Me: Well … first I take my top off …
I nibble on my fingernail, waiting to see what he comes back with. I don’t get a response. Maybe I went too far, too soon. Maybe he’s still annoyed with me. Maybe … I hear a door slam shut. A shadow passes by our window and a second later, someone is pounding on my apartment door.
It has to be Trent.
I run to the door and throw it open, struggling to conceal my eagerness. There he is, in a pair of jeans and a loose t-shirt, his hair slightly mussed, bright blue eyes spilling over my body, settling on my chest for a long moment. I’m not wearing a bra and there's no doubt he can see my nipples’ reaction to him. When that gaze lifts back to my face … whoa … it’s just the right mixture of anger, frustration, and smoldering hot to make me bite my bottom lip. And that’s all it takes to push him over the brink.
“God, Kacey,” he growls and takes two quick steps in to slam against my body, his hands quickly seizing my biceps as his mouth claims mine. Dipping my head back, he forces his tongue into my mouth, demolishing me with a depth of need I’ve never experienced before. This is the real Trent, I realize.
Unleashed.
I struggle to stay upright as my body slackens under his intensity. Leading me backward, Trent sandwiches me between himself and the back of the couch and I quickly become aware of how turned on he is.
Suddenly I’m off my feet and perched on the headrest, Trent’s hips fitting snug between my thighs. His arms fold around me. One hand clutches the back of my neck, while the other sweeps my hair to the side to expose my neck. His lips slide first to my throat, and then along my jaw line, up to my ear.
“You enjoy torturing me, sending mixed messages, don’t you, Kacey?” It comes out in a growl, pulsating through every single one of my nerves. Then his mouth is back on mine, this time even hungrier, more insistent, and it’s all I can do to get a breath in. He presses harder against me as a hand slips under the hem of my shirt and climbs to cup the swell of my breast, his thumb stroking my nipple, shooting a current through to my depths.
The sudden Trent onslaught threw me completely off my game—all my senses assaulted. But I finally catch a handle on my wits, enough to will my hands to his chest, my fingers raking along his abs to hook tight around his belt buckle. I yank him hard against me until his erection digs into me. “Is this clear enough?” I growl back. “I’m not the one who wants to take things slow.”
Trent breaks free, a wild dark look in his eyes, as if he’s shocked. He pulls me down off the couch and then, spinning on his heels, he storms out of our apartment, yelling, “don’t send any more fucking texts like that!”
I’m left standing there, shocked, speechless, and turned on as hell. He’s angry? He’s angry! He’s fucking angry! I stomp over to the table and snatch my phone.
Me: What the Hell was that?
It takes two minutes but my phone beeps with a message:
Trent: You enjoy testing my will power. Stop torturing me.
What? Me torturing him? He’s the one with this stupid, “thou shalt go slow” crap!
Me: One little text hardly qualifies as torture.
Trent: It’s not just the one text.
Me: Well then come back here.
Trent: No, I told you we’re taking this slow.
Me: I think that ship sailed with your little stare down game the other morning. According to the very wise bible, we’re an old married couple.
I smirk with my bible comment. Aunt Darla would have a coronary if she knew how I was using it to my advantage. The smile is torn clean off my face when my phone chimes again.
Trent: You need help.
I stare at those three words for a long moment, gritting my teeth. It’s not a surprise to me that he says it. He’s said it before. Somehow though, seeing it in twelve point font feels different. Official. I don’t respond.
A minute later …
Trent: You’ve been through a terrible ordeal and you’ve bottled everything up. You’re going to explode one day.
Here we go. I rub my forehead with frustration. Persistent fool.
Me: What? You want the gory details about how I lost my parents, best friend AND boyfriend, all in one night? Does that kind of thing get you off?
That fire inside me rages again, the same one from three days ago when he forced me into that therapy session. I put the phone down and inhale deeply, trying to douse it before it takes control.
I can’t stop myself from reading the next text when the phone chimes.
I want you to trust me enough to tell me about it. Or someone, at least.
Me: This isn’t about trust! I’ve told you that already! My past is my past and I need to bury it where it belongs—In. The. Past.
Trent: You’re vulnerable and I’m taking advantage of you by letting things like what just happened, happen.
I groan with exasperation.
Me: Please, take advantage of me! I’m giving you permission!
Trent doesn’t answer. I sigh, deciding to treat his concerns seriously.
Me: I’m fine, Trent. Believe me. I’m better than I’ve been in a long time.
Trent: No. You just think you are. I think you’re suffering from a serious case of P.T.S.D.
I fling the phone against the wall that adjoins our apartment, seething. Metal and plastic sails through the air as the thing shatters.
Everyone wants to be my personal fucking shrink.
***
I’m astonished when Trent show up at Penny’s that night. More so, I can’t keep my mouth from hanging agape as I watch him sit down by the bar, just like he did before, acting like we hadn’t just had a nuclear-sized fight. I raise my chin a notch. I’m not going to apologize. No damn way.
A box with a red bow magically appears in front of him. He slides it forward, his dimples forcing a smile on my face whether I like it or not. Dammit! Of course I go over and open it. Who doesn’t love presents?
Inside is a brand new iPhone.
“Wasn’t hard to figure out what that loud bang was against my wall when you didn’t answer my next text,” Trent murmurs, an amused smirk on his face.
“Oh yeah?” I slide my tongue over my teeth, acting all cool and unaffected. Inside, I’m not. I’m so not unaffected by Trent right now. “What’d the text say?”
He shrugs, now feigning indifference as well. I know he’s faking it too. That twinkle in his eye is his only tell. “I guess you’ll never know.” He exhales deeply as he holds my stare. It’s like the afternoon tension doesn’t exist anymore, and I don’t see how that’s possible because I still feel it. He’s up to something. I can’t figure out what though.
“Just think, our afternoon could have gone a completely different direction had you not smashed your phone to smithereens,” he says, sliding a straw into his mouth. His eyes blaze with intentions.
Inside, it’s all I can do to stop myself from leaping over the bar and into Trent’s lap. That’s inside. Outside, I’m cool as a November chill. “What can I say? I have anger management issues.”
His mouth twists as if in thought. “You need to find a way to deal with those issues.”
“I have. It’s called pounding on a bag of sand.”
His brow arches playfully. “Clearly it’s not working well.”
I lean forward over the bar, resting my body on my elbows. “And what would you suggest I pound on instead?”
“Jeez! Would you two just give in already?” Storm calls out with mock exasperation, a martini shaker in her hand.
I hadn’t realized how loud we were. Glancing to my other side, I see Nate’s smirk, and I instantly flush. I don’t know why, but I do. I’m always flushing lately.