Until Series: Box set (36 page)

He mumbles something that I can’t hear and I raise an eyebrow, signaling for him to speak up. “Can we fight about this tomorrow?” He scrubs his hands down his face. I can see the tiredness around his eyes when they come back to me. “I’m beat. I had a long day and I just want to go to sleep.”

“Fine,” I sigh, climbing into his truck, feeling bad that he came here to check on me when he’s so obviously exhausted.

“Now, what are you doing?” I ask, batting his hands away.

“Putting your seat belt on.”

“I can manage my own seat belt,” I tell him, pulling it out of his hands and locking it in place. He finally climbs in behind the steering wheel, pulls out his phone, calls Cash, and asks him to take my car home. Cash and Nico promise to drop it off at Mike’s by morning, and to leave the keys in the cup holder. I am not worried; in the country, no one steals cars, and everyone I know leaves their keys in their car overnight. Half way home, my phone rings, and I see that it’s Bill calling. I answer on the second ring.

“Hey,” I say, putting the phone to my ear.

“You ditched me, and someone saw you driving off with Trevor Mayson.”

“Trevor’s taking me home. I’m tired,” I tell him, which is not a lie. “I saw you with Tammy and didn’t want you to leave just because I wanted to go home.”

“She came on to me, I swear; I tried to push her off.” I roll my eyes, wondering how stupid he thinks I am.

“It’s fine. I told you, we’re just friends; you can do whatever, or whoever, you want,” I reply, looking over when I hear Trevor chuckle.

“You have my sweatshirt,” Bill says. I can hear the agitation in his voice.

“You said you had some new info on my brother, right? You can tell me tomorrow when I drop off your hoodie.”

“Yeah, all right. Look, just call me when you get home, okay? I want to know that you’re safe.”

“I’ll be fine; just go have fun,” I say, hanging up.

“What’s the deal with you and that guy?” Trevor asks.

“We worked together at the Tollie factory when it was open. We dated for about a year. When the factory shut down, he moved and started working for his uncle, who’s a private investigator. We agreed to see other people, but were always friendly. Then when I found out what Tim did, I called him and asked him to help, and he agreed,” I say, laying my head against the window, watching the moon follow us off in the distance.

“So, he’s your friend?”

“I guess.”

“I should have talked to you,” he says, and I couldn’t agree more. I thought that we were friends. We’d spent time together, we laughed, I could call and talk to him about anything, and he was there for me. Then it was like I wasn’t worth anything to him when he thought I was a virgin. He wouldn’t talk to me; he ignored me when we were in the same place. And worse, if we were out, he always had a girl on him. And any man that came and introduced himself, he would send someone over to make him leave me alone, even if it was the girl that he was talking to. It was like he was trying to say that I wasn’t good enough to have a relationship with anyone.

“Yeah, you should have talked to me,” I whisper, looking back out the window, ignoring him the rest of the ride home. “Thanks,” I say when we pull up in front of Mike’s. I grab Bill’s hoodie from the floor of the back seat where Trevor tossed it, and then I get out of the truck and start walking around to the back of the house to my entrance. I slide the key in the lock and notice that Trevor is behind me. “You didn’t need to walk me to the door,” I say without turning around. I push the door open and step inside, planning to turn and block Trevor’s steps, but he pushes the door open more and steps inside. “Now what are you doing?” It feels like I’ve asked him this a million times tonight, but I can never figure out what’s going on in his head. I cross my arms over my chest.

“What time are you seeing Bill tomorrow?” he asks, ignoring my question yet again.

“I don’t know; probably like eleven.”

“I’ll be here at ten-thirty; we’ll go talk to him before we go see July.”

“How about I meet you at November’s house at twelve?”

“I’ll see you at ten-thirty,” he says, grabbing the front of his hoodie I’m still wearing in his fist. My hands go to his biceps; holding on, I go up on my tiptoes. His mouth hovers over mine. I can feel his breath against my lips. “Are you going to be ready to go?” he asks, and I’m in Trevor’s universe, so all I can do is nod my head. “Good. I’ll see you then, baby.” He says softly, right before his lips touch mine in a gentle, sweet kiss. He lets go of the hoodie, puts his hand on my belly, pushing me back from the door, then he’s gone, leaving me standing there shocked and confused.

