If I were sitting up there, I might lose control and lash my hand out to Trent’s leg, squeezing onto his firm muscles, the oak-like solidity of his flesh.
I turn to the window and watch nature flit by, the setting sun making it hazy and magical. It’s easier than staring at the rearview mirror, at Trent’s face.
He was so pissed back at the diner, glaring at me like he resented my existence. I understand he wants some alone time with his daughter, but does he really have to make me so self-conscious?
When Angie asked me if Trent was fitter then most men our age, I’m so happy I dropped the mug. It was the perfect distraction. Otherwise, I might’ve screamed how I really felt.
Yes, he’s fitter than most men our age, and his age, and any age. He’s all rippled muscle and I’ve touched myself to images of him more times than you’d believe, Angie. You’d hate me if you knew how many times I’ve touched myself just thinking about your dad.
I rest my forehead against the glass, trying to focus on the feel of it against my skin and nothing else.
“So when do you start work on your business?” Angie asks.
“A couple of weeks,” Trent says, in that husky, rumbling voice. “I’m going to relax for a while first. Well, try to relax.”
“You’ve never been very good at that,” Angie says.
He laughs gruffly. “Exactly.”
“Maybe you should go on a nature walk with Tessa,” Angie says.
I squeeze my hands into a tight fist, digging my fingernails into my palms. I’ve read that phrase so many times in books. She dug her fingernails into her palms. But despite all the bullying I’ve experienced in my life, all the heartache with mom, I don’t think I’ve ever actually done it before.
My temples pulse and my heart hammers.
“What do you think, Tess?” Angie goes on. “Or would my old dad cramp your style?”
“There isn’t much style,” I say, trying to laugh. It comes out strangled and wrong-sounding. “I traipse through the forest and try to take as many photos as I can. I mean, heck, if I take a thousand, a couple of them have to be good, right?”
“I’m sure Tessa doesn’t want me to intrude,” Trent says, with that growling quality beneath his voice.
Does this man ever just say anything? Does he always have to sound so angry?
Rage flares inside of me at his attitude, unfair, unearned, but no less real for all that.
I understand he’s annoyed that I’m even here, intruding on the closeness with his daughter, but the least he could do is show me some basic human courtesy. There’s no reason to act so angrily all the time.
“No,” I say fiercely, sitting up. “I’d love it if you came, Mr. Tanner. I’m sure Angie would too.”
“I’m going to that audition tomorrow, remember.”
I stifle a groan. The walk is tomorrow morning… the same time as the audition.
I completely forgot. I’m so scatterbrained lately, but then that’s nothing new. I’ve been scatterbrained all my freaking life.
Well, it’s not like Trent is going to say yes anyway.
He stares at me in the rearview mirror, a captivating smirk toying with his lips.
“Sure,” he says. “As long as you don’t mind?”
Is he really so proud that he’d agree to go on a walk with a woman he clearly hates just because I’ve challenged him? That’s crazy, but the idea of backing out is ridiculous to me now. There’s no way I’m going to let him bully me.
Oh, shut up, something deep inside of me says. It feels like something inside of me, like some primal piece of me is waking up at his closeness, aroused by his scent, hungry for him to usher me into a new life filled with children and laughter and happiness. You want him to want you. You want him to need you.
“I don’t mind,” I say after a pause. “Please, come along.”
His smirk widens and he shrugs as if to say it doesn’t mean a damn thing to him.
I sit back and fold my arms, resisting the urge to bite my lip, a desire which throbs and pulses through me.
Oh, God, what the heck have I gotten myself into?
“Tess, are you okay?” Mom asks as she chops the tomato with efficient motions.
Click-click-click, she hammers the knife against the chopping board, smiling at me across the kitchen.
The tension that has moved through me all evening – ever since Angie dropped me off – lightens a little when I take in the sight of my mom smiling.
One of the reasons I didn’t go to college, apart from the issue of money, was that my mom needed me at home to support her during her schizophrenia episodes.
It was rare and strange, how it struck in her late thirties, leading her down a deep rabbit hole that demanded most of my attention.
Now, after a long hard battle and combination of therapy and medication, she’s in a much better place, and it makes me want to sing and dance and punch the air every time I think about it.
She’s curvy, like me, with a close-shaved head and a tattoo of a butterfly on her neck.
“Tess?” Click-click-click. “I asked you a question.”
I sigh from the table, nodding, but then I realize she probably wants words.
But what words can I offer that would make sense of any of this?
I’m meeting with Trent freaking Tanner for a date tomorrow morning.
No—not a date, it can’t be a date. If it’s a date, it could lead to other steamy things, kisses, and what comes after kisses.
In your dreams, a bitter voice cackles inside.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I’m just thinking about my walk tomorrow. Do you want to come?”
She frowns. “You know I’m busy. I’m seeing Liam.”
“I know,” I say. “I was wondering if maybe he canceled.”
Liam is mom’s accountant boyfriend. It’s going really well and she thinks he’s going to propose soon. And he never cancels. He’s ridiculously
