by Eva Ashwood
“I don’t know what the hell that was about,” he murmurs, stroking my hair. I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it, and I pretend not to notice. It seems too intimate, too tender. But I don’t want him to stop.
“Me neither,” I reply, leaning my head on his chest. I can hear his heart beating. His skin is warm. God, he smells so good.
He lifts his head off the pillow, narrowing his eyes slightly as he gazes at me skeptically. “You don’t? You’re the one who answered the door dressed like a fucking present begging to be unwrapped.”
His description of me, and the way lust tightens his voice again as he speaks, sends a shiver down my spine.
“I guess I just thought…” I trail off for a second, hoping he can’t feel the tempo of my heartbeat pick up as I skirt away from the truth. The real reason I wore the negligee. The reason for all of this. “I guess I figured there was so much tension between us. It’s been building up for so many years, even when we were apart. It seemed like we could yell it out, or…”
“Fuck it out?” He chuckles, gazing up at the ceiling. His body feels relaxed beneath mine, and it occurs to me that, if there hadn’t been ulterior motives for my seduction, the explanation I just gave might actually have made sense.
I do feel… different around him.
Like something has shifted between us that won’t ever go back to the way it was, even if this was all meant to be a lie.
“Yeah, I guess so,” I say with a small laugh. “Fuck it out. I mean, maybe a therapist wouldn’t recommend it, but it worked, didn’t it?”
He looks down at me, his blue eyes bright in the semi-darkness. “Yeah. Guess so.”
“I didn’t expect it to be like this,” I admit, my voice low. It’s a truth I shouldn’t say, but the words slip out before I can stop them. “I didn’t expect to feel this way.”
“What way is that?” He’s watching me carefully, his gaze intense.
“I dunno. Relaxed. Easy.”
That’s not quite the right word for it, but I can’t think of the one that is. This is the first time Trent and I have had a conversation that wasn’t tinged with anger since my junior year of high school, and despite knowing I shouldn’t, I find myself enjoying it.
He was my best friend once.
And when that best friend was swallowed up by a monster who looked and sounded like Trent, I missed him.
The boy I used to know.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” Trent murmurs, surprising me by hauling me up his body to kiss me thoroughly. “Your body is fucking made for sin. But all of you is beautiful.”
“Thanks,” I reply, pulling back a little and looking away.
I’m almost completely draped over his body now, and I don’t know when this moment is going to end—the sweetness, the intimacy. I sort of expected it to be over the second he came inside me, but maybe we’re both still too high on a post-sex haze to put our walls back up yet.
“I’ve always sort of imagined this happening,” he says, and when I look back at him, I can’t read his expression.
“I have too.” Fuck. I can’t believe I just admitted to that.
Then he grins wolfishly, pulling me harder against him, grinding my clit against the hard plane of his abs. My pussy throbs, already demanding more. “Even in my imagination, it wasn’t as good as this.”
His words stop me. I’m quiet for a moment, thinking about how perfectly our bodies fit together. There’s this magnetic pull between us that I know has been there from the start—I just didn’t realize it would explode like this once we lit the spark. My whole body opened up to him in a way I never expected, especially when I remember just how terrible he’s been to me.
But when we were having sex, it was like burning away all of that toxic history in a massive funeral pyre, feeling the cleansing flames lick through me. My body just gave over to him, and in that moment, I trusted him fully.
Was that a huge fucking mistake? Is the other shoe going to drop now?
It also occurs to me that I really want to ask Trent about high school. I can’t believe he blamed me for his parents’ divorce all this time, and I’ll never get over how hurt and betrayed I feel that he didn’t even fucking ask me—and refused to believe me at the restaurant when I promised him it hadn’t been me.
I want to know if there’s a reason—something that made him so sure it was me, that made him refuse to even give me the chance to defend myself. That turned him against me so completely it practically gave me whiplash.
But tension starts to creep into my body as I think about that conversation. If we start dredging up that shit, I have no doubt that the comfortable bubble we’re in right now will pop in a hurry. And I don’t want it to.
Tonight is all a lie anyway. Why can’t it be a happy lie?
So instead, I bring up a good memory, resting my hands on his chest and gazing down at him.
