Trillion(54)

But I don’t have the time or energy.

“I’ve got a full load and I’m in, like, five different clubs,” I say.

He lies back, head on his pillow, quietly wallowing in this rejection. But it’d be cruel to tell him yes when I have no intention of following through.

Only an asshole would lead someone on.

I climb out of his bed and locate my clothes strewn about his room. My bra hangs from the back of his chair. My jeans are crumpled in a heap at the door along with my sneakers. My sweater is somehow under the bed and my panties are MIA.

A minute later, I’m dressed and Tennyson hasn’t moved from the bed, lying there with his limp cock and the look of defeat covering his handsome face.

“See you Monday?” I offer a smile on my way out.

The entire walk back to my dorm, all I can picture is his disappointed expression; all I can hear is his silence. Going forward, I vow to always be upfront about this sort of thing—what I can offer—my body—and what I can’t—my heart.

That way nobody gets hurt.





Forty-Two





Trey



Present



We lock eyes in the bathroom mirror Thursday night with toothbrushes in our mouths. Standing side by side, we actually look like a couple—a real couple.

Minus the emotional aspect and any lovey-dovey words of affirmation, we’re getting good at this. We sleep in the same bed. We fuck like rabbits. We have coffee in the morning and dinner at night. And now we’re getting ready for bed together.

I rinse my mouth and place my toothbrush in the cup between the faucets. “I win.”

She laughs, finishing. “Not everything’s a competition.”

“Obviously you’ve learned nothing about me.” I slip past her on the way to the door, stopping to rest my hands on her hips and deposit a kiss on the side of her neck, the spot that makes her toss her head back and give the tiniest of squeals.

While Sophie is forty chapters short of an open book, I’m slowly getting to know her better. I find the details are in the things she doesn’t say. She chews her nails when she’s nervous—which is rare, but it happens. She’s quietly fascinated by everything, often reading multiple books in varying genres at the same time. She’s adamant about being on time everywhere we go. And she’s got an impressive collection of vintage t-shirts she reserves for the weekends. She also prefers cheap wine over pricey, sunrises over sunsets, and she’s got a small but tight-knit group of friends. Sophie doesn’t bother with acquaintances or the lighter side of relationships. Like me, she wants it all or nothing. And she’s particular about whom she trusts.

She climbs into bed a minute later, dabbing lotion onto the backs of her hands before placing the bottle back on the nightstand. The sensual scent of Chanel floods the space between us.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” I say, “Next month we’re taking a trip to Martha’s Vineyard. That client I told you about? The one insisting I ‘settle down.’ He wants to spend a couple of days with us to make sure what we have is real.”

She laughs through her nose. “Weird, but okay.”

There are pockets of time I myself question whether this is real or not. There’s no way Ames won’t buy it.

“Yeah, he’s interesting in his own way … Anyway, I’ll send the dates to your calendar in the morning,” I say.

“You still need to meet my family.”

“And you still need to choose a wedding date.” I switch off the lamp on my bedside table. “I checked my schedule, and I can clear a week in September.”

“Why a whole week?”

“For the honeymoon …”

“Honeymoons are for lovers.”

I smirk. “And what would you call us?”

She rolls to her side, head propped on her hand, eyes shining in the dark like two endless pools. “Do we need a label? I mean, we’re engaged. We’re going to be married. But we’re not in love.”

“I’m aware,” I say. “But we spend every spare moment of every day together and we can’t keep our hands off each other. So what would you call that?”

“Not lovers …” Her lips pull at one side. “That word makes me cringe.”

I laugh. “Me too.”

“Partners,” she says after a minute of contemplation. “We’re partners. That’s what you called it the first time you pulled me into your office and made me this offer. You said you needed a partner.”

She isn’t wrong about what I said.

But we’ve evolved way past partners …

Exhaustion floods my veins, and I’m getting nowhere with her. Best to sideline this conversation for another time.

“I’d like you to choose a date tomorrow,” I say. “Sometime in September. Once we nail that down, I’ll have my assistant book a trip. Let me know where you’d like to go, and I’ll take you.”

Sophie lies back.

“If we don’t go on a honeymoon, people might wonder,” I add. “It’s part of the bigger picture, Soph.”

Her attention snaps to me. “Please don’t call me Soph.”

Frowning in the dark, I sigh.