“Babe. I don’t think immabe getting Mr. Trent up tonight,” Dumbass interjects from the couch.
“That’s okay, Trent. Let me get you a drink,” Kate answers evenly before turning to retrieve a glass. Really, the man’s had enough.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Trent’s hammered, I doubt he needs another drink.
“Water. Water, Jon! You must think I’m stupid, too. I think you should go to bed. I need to take care of Trent.” Her voice is low and harsh.
“Kate. I don’t want to leave things like this between us.” I run my hands through my hair and blow out a breath. This is all wrong. Why can’t I get things right? Stupid rock-boy-pain-in-my-ass. “I always fuck up what I’m trying to say when I’m with you!”
“So now that’s my fault too? Look, I’m really tired, Jon. This night hasn’t been anything like I expected.” She ignores me to fill the glass.
“Fine. Okay. But we are not through here. I mean it, Kate. Tonight didn’t go how I wanted, either. We need to talk. And if you need any help with that—” I point to where Trent’s head bobs weakly, trying to hold onto consciousness. “—just yell for me.”
I stomp back to my room. I try to ignore the jealous anger that flares when I hear her talking softly with Trent. She’s taking care of him. Fuck! I slam the door, turn and hit the damn thing with all my might. Crunch. I pull my hand back and the broken wood scrapes my skin. A palm size hole remains in the door.
Blood trickles from the gash but I don’t feel pain. I squeeze my eyes shut as my heart hammers in my chest, filling my ears and stealing my breath. Will’s face flashes into my vision and my eyes snap open. I can’t breathe. I almost don’t see the room, everything’s blurry.
Dropping to the floor, I do the first thing I think of. Pushups. Counting as I go, my ears ring. Somewhere after fifty reps my muscles burn, a fire pulsing pain, but I can breathe again. My heartbeat settles back to a rhythmic pace. I keep going. I don’t know how much time passes as I continue up and off the floor, but after one-fifty I feel half human again. Not so angry. And tired. So fucking tired. I climb onto my bed, sweat and all, and close my eyes. I finally succumb to sleep.
“NICE REDECORATING.” JON GRUNTS AND makes his way to the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee. “Maybe you can add handyman to your resume?” Peering over Jon’s shoulder, I raise my brows at the hole in the door and take a sip from my mug.
“I didn’t mean to do that,” he grinds with his jaw clenched.
“No? I thought fist punching doors was all the rage these days.” I bat my lashes and meet his hard gaze.
Walls are up, carefully reconstructed so he can’t see the thoughts racing through my mind. It was a mistake to sleep with him last night. I gave him so much. He took so willingly. Now I don’t know if I can move past this. Every time we’re together I give him a little more of myself. He takes it, unknowingly smashing what’s there and then hands it back with his assumptions and cutting words.
“Kate, can we talk?” I shrug.
“I don’t really have anything to say to you.” I keep my voice light and casual, as though we’re discussing the weather. His shoulders tense and he blows out an exaggerated breath.
“Yeah, well I have things to say to you. To ask you. I don’t like how we left things last night.” He looks around, examining the living space. “Where’s Trent?”
Flush. Trent emerges from the bathroom and trudges his way down the hall, the most subdued I’ve ever seen him. He was easy last night, passing out on the couch and still snoring loudly when I emerged from my room twenty minutes ago for post-yoga coffee. He rubs his eyes and pushes his hair back, tucking it behind his ears.
“Hey, bro.” He nods at a scowling Jon. If looks could kill. “Kate, can we talk?” He’s apologetic, and I soften. Trent’s easy. Doesn’t twist me so tight I can’t breathe. I’ll deal with him first.
“Sure.” I smile and nod to the pot. “Want coffee?”
“Thanks, babe.”
“I’m going for a run,” Jon barks, and Trent cringes at the volume. I ignore them both, and search the cupboards for a to-go cup.
I feel Jon’s presence closing in and busy myself with filling another mug.
“We’ll talk.” He hisses in my ear. “When I get back, he’s gone.” He doesn’t wait for my answer, but retreats. The door slams seconds later. I slide a mug across the counter to where Trent slumps on a barstool.
“Tell me I didn’t fuck us up before we even started.” He meets my eyes over his cup. “I’m sorry, Kate. I shouldn’t have shown up here wasted last night.”
“It’s okay, Trent.”
“No, it’s not okay.” He winces and rubs his temples. “You are fucking brilliant and beautiful and way too good for me, I know that, okay. I’d like a chance to take you on a proper date.”
Reading my indecision, he adds, “You don’t have to give me an answer. Just think it over?”
I don’t know what to do. I don’t really know how I feel about Trent. There’s definite chemistry between us, but outside of that we haven’t had an opportunity to explore. His intoxicated serenade of last night doesn’t weigh in his favor. Maybe I should give him a shot. Just a chance to see if there could be something more between us.
“Okay. I’ll think about it.” His eyes light up and his mouth pulls to a heart stopping smile. He’s really beautiful.
“Great. That’s awesome.” A beep sounds from the counter and he glances down at his phone.
“That’s my ride.” He rises to his full height and comes around the counter to wrap me in a hug. “Thanks for taking care of me last night. I’ll talk to you soon.”
A peck on the top of my head and he backs away, grinning until he’s at the door. “You’ll say yes. You have to say yes. Who turns down this?” He laughs as he motions down his body with his long arms. And he’s back. That’s the man I’ve been working with these past two weeks. Confident, funny, and cocky as hell.
“Good-bye, Trent!” I shout. I can’t resist the smile that tugs my lips.
“Later, Kate” He’s out the door. Fortified with a deep breath, I savor my last few minutes of peace before I have to deal with man trouble number two. Really, when did my life become so complex? A month ago my biggest worry was finding my next conquest—to photograph, maybe fool around with—and now I have two extremely different men consuming my thoughts. I don’t like it.
Jon wants to talk. The thought stresses me and pulls at my nerves. Waiting for him to return is going to drive me crazy. I pad down the hall, grab my mat and band, and head back to the living room. I drop the foam to the floor. The spongy feel rolls over the pads of my fingertips. This is where I find peace. Deep breath in, I begin my practice, and banish all thoughts of sexy men from my mind.
“I prefer the no pants version.”
My eyes snap open at the deep, rough voice. I didn’t even hear him open the door. He saunters to the kitchen and I turn to watch his shirtless form reach inside the fridge. His muscles tighten and release with each movement. He shuts the door, twists a cap off a bottle and tips it, gulping the cool water. My own mouth feels dry.
“I’m sure you do.” I crawl off my mat and methodically roll it back in place.
“You ready to have that talk now?” He stands over me. I scramble to stand to my full height and strut to the kitchen to pour my own glass from the sink. I close my eyes and inhale. Whether I want to or not, we’re having this conversation. I might as well rip off the Band-Aid.
I lean against the counter. “Fine. Talk.”
“I obviously put my foot in my mouth last night.” Understatement of the year. I keep my features in place, feign boredom. He looks around the room. Good. Squirm a little. Feel uncomfortable. Not so fun, is it, big guy?