“Do you remember that time we went down to the beach at the end of my sophomore year?” I ask.
“Yeah, we had a bonfire with the guys.”
“I think that was my favorite high school memory. We made s’mores. It was the first time I’d ever had them, and you were all shocked about that.” I bite my lip, knowing what I’m about to say is giving too much of my heart away, revealing too much. But I say it anyway. “You did this thing where you brought your hand to my back and kind of… caressed it, I guess.”
“I wanted to touch you so badly.”
Trent’s eyes take on a faraway look as he brings his hand down to run his fingertips over the side of my waist, as if appreciating the fact that right now, in this moment, he can touch me.
“I just remember how good it felt. Everything was just so perfect that night. Do you remember all those stories that Reese told? They were so funny, I laughed until I cried.”
“Jesus. Fuckin’ Reese and his stories. You know half of those were made up, right?”
I grin. “Yeah. I know. Somehow I figured he’d never been part of a biker gang. I still loved hearing them though.”
“Yeah. Good times,” Trent says, and there’s something in his voice that makes me think he honestly means it. That he misses those days.
It doesn’t seem right though. How can he miss them when he’s the one who snatched them away from us, who made my junior year at Amundsen a living hell?
A glimmer of anger flickers in my heart, and I can feel my body tense. Maybe Trent can feel it, because his voice is a little strained when he speaks again.
“I got a call from my mom tonight on the way over here. About going on vacation or something.”
The memory of my phone call with Dad flashes through my mind. “Oh my God, my dad said the same thing.”
“How insane is that going to be?” He snorts a laugh.
I can’t manage to laugh at all, because the thought of it is just too unpleasant. How are we going to navigate this whole situation? How are we supposed to be civil for an entire weekend—or even longer? Will our parents be able to tell we’ve hooked up? Will they sense the weirdness between us?
Will the tentative truce we’re building hold up under that kind of strain, or will things explode into a total shit show?
“You have to promise you’ll never tell your mom this happened,” I say, all of a sudden feeling panicky.
“Emma, do you seriously think that I’d ever want my mother to know about this?” Trent asks with a laugh.
“I’m just making sure. If my dad found out, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“You’d tell him it was the best fuck of your life, that’s what you’d do,” he growls, pulling in for another searing kiss.
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.
Part of me is tempted to let the coldness developing between us harden into ice, to tell him he needs to leave so I can get sleep. I do have an early class in the morning.
But I know—somehow, I know beyond any doubt—that we won’t repeat this night again. We both let our guards down too much, and in the harsh light of morning, we’ll realize that.
So before I can think about it too hard, I reach up to kiss Trent once more, crawling onto his body and letting my knees fall on either side of his hips, straddling him.
His cock responds to me instantly, and his hands thread through my hair like he’s trying to shut me up—shut us both up, maybe.
Enough talking.
We only get a few more hours before the spell breaks.
17
West
It’s been a week since I’ve seen Emma anywhere but in class, and I have to admit, I’ve been thinking about her all the fucking time.
I hate it.
We’re about to have a meeting for our Anthropology class, and Trent scheduled us to meet out on the lawn, in the fucking sunshine. That’s not like him at all. I don’t get what’s up with him.
Another strange thing is that he hasn’t changed the time and place back and forth like he did before. He set the location, and he kept it.
“She’s late,” I grunt, looking around the lawn. I keep my expression casual, but I feel like a fucking stalker the way my eyes hunger for the sight of shining blonde hair and pale skin. It’s almost a physical need to see her, like I’m an addict who hasn’t gotten his fix in way too long.
I wish there was some kind of rehab that could break my addiction to Emma, but I don’t think there is. I went months without seeing her after she moved out of Clearwater, and the craving never went away. It didn’t ease with time.
If anything, it got worse.
“It’s not a big deal.” Trent shrugs, and my gaze snaps to him as I narrow my eyes.
What the fuck?
“You’re getting all Zen master on us, aren’t you?” Reese cocks a brow.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been like this all week. Super chill,” Reese makes a face like it should be obvious exactly what he’s talking about. Which, honestly, it should. Something’s up with Trent.