I go through my nightly routine on autopilot. My brain is mush from the emotional rollercoaster Trevor has put me on. I shake my head, toss Bill’s sweatshirt onto the couch in the living room, walk down the hall towards my room, get undressed, go to the bathroom, wash off my makeup, and brush out my hair. I walk back to the bedroom and look around to make sure I’m still alone. After pulling Trevor’s hoodie back on, I climb into bed and go to sleep, smiling because he’s never getting his hoodie back.

A loud buzzing has me jumping out of bed. I look around, trying to figure out where it’s coming from. I stumble and almost fall on my face when I see the time. “Crap,” I moan, as I stumble to the door, stubbing my toe on the way. When I get there, I pull the door open, hopping on one foot while my other foot is in my hand, and see his gorgeous face smirking at me. I want to hit him, but instead I say, “I overslept,” and start hopping down the hall towards the bedroom. I shut the door behind me, go into the bathroom, and pull off his sweatshirt, hoping that he didn’t notice. Jumping into the shower, I wash off, and quickly get out. I wrap a towel around myself, then open the door and stop dead in my tracks when I see Trevor sitting on my bed. His back is against the headboard, and he’s looking at a fashion magazine that I had on my nightstand. His legs are covered in black, baggy sweats; his plain white shirt is tight, and I can see the outline of his pectoral muscles. He has a tribal sleeve tattooed on one arm that travels up over his shoulder, and down one side of his body. I’ve never seen where it goes once it enters his pants, but I know how the top looks and tastes on his chest and arm. “Can you wait in the living room?” I ask. His head comes up; his eyes hit me and do a full body sweep, leaving me feeling naked—or more naked than I already am.

“If you kiss me.”

“I’m not kissing you. I think it would be better if we never kiss again,” I tell him, walking to my dresser to find a pair of lace boy shorts. I pull them on under the towel I’m wrapped in. I turn around, raising my eyebrows. “Can you wait in the living room?” I ask again, this time a little more annoyed, but he hasn’t moved at all.

“Come kiss me and I’ll wait in the living room.”

My eyes narrow. “Is this like your newest game?” I ask on a head tilt. “I have to tell you, I’m not interested in playing with you, Trevor.”

“No game,” he says, shrugging. “Like I said before, we’re going to be best friends.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t kiss my friends, so if you could kindly leave and let me get dressed, that would be great.”

“We’re going to do a lot more than kiss, baby,” he says, smirking. I want to throttle him; instead, I grab a lace bra, a white tank top, and a pair of sweats. If he’s going casual, so am I. Once I have everything I need, I head to the bathroom, leaving a smug looking Trevor on my bed. I slam the bathroom door for good measure. “Are you always this cranky in the morning?” he yells. I ignore him and get dressed.

Standing in front of the mirror, I wonder why he’s acting so strange. I look to the ceiling, hoping for the answer. When we were friends before, he never kissed me; he never even hugged me until the night July was born. And our make out—and my almost-orgasm—night was more the vodka than anything else, so that doesn’t even really count. “Why is he interested now?” I whisper, looking at myself in the mirror. I haven’t changed. I pull my hair up into a messy bun on top of my head, do a couple swipes of mascara and a little blush, then I open the bathroom door. I look at the bed and see that Trevor is now laying down, with one arm thrown over his eyes, and the other against his abs.

“Trevor, let’s go,” I say, walking to my closet to grab a pair of sneakers. I sit in the chair next to the bed, bend and put them on, and he still hasn’t moved. “Trevor,” I sigh, going to stand next to him. I touch his arm lying across his stomach, tracing the tattoo that travels down his wrist. All the air is pushed out of my lungs when I’m grabbed suddenly, and tossed onto the bed with Trevor half on top of me. “What are you doing?” I breathe, trying to push him off.

“You haven’t kissed me since I got here,” he says, his hand going to the hair at the side of my head, sweeping it back.

“I’m not kissing you.” I push him again and he doesn’t budge.

