing at Rory.

'Thank you for acknowledging the obvious,' Paris quipped.

'I don't understand,' Rory reasoned, looking intrigued, 'Am I supposed to accuse him of being the father?'

'Only if you feel like it,' Paris shrugged. 'I give you permission to improvise. Use your imagination.'

'But... she's pregnant,' Tristan repeated, still stuck a couple of sentences back in the conversation.

'Your point being?' Paris tipped her chin up. 'Are you implying that pregnant women have no sexual appeal? Because I can assure you that a pregnant woman's pheromones-'

'Don't answer this,' Rory mouth-whispered, shaking her head no.

'I'm not answering this,' Tristan said quickly.

'Okay then,' Paris narrowed her eyes suspiciously. 'Let's skip to the core question. When is the last time you hooked up?'

Rory's 'Don't answer that either!' and Tristan's 'What the...?.' came out almost simultaneously.

'Okay, okay,' Paris rolled her eyes. 'Sheesh.' Then she stared him down. 'Dugray,' she sighed, 'you leave me no other choice.'

'Oh, no,' Tristan groaned - quietly, minding not to piss Paris off any more than necessary, because this usually resulted in doubling her stubbornness. He was afraid to know her next idea.

'I'll be a man-eater fixing you with my Lucy Liu vixen staredown and you'll be a horny postpubescent lightweight trying his best to be insusceptible to my femme fatale allure. It will be a reenactment of your interaction with Shefield.'

'Excuse me?' Tristan asked.

'Okay, okay, horny postpubescent middleweight. You MMA fighters and your easily bruised ego.'

Tristan opened his mouth to protest but Paris rose her hand, palm out,

'Whatever.'

He closed his mouth, following the natural urge to not get into arguments he was bound to lose.

When Paris started walking towards him slowly, crossing one leg before the other and circling her hips unnaturally, he narrowed his eyes in confusion, sitting further back into the armchair.

'What are you doing?' he asked, straightening his back.

'That's my swagger,' Paris narrowed her eyes back, shooting daggers. 'Shut up and rest so I can come onto you.'

Tristan arched an eyebrow, throwing a sideways glance towards Rory who was sitting on the break room sofa and shrugged helplessly.

Paris approached the place where his feet were crossed at the ankles and inserted one of her legs between his knees, prompting him to make room for her. The look in his eyes when she lowered herself to sit on his thigh and threw an arm around his shoulders was hesitating between amused and confused.

He had opened his mouth to ask what the hell, but she put a forefinger before his mouth, pressing it against his lower lip and fixing him with what was probably supposed to be her lustful gaze. Outrageous. Completely outrageous.

'Now tell me, cowboy,' she said in a low, sultry voice.

Tristan was on the verge of cracking up when he felt her hand move up his leg to the inside of his thigh, squeezing lightly as she reached the base of his leg.

Tristan choked on a breath.

'Has my big,' she pressed her palm against his thigh, 'big boy missed me?' she asked, squeezing again, leaning into him to brush her nose against his ear. 'You smell so good,' she uttered on an exhale. 'You smell like sin. Take me out of here and sin with me, Tristan.'

Paris lifted her hands so that she held his face between her palms and drew back to face him. Their mouths were inches apart when she met his gaze, sensual and transfixed. His palms had unconsciously moved to her hips and his mouth was slightly agape, ready to be engaged in action.

'I knew it!' Paris exclaimed, standing from his leg abruptly, shaking her head in disbelief. 'I can't believe how easy it is to corrupt you!' she huffed, pacing to and fro before him as Tristan blinked, slowly sobering.

'Wha...' he cleared his throat. 'What?' he asked, his voice scratchy.

'You're a ticking bomb, a loose trigger, a feeble bee swamped in a honey jar. It's easier to trick you than a kid in a candy store,' Paris fumed. 'You'll be like putty in her hands, Dugray. I don't know if even I will be able to beat the horny out of you,' she concluded solemnly.

No shit.

Tristan looked blankly, a deer in the headlights who just realized he was so screwed.

'You're so screwed,' Paris sighed.

This he was. He was in for some big trouble. Although for reasons much different from what Paris alluded to.

'Hey.'

Paris turned as she heard the familiar voice, leaving the patient's files on the nurse's station counter.

'Matt,' she narrowed her eyes in confusion. 'What are you doing here?'

Matt Henderson shrugged, looking a bit shy, but charmingly so. Like a man who was used to leading but found himself being led.

