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I kiss him back, letting the press of his lips against mine and the spicy ginger scent of his cologne draw me under like a wave pulling me into a vast ocean.
His words turn me on, but there’s a little twist in my gut as I consider what he just said. Did we fuck, or did we make love? Some moments, it felt so tender and passionate, and other moments, it was so d
esperate and crazed. I think that we experienced a little bit of both, even if Trent won’t admit to that.
But, Trent does just think it was a fuck, doesn’t he?
That’s all it was to him.
A fuck.
Like hundreds of others he’s had with dozens of girls.
That thought is like an icy slap to the face. It snaps me out of whatever sex coma I’m in, and I realize with a rush of certainty that I can’t let down my guard. Not yet, at least. Not until I’m sure Trent isn’t playing me yet again for a fool. He’s acting sweeter and softer than he has since we were best friends in high school, since the day he asked me out—but what if it’s all an act? What if all he cares about is the fact that he just got laid?
I pull away, gazing down into his eyes, and I’m positive I catch a gleam of amusement in them.
Fuck.
Yep, I gotta stick to the plan. No matter how good the sex was, I can’t give in to him—not after what I overheard this morning.
I’ve still got my strategy in place, and I’ve got who knows how many minutes of footage on my computer. When I was watching him touch himself, absorbed by the sight of his fist working his shaft up and down in greedy strokes, it seemed as though time stood still.
“Wait till I tell the guys,” Trent says humorously, the glint in his eyes growing.
“What?” I sit up, my heart rate spiking suddenly.
I don’t even know why I care so much. In high school, I hated the idea of coming between them. But now, I shouldn’t waste a single second worrying about their friendship. If he did tell Reese and West, and they were actually hurt, why should it bother me?
They already think I’m a slut anyway. Or at least, they spent months saying they do.
But even if I don’t care what he says, this is just further confirmation that Trent can’t be trusted.
“I’m joking with you, Emma.” Trent shakes his head, the gleam fading from his eyes. He looks absolutely serious now. “I don’t want the guys to know.”
For some reason, that doesn’t make me feel any better.
“Why wouldn’t you want them to know?” I ask.
“I dunno. I want to have the memory of it all to myself, I guess.”
I shift uncomfortably on the mattress, staring down at him like I could crack his mask open and read his soul. Trent is one of those people who are like the two faces on either side of a coin. I don’t know which face is real.
“Do you think our parents will get married?” I ask, lying back down and leaning my head on his chest again.
“I fucking hope not.”
“But I think they’re happy.”
He snorts, his voice growing hard. “Still. Awkward.”
“Yeah, awkward.”
The happy little glow is fading.
Maybe I shouldn’t have poked him like that—after last night, I can tell he’s not a fan of my dad, so the possibility of marriage between our parents is obviously a sore spot for him.
I’m not a huge fan of it either, for reasons I can admit as well as several I can’t. But I want my dad to be happy.
