Page 16 of Healing Hearts
Maybe I should go on one of those apps that’s just about sex. Hook up with a couple guys, get this current flushed out of my system.
But I’ve always been terrible at casual sex. The few times I tried it in college before I met Omar, I always felt shitty afterwards, no matter how good the guy was.
“Em, are you coming back or did you go to bed on me?” Trent calls from the living room. “We have to at least make it to midnight.”
“Be right there,” I say. I open the fridge, grab the wine, and tip more of the pinot grigio into my glass.
Thankfully, the second glass of wine seems to loosen me up enough that the casual touches and teasing glances Trent sends my way don’t get misinterpreted as anything more than flirty friendship while we play board games, watch the ball drop, and then get ready for bed.
Once we’re upstairs, I show Trent the guest bedroom, and then I make a beeline for my own room to avoid any temptation. I’ve just gotten into my nightgown when there’s a light knock on my bedroom door.
“Em? Have you got a spare toothbrush?” Trent says through the wooden door. “I hate going to bed with gross teeth.”
“Just a second,” I say, and then I search my ensuite bathroom until I find a new one.
When I swing the door open, Trent is there in his boxer briefs and no shirt. Muscles ripple across tattoos. His left arm has ink, but I was never conscious of how much lived under his clothes too. He takes the toothbrush from my outstretched hand, and then I realize that, while he looks absolutely delicious, I’m wearing the equivalent of a paper bag. My nightgown is shapeless and more Mom-efficient than sexy.
“Thanks,” he says, but he drags his gaze across me, and I swear heat rises between us.
He’s so good at switching on the chemistry, it should be criminal. When he walks into a bar, I bet women are sucked into his field—a magnet at full strength.
“Sleep well,” I say, shutting the door as fast as I can without being rude.
I collapse into bed and stare at the ceiling.
I will not ruin my friendship. I will not ruin my friendship. I will not ruin my friendship.
“Roads are still closed,” Trent says when I come into the kitchen the next morning, lured by the smell of bacon.
“I know. Maggie texted me too. Online, it looks like the storm is stuck spinning its wheels here.” I glance out the window, appalled by the amount of snow that’s already accumulated. My snowblower is broken too.
“I made breakfast from odds and ends I found. It’s in the oven. Should be ready in about ten minutes,” he says, glancing at his watch.
I turn on the oven light and peer inside. “You made a breakfast casserole?”
“Easy enough,” he says, pouring a coffee and adding cream and sugar to it before passing it to me.
“And you made coffee? I’m never going to let you leave.” I raise my eyes to the ceiling and say, “Snow gods, keep it coming.”
“Snow aliens, clearly.”
“The amount of snow out there already is otherworldly. And they’re calling for several more inches.”
“Wind’s supposed to pick up too.”
“You’re never going home.”
“Where’s your snowblower? I can battle some of it back.”
“About that,” I say. “When I went to use it yesterday, I discovered it wasn’t working.”
“I’ll take a look after breakfast, see if I can get it running,” he says, raising his coffee to his lips.
“I guess it’s good that today is a holiday,” I say sitting at the kitchen table. My laptop and all my notes are still haphazardly gathered together. It doesn’t look like Trent would have looked through anything, but I’m not sure my curiosity would have survived having it here and not looking if I was him. I flip them over and tuck them more under the laptop.
“If I’m stuck here again tomorrow, I’ll have to call in,” Trent says.
“Hey,” I say, suddenly remembering what we talked about a couple weeks ago. “Did you go see Bruce? Are you taking over his shop in the spring?”