'I know we agreed we'd call each other some time,' he handed her a takeaway coffee cup. She eyed it curiously. Cappuccino. Really? Had he pegged her for a cappuccino type of woman?

Matt seemed to pick on her reaction as he took a step closer.

'I didn't know what you liked, so I asked the barista downstairs for the best they had.'

Matt reached for her hand and made still a step closer, aligning them so that their toes were practically touching. He traced his thumb over her hand, watching her for a reaction.

'I wanna see you again,' he smiled, a hint of mischief lingering in his eyes. 'Maybe stay for coffee in the morning this time? I promise to make it worth it.'

Stay the night was what he actually meant, and he wasn't trying to cover it. It was an open invitation. The guy was actually putting himself out there, despite her efforts to not tag him along and bail on him after their last date a couple of weeks ago. He had waited for her to call again and when she hadn't, he did.

The thing was, dating Matt Henderson had been fine. More than fine, actually. He was showing some healthy interest in her personality and more than healthy interest in her body, which wasn't unwelcome. Paris had been a single woman for almost two years now and it got lonely sometimes. She wasn't above some casual dating, and Matt had been on board with the idea. Having him bring her coffee at work, however was something new. Paris hadn't figured out how she felt about that yet. Him showing up here was a statement. It said, I want more than casual rolling in the sheets with you. Or maybe she was simply delusional.

'Okay,' he stepped back with a small nod to himself. 'I guess that's my cue to leave.'

He bit onto his lower lip and adjusted her stethoscope, watching her with what could be best described as a ginger expression. He was such a typical average okay guy. Paris couldn't decide if she liked or despised the safety of that.

'It's an open invitation,' Matt flashed her a smile. He was serving himself on a silver platter. A successful man who was more than easy on the eye, knew his way around a woman and was not afraid to openly display his interest in her.

She nodded, the corner of her mouth lifting in the slightest of grins. He did offer to make it worth her time. And he had put up with her lack of flirting skills. He found her attractive and made her feel like a woman who wore her intelligence well. He deserved to be given a chance.

'It's triple espresso,' she called after Matt.

He turned, eyeing her with curious wonder, a glint of hope visible in his gold-speckled eyes.

Paris lifted the takeaway coffee cup.

'Hot and strong,' she rose an eyebrow at her own suggestive comment, winning a cheeky grin from him.

'Call and I'll be more than happy to deliver,' he gave a polite nod and left.

Paris returned to the nurse's station, winning a couple of smirks by the staff nurse and two hospital assistants who had been around to watch the exchange. Paris dismissed them with a roll of her eyes and resumed doing her charts.

'You keep walking around asking to be manhandled,' a male voice sounded to her left.

'Mind your own business, Tristan,' she shrugged, keeping her attention over the charts.

'Hey,' he leaned before her face, checking her expression. 'What's that?' he pointed at her face, scowling.

'What?' she drew back, lifting a hand to touch her cheek, checking if she had something sticking from the corner of her mouth.

'Is that a smile on your face?' he asked, elbowing her playfully. 'Have you thought of having a head scan? I think you might be experiencing some signs of brain damage. Atypical behavior is an early sign that's far too easily neglected.'

'Ha-ha,' Paris shook her head, trying to fist bump his stomach, which Tristan dodged effortlessly.

'Now that's more like you,' he glanced at her fist. 'I was beginning to worry.'

'No need to worry,' she shrugged. 'I'm my everyday badass self,' she gave him a smug look.

'That you are,' he chuckled softly, his eyes skimming her face and lingering over her lips with an unfathomable expression.

'So are you, Dugray,' Paris gave him a serious look. 'Just remember where your balls are and keep in mind you're much more than that.'

Tristan's expression stilled for a moment. Paris' brows furrowed.

'You know you deserve much better than her, right?'

And there it was. For the first time since she'd known Tristan Dugray, it hit Paris that maybe, just maybe, he didn't. There was a pretty good chance that Tristan Dugray didn't know he deserved better. How was that even possible? It was beyond her. Maybe stupid lazy generous people like him suffered some kind of reality distortion disorder. Who knew.

'You do, dumbface,' Paris said with a little sigh, searching his eyes for emphasis. 'You totally do. You deserve so much better than what you put yourself up for.'

He blinked, seemingly flustered. Paris studied his face, trying to figure out what he was thinking and coming short of ideas. He really looked far too flustered to be able to lead a meaningful conversation. Oh well.

'Just call me if you need me to kick her ass, okay?' Paris said before taking her charts and moving away from the nurse's station counter, leaving Tristan to stare behind her.

Yep.

Big.

Trouble.

TBC