Takedown Teague (Caged #1)(29)

I had to change the subject as quickly as possible, so I went for the most obnoxious thing that could have come out of my mouth—obnoxious, crass, and far too close to what I really wanted to know.

“So you were f*cking him,” I said.

Tria crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes.

“Look, this isn’t exactly a topic I care to discuss in the hallway.”

“It’s not my bedtime yet,” I told her. I glanced from my wrist, which didn’t actually have a watch on it, to her partially opened doorway, and then back to her face.

Tria sighed, opened her apartment door wider, and made a gesture toward the inside. I was so surprised the tactic worked, I almost just stood there and stared at her outstretched arm, but my feet finally woke up and moved me forward.

The only other time I had been in Tria’s apartment at all, I hadn’t really paid any attention to anything in it. I had been far too focused—first on the * who was yelling at her and then by the act of will it took to keep from pressing my cock against her stomach while she hugged me. Now that the distractions were removed, I looked around a bit more.

The layout was exactly like mine—a small living room and eat-in kitchen with a little hallway leading to two other doors—the bedroom and bath. Her furniture was slightly better than mine since she obviously got a place that was completely furnished, but it was still pretty bland. There was a couch and a coffee table sitting across from a bookshelf with a little television with rabbit ears on top of it. The rest of the shelf was covered in books—both novels and textbooks, as far as I could tell. Next to the couch, there was a little table with a butt-ugly lamp sitting on it.

“You want something to drink?” Tria asked. “Um…I’ve only got water and some apple juice, though.”

I couldn’t stop the smile.

“Apple juice is awesome,” I said. Tria walked into the kitchen to pour two glasses while I sat on the couch and looked around. There weren’t any decorations or anything on the wall, but I did notice a small, framed picture of a guy in an army uniform standing with a little girl, who I figured was Tria.

I didn’t get a chance to take a closer look before Tria came back with the drinks, which she set on little cardboard coasters. She stood there nervously for a moment before sitting beside me and curling her legs up underneath her.

“So?” I asked as I leaned an elbow on the back of the couch. I tilted my body toward her, pulling my leg up slightly and nearly matching her posture. I leaned my head down onto my open hand.

“I have no idea why I’m talking to you about this,” Tria said.

“Apple juice will make you say all kinds of crazy shit,” I informed her. I gave her a very serious look. “Chug that glass, and it’ll all just flow right out.”

“The story or the juice?”

“Both.”

Tria snickered and rubbed her hands against her thighs. I waited somewhat patiently as she seemed to gather herself.

“This is so embarrassing,” Tria said as she dropped her head into her hands. “We tried, okay? It just didn’t really work.”

“He couldn’t get it up,” I said with a smirk. “Maybe he’s gay.”

“That wasn’t it.” Tria promptly corrected me.

“What didn’t work then?” I asked. I had no idea what she was trying to say, or what she was trying to avoid saying. She was obviously embarrassed by something, but I had run out of patience and wasn’t going to let it go at that point. “Well?”

“He just…couldn’t get it in.”

Oh.

“Must be a big guy,” I said. My smirk was gone.

“No, no…he’s…I don’t know, average, I guess. It just…wouldn’t go.”

“Wait…” I had a sudden epiphany. “You mean you weren’t ready, right?”

“I was ready,” she said defensively. “We planned it for weeks. After prom and all that trite shit.”

“Maybe you said you were, but you weren’t wet, were you? He couldn’t get it in because you weren’t into it.”

Tria went silent as she stared at the corner of the coffee table where her drink sat untouched. Without the ability to read her mind, I wasn’t sure what she might have been contemplating, only that she was definitely deep in thought, and I didn’t want to break the imposed silence.

A couple of minutes later, she finally spoke.

“He was right,” she said quietly. Her voice was strained, and the tension in her shoulders was visible.

“What do you mean? Who was right?”

“Keith,” she answered. “He said there was something wrong with me; I just didn’t want to believe it.”

“What?” I bellowed. Tria jumped in her seat. “What the f*ck are you talking about?”

“Just what you said!” she shouted back as her voice broke. “There’s something wrong with me!”

“For f*ck’s sake,” I cried, “there is not!”

“But you just said…”

“I said you weren’t into it,” I reminded her. “You weren’t wet because he didn’t turn you on. You didn’t want him. That’s not a problem with you; that’s a problem with him being a douchebag. You didn’t want to sleep with him.”