#Rev (GearShark #2)(32)

The second he worked his body from beneath mine, I was awake, fully and totally. Not even my lazy-ass brain wanted to sleep without him.

I watched through slumber-heavy eyes as he moved around the tiny room. When he disappeared to the bathroom, I listened for any sound he might make or any kind of disruption to what he was doing in the bathroom.

I wasn’t supposed to let anyone know I was in here, but so help me God, if anyone f*cked with him, I’d fly out of this room so fast they wouldn’t even see who was beating their ass.

Luckily for all the f*ckers in this house, no one caused an issue and I didn’t have to whoop any ass.

Trent let himself back in the room within minutes. His hair was of course styled into place, not so neat it looked anal, but not messy like mine usually was. Sometimes I’d almost dare to call his style preppy… but I couldn’t. His overall demeanor wasn’t preppy. He was too laidback for that label.

Besides, I hated labels. Any kind. And I wasn’t about to label my person with one so silly it was associated with the way he looked.

Trent wasn’t wearing a shirt, a fact that sort of made me crazy. This wasn’t an empty house. Who knows who saw him here on a daily basis without his shirt? It never bothered me before when guys walked around half naked. Hell, it was natural.

But it bothered me now.

Correction.

It only bothered me in relation to Trent. I didn’t want anyone looking at him.

He saw me watching and smiled. His lip was no longer puffy; it just had a healing cut. His eye was still slightly swollen but would likely be back to normal by end of day. The bruising was still heavy, that blue-ish purple shade that would soon start turning that ugly shade of yellow.

The Band-Aid on his head was gone, but the butterfly bandage was still in place. Personally, I would have preferred it to be covered completely, but I knew it needed air.

The button on his slightly faded jeans was undone, the band of my boxers visible, and I smiled. I guessed he hadn’t showered. His waist was tight and defined, and it made me think of how it felt to run my fingers up the ripples of muscles last night as I straddled him.

“You have time for breakfast before class?” I asked, still surveying his body. My eyes were just as hungry as my stomach.

“If we go now.” He picked up a shirt lying nearby, and it made my face pull up like the Cheshire cat.

“Wearing my shirt again today?”

He flashed a quick smile. “I like it better than mine.”

It was my favorite, but it was clear I’d never get it back. Which oddly made me like it more. The fabric was faded blue cotton, what used to be a vibrant shade now more subdued from wash and wear. The front of the shirt had the outline of a Mustang on it, kind of like a drawing but just the bones of the car without any details.

It fit Trent tighter than me, and the sleeves clung to the rounded muscles of his arms. Once it was on, he stepped to a dresser and rummaged around to pull out a pullover sweatshirt. Instead of having a hood, it had some kind of funnel neck, which bunched up around his jaw in a casual way. It was white, and the ends of my blue T-shirt stuck out from the hem, giving him some kind of stylish double-layered look.

When he was done getting dressed, he pulled out another shirt and tossed it at me. It landed on my face, and I was momentarily blinded by cotton. I took that as a hint I was taking too long, so I slid out of bed.

The sweats I’d worn here last night were lying on the floor, and I pulled them on. They were a shade of charcoal and kind of slouchy. The shirt Trent tossed me wasn’t the one I wore last night, but one of his. It was black, my favorite, with a silver Under Armour logo on the chest.

Maybe this one would replace the one he stole.

Once I was dressed, I ran my hands through my hair and called it done. I’d grab a shower and shit later.

“Ready?” Trent grabbed his book bag and slung it over his shoulder.

I stepped up to him, welcoming that little sizzle I always felt between us, and held his stare. My deft fingers reached between us and found the undone button at the top of his pants and easily put it how it belonged.

“Oops,” Trent whispered.

My fingers lingered a little longer than necessary down by his fly. His breath smelled like mint.

“You did that on purpose.” Slowly, I drew my hands back and pulled his shirts back into place.

“I would never do such a thing.” He winked.

He was a charming bastard.

“Come on,” he murmured and caught my hand. “Let’s go eat.”

At the door, he paused and opened it a crack to peer out into the hallway. “Move fast,” he said, coming back inside and handing me the keys to his Mustang. “I’ll drive you over to your car.”

I nodded.

Before turning back, he swooped in and kissed me hard and fast.

Somehow we got lucky. I made it out of the house without anyone seeing me. We rushed across the front walkway like we’d just broken the law.

Soon as we were in T’s Mustang with the engine running, we looked at each other and laughed.

Before pulling out of the lot, Trent grasped my hand and put it on the stick shift. “I’ll drive, you shift.”

“Think that will work?” I asked, wondering how my shifting would match up to his footwork with the clutch.

“Everything else about us does,” he quipped and gripped the wheel.