Page 15 of Healing Hearts
“You don’t like that word?”
“It’s not one I’ve often had associated with myself.”
“I think you just sell yourself short,” she says, handing me a glass. “When you look in the mirror, you see the foggy haze of your past, but I see you, Trent Castillo. I see all of you. And you’re pretty fucking great. Even when you’re being responsible.” She taps her wine glass to mine and leads the way into the living room.
I stand for a beat, watching her walk away, wondering whether I dare let her comment sink in.
Chapter Seven
Emily
When Trent saunters into the living room with his glass of wine, I have to school my outside so it doesn’t show my insides. He is, probably hands down, the sexiest guy I’ve ever met in my life. From his short light-brown hair, tattoos, and tall, muscled stature to the natural swagger he seems to possess, he commands attention wherever he goes. Everything about him oozes charm and sex appeal, and normally I can handle that.
We’ve flirted many, many times before. Trent is a world-class flirt who sometimes lightly crosses boundaries in a teasing way. Which I’ve always been okay with before—he is who he is, and you can’t take any of it seriously. Lila is proof of what happens when you don’t understand that Trent doesn’t mean any of it. Feelings get hurt, and they really don’t need to.
But there’s something about having him in my house, without the barrier of Amir or other people, that’s doing wild things to my insides. Heat is pooling where it doesn’t belong. Thighs are tingling in ways they shouldn’t. Even his cologne is hitting in a way it normally doesn’t—the dark, spicy scent with a hint of vanilla makes me want to lick it off his skin.
Maybe I need to go back to my original plan of looking for a partner to be my baby daddy, because although I was starting to believe otherwise, it doesn’t appear my lady parts are completely dead yet.
“You okay?” Trent asks when he sits on the other end of the couch from me, which I’m grateful for. Far away seems like a good idea.
“Fine,” I say. “Why?”
“I thought we were going to watch terrible TV and count down until the ball drops.” He nods at the television. “You didn’t turn it on.”
“Oh, well,” I say, trying to cover up the fact that I’ve been in here contemplating all the levels of his hotness. “I thought maybe we could play a game instead.”
He raises his eyebrows and takes a suggestive sip of his drink.
“Notstrip poker,” I say.
“That’s a shame. I am very good at poker.”
“I don’t know what that means in this context—that you’re actually good at cards or you’re good at stripping.”
He grins but doesn’t say anything, just takes another pull from his drink. My heart rate accelerates, which makes me feel ridiculous. No matter how much we’ve flirted before, he’s never made me as discombobulated as he has tonight.
“MaybeTicket to Ride?” I suggest, getting off the couch to pluck it from the little cabinet where I keep all the games Amir and I have played.
“Amir has forced that one on me before, so at least I know it,” he says, scooching closer on the couch so he can reach the coffee table. “Competitive, but not in the ‘I’ll never speak to you again’ way.”
“Which is why I like it,” I say. “Board games in the Sullivan family were a bloodbath.”
“Castillo family too,” he says. “Until my dad died, and my mom had to take on another job. Then we didn’t have much family time.”
I grab his hand and squeeze it, and he squeezes back. When I lost my dad a little over a year ago, I was in my thirties. I can’t imagine losing that connection as a kid, or in my son’s case, never having it at all.
Trent draws my hand up to his lips and kisses the back of it, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world, before letting my hand go. He’s typically very affectionate, but the action still makes my breath catch, and I hope it’s not noticeable.
Whatever is wrong with me tonight, it has to be gone by the morning.
While we set up the game, each brush of our hands, touch of our knees, sends a jolt of electricity through me, as though he’s a live wire. I’ve never been so hyperaware of him before, but I’m also beginning to realize we’ve rarely been around each other without another person as a buffer. We spend time in public or in bigger groups or with Amir, but alone in this house after a glass of wine is a whole different vibe.
“Did you want another glass of wine?” I ask once the game is set up and my nervous energy is threatening to make our friendship weird. And the last thing I want is a weird vibe to spring up between us. Trent has rapidly become one of my favorite people to spend time with, and if I ruined that because I haven’t had sex in years, that would be a massive disappointment.
“No,” Trent says. “Responsible, aren’t I?” His lips tilt into the hint of a smile, as though he still finds the notion funny.
I scurry out of the living room and into the kitchen to press my hands into the counter, taking deep breaths. No matter what, I’m not going down Lila’s path—assuming something that’s not really there.