Trent shrugs again, glancing around the quad—and I wonder if he’s working as hard as I did to keep his expression neutral as he searches for Emma. “Just don’t see why I gotta be on all cylinders all the time.”
Okay, what the actual fuck?
Trent always flies on all cylinders, and I’ve noticed this change in him all week, like he’s super, I dunno, peaceful or some shit. Not that I mind, because when Trent really gets going, it can be a pain in the ass—that’s how Reese and I got dragged into his revenge scheme in the first place—but I was anticipating the plan that he came up with last week, about taking Emma down, and it seems like he’s gotten off course.
That’s not okay.
“She’s coming,” I say, spotting Emma walking our way in that damn sundress again. It shows off her perfect shoulders, and I find myself annoyed to no end. I’m also getting hard, which makes me even more pissed off.
“Nicey, nicey,” Reese says with a fake grin. Clearly, he’s still intent on following through with Trent’s plan.
“Hey, guys,” Emma says with a warm smile. She sits down on the lawn, and her dress flies up a little bit as she sits. My gaze zeroes in on the soft, creamy skin of her thigh, and I shift a little to adjust myself. Motherfucker. I hate this.
I’m not a perv or anything. It’s just hard to ignore.
No other girl grabs and holds my attention like this. Half the fucking cheerleader squad could march by naked, tits and asses swaying in as they marched, and I wouldn’t bat an eye. But a few fucking inches of Emma’s pale skin, and I’m about ready to hump my hand right here and now just to get some damn relief.
I don’t like feeling out of control, and that’s all I feel around her. She shreds my self-restraint, and I don’t like it.
“Hey. How’s your day so far?” Trent asks, and I turn to him like he’s a freak or something.
How’s your day so far? Who are you, Mr. Rogers?
“Pretty good. Just been busy. I feel like I’m behind on homework.”
“I know the feeling,” Trent says with a huffed laugh, and I see a serious red flag yet again. He does not sound like himself at all.
“So, I think that we left off with the primatology.” Emma leans over her binder to look at a page, and her breasts shift against the neckline of her sundress, showing off her perfect cleavage. Fucking hell. Is she doing this on purpose or something? She’s definitely more calm and relaxed than she was last week, which makes me think she’s taking the bait Trent is feeding her.
But, is he even feeding her bait anymore?
“I liked what you did with that sec
ond paragraph,” Trent says, gazing down at the papers in front of him.
“Thanks, I worked really hard on it,” Emma replies. A slight blush tinges her cheeks, and she seems honestly surprised that Trent is acting this way too. And I would think it’s just that she’s as gullible as he said she was, falling for his lie, but when she smiles at him, he smiles right back at her.
And I don’t see a lie anywhere.
“Maybe we should expand it a little,” he suggests.
“You know, I was thinking the same thing.” Emma bites her lip with a bashful laugh. Reese seems oblivious to what’s going on, but I’m watching Emma and Trent like a hawk. They seem to be very… aware of one another, noticing each other’s every move, and they’re stealing glances here and there as Reese talks about his part of the project.
And then it hits me. I should’ve realized it earlier, but it hadn’t even occurred to me because I know how much Trent hates her.
Holy shit.
Motherfucker.
You two are fucking, I want to say. Because I know that’s exactly what’s going on.
Simmering rage starts to build up inside me. Maybe it doesn’t make any fucking sense. After all, I had sex with her too, and I never told either of my friends about it. I took her virginity, for fuck’s sake.
But I don’t like this. In fact, I hate it.
Trent can be a pain in the ass, but he’s my blood brother. I love him, and I’d do just about anything for him.
So why do I want to pin him down and fucking pummel him right now?
“I think this project is going to be really good. It’s coming along well.” Emma beams, adjusting the hem of her sundress as she rises up to sit on her knees. “I mean, we’ve worked hard on it, and I think that we’ve found our stride.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty important that we nail it,” Trent says.
My jaw clenches. Oh, I know what you’ve nailed, my friend.
“I’m just looking forward to it being over,” Reese groans. “As it turns out, Anthropology isn’t really my thing.”
“I was worried at first too,” Emma adds, tossing him a grin before shifting her attention back to Trent. “But now we’re in a good place.”