Exes and O's (The Influencer, #2)(31)

He swallows nervously, bracing for it.

“Who was your first celebrity crush?” I ask, lifting my top half out of the water to get some relief from the heat.

I can’t confirm, but I think Trevor’s eyes drifted to my chest for a fraction of a second.

“He looks like a Pamela Anderson type to me,” Gerald chimes in, jabbing a thumb in Trevor’s direction.

Trevor gives him a look of solidarity. “I liked Pam. Britney Spears too.”

I smirk. “That’s very . . . typical.”

Trevor angles toward Gerald. “Gerald, who was your first celebrity crush?”

“Miss Dolly Parton,” he responds proudly. He waves a hand toward me, signaling it’s my turn.

“I have many. The kid from Casper was probably my very first. But I’d say my first sexual awakening was Zac Efron in his High School Musical days.”

“What got you? The sweeping bangs? The piercing blue eyes?” Trevor asks.

“Definitely his angry dance in High School Musical 2.”

“I won’t even pretend to know what you’re talking about,” he says with a headshake.

“Nowadays, I’m pretty into Dwight Schrute,” I inform.

Trevor chokes. “From The Office?”

“Yup.”

“Do you mean Jim?”

“Nope. Dwight.”

He shoots me a disturbed look. “Are we thinking of the same Dwight? Glasses? Owns a beet farm?”

“The only Dwight on the show,” I confirm. “Okay, hear me out—”

He lobs his head back with his deep laugh. “Are you really going to try to convince me Dwight Schrute gets your motor running?”

“He does. You wouldn’t understand,” I shoot back, drawing my shoulders up in defense.

“What gets you hot? The puke-mustard short-sleeved dress shirts? His affinity for Battlestar Galactica?”

“His pure dedication to Angela, of course. Anyway, you’re distracting me.” I clear my throat, eager to keep this going. “Next question. Why did you become a firefighter?”

Trevor’s face hardens to stone. “It’s not an interesting story.”

“You’re the worst.” When I reach to retighten my bun, I note my fingers are prunes and my hair is starting to frost. It’s time to get out of here. I stand to exit the tub. The moment the frigid air hits my skin, gooseflesh erupts. I make a mad dash for my towel on the lounge chair.

Trevor nods his chin toward Gerald as he steps out of the gurgling water, swim trunks dripping. “Have a good night.”

Fifteen minutes later, I’m warm and dry, star-fishing with a book in my usual spot on the living room floor. I’m bundled in my flannel pajamas, partway through my chapter, when Trevor emerges in respectable sweatpants and a T-shirt. I expect him to walk over me and head for the television, or simply judge me from above, but surprisingly, he stretches out on the floor next to me.

“This is weirdly comfortable,” he admits, lining his shoulders up with mine.

“See? It’s amazing. Life-changing,” I say, keeping my eyes on the page.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I have some of my most genius thoughts down here.”

“I’m sure you do,” he says, reading over my shoulder. “What’s this book about? Looks like a cowboy romance.”

“You’d be correct.”

“Second-chance?”

“Indeed. And a secret baby too. My favorite.” He chuckles softly, and there’s a beat of silence before I turn onto my side, facing him. “You’re a good friend for coming with me tonight,” I say, staring at his dense lash line with envy. My fatigue is causing me to see two Trevors, which is less disturbing than it should be.

A tiny grin forms. “I’m sure any one of your other friends would have done the same.”

“I don’t know. I don’t have all that many friends. Aside from Crystal and Mel, and realistically, Crystal has to be my friend by default. Sometimes I feel like they’re a bit dismissive of me. When I told them about the ex thing, they laughed it off like it was a joke.” It’s not that I don’t love Crystal and Mel. They’re my best friends. But sometimes I can’t help but feel like a third wheel.

He watches me thoughtfully. “I don’t believe you have a hard time making friends.”

“It’s harder than you’d think, especially at thirty. I have lots of acquaintances. But close friends I could call up last minute and snuggle with? Not so much.”

“Hm. That surprises me. They’re missing out.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

One glance at his tiny, stubborn smile and my stomach flutters. My body tenses with new awareness of the press of his shoulder against mine.

My thoughts are spinning, aching to unpack my body’s reaction to his touch, but my mind is pulled elsewhere—to his eyes. The kitchen light illuminates the rich ring of dense forest green, surrounded by another loop of gold in his irises.

Our shared gaze holds for a beat longer than casual before his eyes fall to my mouth. His throat bobs with a slow, almost hesitant swallow, and his jaw goes soft.

Based on my extensive catalog of romance knowledge from books and film, these are signs of an impending kiss.