Until Trevor (Until, #2)(12)
“Trevor,” I whisper, wishing that my voice would come out stronger. His eyes meet mine; they’re darker than normal. He rubs his chin against mine; I bite my lip against the urge to moan or press into him. I want to scream. When we were friends, I told him things that I had never told anyone else. I trusted him. I had been falling in love with the person that he is, not the guy that every woman in town wants a piece of, but the real him. The one who listened to me when I shared the hurt of my past and the one who helps old ladies carry groceries across the street. The one who stopped in the middle of the road when he saw a bird with a broken wing, and the one who loves his mom so much, that no matter who’s around or where they are, he hugs her and tells her he loves her. That guy; that was the Trevor that I was falling in love with. Then he showed me a side of him that was ugly and hurtful, a side that I can’t forget no matter how much I want to.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and I nod my head, pushing against him.
“We need to go,” I repeat for what feels like the millionth time.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, and I almost want to laugh.
“I don’t even know where to start,” I shake my head. He pushes off the bed, pulling me up so that I'm standing in front of him. “I'm just going to be honest so that things don’t end up crazier than they already are,” I tell him, taking a step back. “First, thank you for the ride home last night.” I look up into his amazing brown eyes and get lost for a second. He’s so handsome; part of me wants to just say, “Screw it; Que Sera, Sera”, throw caution to the wind, and get lost in bed with him for a day. But I can’t do it; that’s not me. I would end up crying or confessing my feelings for him, and he would walk away with another notch on his belt, while leaving me feeling alone and empty. “I'm going with you today to see July, but after that, I think that it would be best if we went back to the way things were. I'm not having sex with you. Just because I'm not a virgin doesn’t mean that I'm going to sleep with you.” I say in my most serious voice.
“You were going to sleep with me.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, feeling tears clog my throat. “Thankfully, that didn’t happen. I mean, how humiliating would it be to have slept with you, then have you walk away without ever talking to me again,” I laugh, but it’s humorless and full of hurt.
“Listen, I was f*cked up, okay? You’re so innocent; I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“So now that you know that I’ve had sex, you think it’s okay to sleep with me?” I'm so confused by his logic.
“Stop f*cking saying that you’ve had sex,” he growls, his hands sliding down his face. “Jesus, I don’t want to f*cking talk or hear about that shit.”
“Okay,” I whisper, startled by the pissed off look on his face.
“I said I was sorry for that shit.” I try to think back, but I'm pretty sure that he never apologized. “It’s in the past; we’re moving on and going to be best friends.” I shake my head, wondering what it must be like to live in his universe. And why the hell does he keep saying that we’re going to be best friends? I was starting to feel like I was in a bad episode of Barney. “We need to go,” he says, walking out of the bedroom. I follow him out and watch as he bends to put on his shoes. He grabs his keys off the counter, I grab my bag, but when we get to the door, he stops and turns to me. “This is going to happen.”
“What?” I ask, my eyebrows drawn together in confusion. His finger comes up and skims down the center of my face, forehead to chin.
“You and I, we’re going to happen.” He kisses me, then opens the door, putting his hand on the small of my back to lead me out. “We can get your bag later.”
“I have my bag.” I lift my hand, showing him my bag that’s hard to miss since its hot pink and covered in glitter.
“Your overnight bag, baby.” He puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into him.
“I'm not staying overnight with you, so I don’t need an overnight bag,” I say, as he helps me into his truck. He has to lift me into it because it’s so tall, and there are no sideboards to step onto.
“You are,” is all he says, slamming the door and walking around the back of the truck. He slides behind the steering wheel, looking over at me. “So where does the douche live?” I give him directions, and then we’re on our way.
Chapter 3
Trevor
I wake up feeling Liz’s body pressed against mine. Her small hand is tucked under her cheek against my chest; her thigh is over my hip, and my hand is full of her pink lace-covered ass. Yesterday, after she gave me directions to douchebag Bill’s house, and made me promise not to call him douchebag Bill to his face, we drove the thirty minutes a few towns over to his house. He lived in a newer neighborhood; the houses all looked the same. They call it “cookie cutter”; I call it lame. “This peach house is his?” I asked, looking over at Liz. “What the f*ck is wrong with this guy?”
“Trevor, please be nice, okay? He’s helping me find my brother.”
“You want me to be nice? There’s a f*cking Mini Cooper in the driveway, a yellow Mini Cooper, Liz. What man drives that kind of f*cking car? Jesus,” I said, shaking my head and looking back at his house.