He caught my hand. “I’m glad you weren’t.”
I slid off the bed and made my way around the narrow space between the mattress and the wall, around to the side where T sat. I kneeled at his feet and pulled off his shoes.
Neither of us said anything as I worked, but I felt his eyes the entire time. Once the shoes and socks were gone, my hands slid up his legs and thighs to hook around the waistband of the sweats. Our eyes locked, and Trent lifted his hips and ass so I could slide the pants down and work them over his legs and feet.
“How do you like those boxers?” I asked, a little cheeky. I sure as hell liked looking at him in them.
“You’re not getting them back.” The depth of his voice and the way his eyes roamed over my face and chest made me flush. God, he was sexy.
“I can live with that.”
He smirked because it was so obvious by my throaty tone he made my body hum.
“Get your head out of the gutter, frat boy. You look more uncomfortable than a horse with a mouthful of bees. Lay down,” I said, trying to hide the desire I felt being this close to him.
“Frankly, I’m offended your head isn’t in the gutter with mine.”
I made a rude noise and pushed him back onto the pillows. “It is. After last night, my head should pay rent to the gutter ‘cause it’s gonna be living there.”
Trent smirked and crooked a finger at me. When his crooked front tooth flashed, fondness and desire battled within me. I never knew I could be so incredibly charmed and turned on at the same time.
Giving in, I pulled off my sweats and T-shirt. T was on his back, so I straddled him, hugging his hips with my thighs and giving him all my weight. I didn’t have to worry about crushing him; the guy was just as strong and muscular as the pro football players I lived with.
I was sorely tempted to grip his cock and tease it with some stroking, but I held back. It wouldn’t be fair to him or me. I wasn’t going to do anything about either one of our hard-ons. Trent was way too exhausted, and I knew he was in pain. All the soreness from what happened to him last night was in full swing.
“I gotta say I like the way you look under me.” My palms flattened on his chest and rubbed upward, stroking his well-defined pecs.
“Wanna see how I look over you?” His hands covered mine.
“Right now, it’s my most anticipated moment,” I confessed.
“Mine, too.”
Just thinking about sex with him caused my hips to rock. Trent smiled lazily and palmed my waist.
I shook my head. “No way.”
He lifted a brow.
“I didn’t come here for sex,” I explained, keeping my voice very quiet.
We were in a house full of men.
“Then why are you here, Forrester?”
I liked when he called me that. I don’t know why. It was just my last name, but when he said it, it was more.
“Because I love you.”
Against my skin, his hands went slack, and his eyes closed. “I wish you knew how amazing that sounds to me.” The emotion in his voice almost made me forget about my no-sex-tonight rule.
“I do.” I promised. “It’s the exact same as when you say it to me.”
He shook his head once. “No.” He looked up, the amber of his eyes blazing with vulnerability. “You’re stronger than me, Drew. Deep down at the core.” He paused to swallow and look away.
I watched the emotion play across his features. I watched him search for the words to explain what was going on inside him, and then I watched him weigh them, as if he measured exactly what each one would cost.
“I’ve… I opened up a part of myself that was so private it physically hurt, the deepest place I feel things, the place where my most exposed feelings lie. That cost me a lot, Forrester, and I was scared. You are the biggest risk I’m ever going to take, so when you say you love me, it’s the biggest reward I’ll ever know.”
I grabbed his jaw and rubbed the pads of my thumbs over the skin there, reveling in his words, the moment… and the way he looked at me. “Don’t ever underestimate the power you have over me, frat boy. I promise you I’m just as powerless when it comes to you.”
“I love you,” he rasped.
After that, no more words were said. There was honestly nothing left to say. When you understood the depth of feeling and the level of connection we had, words just didn’t compare.
My head buzzed as our lips moved together. His fingertips were unsteady when they stroked over my scruff. Our tongues and mouths made love, but it was never about anything more. It was just us simply being together, exploring each other in ways we’d been deprived of until just recently.
When at last our lips stopped moving, I rested my cheek on his shoulder and flung a leg over his. The languid feeling of his fingertips dragging up and down my spine made me drowsy and lulled me to sleep.
Turns out I kinda liked a bed Trent was too small for because for us together, it was just right.
I called in sick to work.
Not because I didn’t want to get up early (though, who the hell ever wants to do that?), but because I wanted to drive.
I wanted the open road, my foot against the gas pedal, and the feeling of flying. I needed it, too—the solitude that came over me when I drove. There was a stillness that came with driving fast, a sort of mental clarity. It didn’t make much sense to say, but the only way I could describe it was the ability to literally speed up the world around me allowed my mind to only see what really mattered. All the scenery whipping by blurred together, leaving all that remained the stuff that mattered most, the stuff no amount of speed could ever blur.
I was happy—no, I was fulfilled being with Trent. But that fulfillment wasn’t without strife. I still had things to work through in my head. Decisions to make. And let’s face it. I was still beyond pissed about him getting jumped. Maybe some speed would shake loose some of the anger weighing me down.
Maybe the adrenaline rush would give me some courage.
“If I could skip classes today, I would,” T said, looking at me still tangled in the sheets.
I was enjoying the view. Though I could tell he was still sore, he was moving a little bit easier today… or at least putting on a good act.
It reinforced that what he really needed last night was rest, not us going at each other for hours.