“Did you sleep in my hoodie?” he asks. I completely freeze, trying to think of an excuse for wearing his hoodie. His face bends towards mine, his nose running along my jaw. I can feel him inhale, and somewhere in the back of my mind I wonder if he just sniffed me. “Did you sleep in it?” he asks again, this time quietly. I can feel goose bumps breaking out across my skin. His hand travels from my hip and down my thigh, to the underside of my knee. My brain is in overdrive, and the words that I want to say seem to have gotten stuck in my throat. “Did you wear something under it?” he asks, running his nose down my neck. “Or did you want to feel me wrapped around you all night?”

“We need to go.” I say quietly, finally getting my brain to function. I push him again, and he presses me deeper into the bed.

“What scent is that?” He runs his nose along my jaw, behind my ear, and down my neck.

“Heaven,” I gulp, as his hand behind my knee travels up to my hip again.

Softly, he whispers in my ear, “Yeah.” He breathes against my skin, causing my heart to skip and my belly to drop. “That smell makes me want to eat you,” he says, nipping my neck.
Oh God!
My thighs squeeze together automatically.
Oh my God!
My brain is screaming at me to stop this, but my hands itch to grab his head and drag his mouth to mine.

“W-we ne-need to go,” I stutter out on a shaky breath.

“In a minute,” he mumbles, right before his tongue touches the base of my neck, then it travels up to my chin. When his mouth crashes into mine, all thoughts leave my head. One of my hands goes to his bicep, the other to his head, running my fingers up the back of his scalp, pulling him closer. His mouth travels down my neck; the roughness of the scruff on his face rubs against my skin and all I can feel is fire, the same fire I felt the last time we were together. That thought is all I needed to snap out of this crazy moment.

“Trevor,” I whisper, wishing that my voice would come out stronger. His eyes meet mine; they’re darker than normal. He rubs his chin against mine; I bite my lip against the urge to moan or press into him. I want to scream. When we were friends, I told him things that I had never told anyone else. I trusted him. I had been falling in love with the person that he is, not the guy that every woman in town wants a piece of, but the real him. The one who listened to me when I shared the hurt of my past and the one who helps old ladies carry groceries across the street. The one who stopped in the middle of the road when he saw a bird with a broken wing, and the one who loves his mom so much, that no matter who’s around or where they are, he hugs her and tells her he loves her. That guy;
that
was the Trevor that I was falling in love with. Then he showed me a side of him that was ugly and hurtful, a side that I can’t forget no matter how much I want to.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and I nod my head, pushing against him.

“We need to go,” I repeat for what feels like the millionth time.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and I almost want to laugh.

“I don’t even know where to start,” I shake my head. He pushes off the bed, pulling me up so that I’m standing in front of him. “I’m just going to be honest so that things don’t end up crazier than they already are,” I tell him, taking a step back. “First, thank you for the ride home last night.” I look up into his amazing brown eyes and get lost for a second. He’s so handsome; part of me wants to just say, “Screw it; Que Sera, Sera”, throw caution to the wind, and get lost in bed with him for a day. But I can’t do it; that’s not me. I would end up crying or confessing my feelings for him, and he would walk away with another notch on his belt, while leaving me feeling alone and empty. “I’m going with you today to see July, but after that, I think that it would be best if we went back to the way things were. I’m not having sex with you. Just because I’m not a virgin doesn’t mean that I’m going to sleep with you.” I say in my most serious voice.

“You were going to sleep with me.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, feeling tears clog my throat. “Thankfully, that didn’t happen. I mean, how humiliating would it be to have slept with you, then have you walk away without ever talking to me again,” I laugh, but it’s humorless and full of hurt.

“Listen, I was fucked up, okay? You’re so innocent; I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“So now that you know that I’ve had sex, you think it’s okay to sleep with me?” I’m so confused by his logic.

“Stop fucking saying that you’ve had sex,” he growls, his hands sliding down his face. “Jesus, I don’t want to fucking talk or hear about that shit.”

“Okay,” I whisper, startled by the pissed off look on his face.

“I said I was sorry for that shit.” I try to think back, but I’m pretty sure that he never apologized. “It’s in the past; we’re moving on and going to be best friends.” I shake my head, wondering what it must be like to live in his universe. And why the hell does he keep saying that we’re going to be best friends? I was starting to feel like I was in a bad episode of Barney. “We need to go,” he says, walking out of the bedroom. I follow him out and watch as he bends to put on his shoes. He grabs his keys off the counter, I grab my bag, but when we get to the door, he stops and turns to me. “This is going to happen.”