It was early, but not as early as I usually had to drag my ass out of bed. The second my alarm went off, the familiar sense of dread about sitting in that cubicle all day with the damn noose—I mean tie—around my throat was too much.
I waited until more of a decent hour and called in. I told them I was sick, likely some kind of food poisoning from something I ate over the weekend. They believed me. There was no reason not to. I didn’t like my job, but I showed up and did the work well.
This was only the second time I’d called off since starting that job, the first time being when Ivy had Nova. I wasn’t even worried they would see me out because I was going where people I worked with never did.
After that, I settled back against T and drifted back into this weird but utterly comfortable place between deep sleep and consciousness. It was the place where my body and mind was totally relaxed, but I was still aware. I felt the rhythm of Trent’s breathing, the hardness of his body but the softness in which his arm wrapped around my waist. Those sounds were like rainfall pattering against the windows and overhead on the roof. Soothing, comforting, and the stuff that made you snuggle in a little tighter.
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 fucked 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 fuckers 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.
Anticipating his action, I put the car in reverse. We slid back in the lot. Then I put it in one, and he spurred us forward.
It was actually a pretty cool thing. It was like proof we were as in sync as I thought. But even though the driving came natural to us, something about what he said bothered me.
Everything else about us does.
I wanted to believe that was true. I wasn’t so sure.
There was something I sensed that wasn’t exactly working for us. Our engine could be running just a little smoother.
I had some not-so-easy decisions to make.
Trent
The point of no return.
I was there.
For so long, I felt I was standing on a precipice. Looking back, but longing to gaze forward. You can’t walk forward when your eyes are looking back.
I stumbled. I fell.
I got back up.
I tried to prevent the future from becoming the past by pushing Drew away. Drew wouldn’t go. Even my family seemed to sense I had one foot out the door.
They rallied around me. Around us.
I accepted Drew’s heart and tucked it right next to mine.
So here I was. Standing in the present, turning my back on the past.
Our revolution began with love.
Drew
It felt like forever.
Being in my car and speeding down the road seemed like a distant memory in my rearview. Really, it had only been a few days. However, when the minutes between now and then were filled with so much else, it was easy for the feel of the clutch beneath my foot and the sound of the rumbling engine to cease to exist in my mind.
But never in my heart.
Fast cars and driving would be in my heart until the day it stopped beating. It could live right next to Trent.
After breakfast, T went to class, and I hit the road.
Driving alone was sometimes therapeutic. It gave me a good chance to really think and let my mind drift.
It was also damn good practice.
I could make mistakes, I could try out new maneuvers, and I did it without the watchful eye of those I might be competing against. I also could fly in an even less-controlled manner than I usually drove.
Ron Gamble would probably have a fit. If he thought I was too uninhibited when I tried out for him—when I was actually holding back—well, he’d likely fire my ass if he saw me now.
Oddly, that just made me push harder.
I went to the back roads Trent and I drove a lot. I coasted up and down hills, powered around corners, and drifted around curves. After that, I hit up a couple straightaways and opened up the engine. The Fastback needed some work. I’d been driving her hard lately and hadn’t really babied the engine as much as usual. I’d been too busy.
After I spent a few hours on the asphalt, I drove across town to an auto parts shop to get some of the stuff I needed beneath the hood. I liked an auto parts store; it was what a bookstore was to a bookworm. I liked the smells, the crowded shelves, the chrome (oh yeah, the chrom
e). I even liked shooting the shit with the guys behind the counter. They all knew me by now. So we talked parts and sometimes they gave me deals or the inside scoop on new shit before it hit the shelves.
My hands were full when I stepped out onto the sidewalk and let the door swing shut behind me.
The sound of a smooth engine caught my attention, and I looked up. Lorhaven’s black Camaro slid into the parking spot right beside my Fastback.
Goody gumdrops.
As I was stepping off the sidewalk, his driver’s door popped open and the dyed blond head of Arrow emerged.
I was relieved it was him and not Lorhaven himself. In fact, I kinda liked this kid, even if he was a Justin Bieber lookalike and my rival’s kid brother.
I felt his eyes even though I didn’t look at him. “Hey, kid, give me a hand,” I called behind me as I went around to my trunk.
He appeared beside me, and I lifted one finger off the box in my hands and wiggled it so my keys would jingle. He took them and popped open the trunk.
“Thanks,” I grunted, piling in my stuff.
“That’s a lotta shit,” Arrow said, poking around in it all.
“Thank your brother for me. All that money I won at his last race sure has come in handy.”
“I’ll be sure to not pass on that message,” Arrow said pointedly, then turned to walk away.
“Loyalty, huh? I like that.”
He stopped between our two cars and turned. “He’s my brother.”
“Your brother teach you how to drive?”
Beneath the light-gray plain and oversized hoodie he wore, his shoulders shrugged. His jeans were tight yet still seemed to fall past his ass. How was that even possible? I guess it really shouldn’t matter because the sweatshirt and T-shirt beneath it hung so low it covered his boxer-clad ass.
At least I hoped it was boxers. Tightie whities would be fucking wrong.
Nobody needed to see that.
His tight yet too large jeans were ripped at the knees, but his shoes… his shoes were pristine. White high-tops of a very designer brand.
Kid had priorities I supposed.
#Rev (GearShark #2) Page 10
