“Thanks for bringing me, even if I annoyed you.”
He pins me with a small smile as we pull out of the parking lot. “Not at all. Everyone loves you. Especially Cam,” he adds, his expression unreadable.
I snort at the memory of Cameron flirting with me when we reconvened at the food bank. He strategically positioned himself next to me while we unloaded the items. And while he’s a little too bro-ish for my liking, the attention was kind of nice, especially after my shit dating luck. “You think?”
“You make everyone smile.”
I beam like a child in a toy store. I shouldn’t get such a soaring high from a simple statement of affirmation from a friend, but I do. Mel and Crystal compliment me on the regular. But praise from noncomplimentary Trevor feels hard-earned, like junk food after working out versus junk food after lazing about on the couch all day.
We drive a couple of miles in silence. The steady squeak of the wipers nearly soothes me to sleep. With every swipe, my lids grow heavier. When my eyes close completely, his voice snaps me back to full consciousness. “My mom died when I was thirteen. In a fire.”
I pause for a moment, so as to ensure I’ve heard him correctly. “What?”
“You keep asking why I became a firefighter.”
I sit up in my seat, pin straight, cracking the window for some much-needed fresh air.
His face flickers with annoyance when I open the window, so I savor the blast of cold air for a brief few seconds before closing it again. “Summer going into eighth grade. My mom was napping inside after a double shift. My brother and I were outside with some neighborhood kids. A woman who lived in our building came running out, screaming about smoke in the building. The fire had blocked all the exits. Two firemen had to go in through the window to get her. She passed away later that day from the smoke inhalation.” His tone is emotionless, but his face is pained.
My gut clenches, unable to imagine. “I’m so sorry, Trevor.”
“It’s fine. It was a long time ago,” he says, his eyes on the road. “Logan and I went to live with my grandma after that. The one who taught me how to bake.”
“Were you close with your grandma?”
“Yeah. That woman was no bullshit. We always joke that Angie is her reincarnation,” he says with a small smile. “When she took us in, she had to take on another job to support us. She was always worried about how we’d get through the month. I felt like shit about that. Sometimes I wonder if it’s our fault she kicked the bucket early, you know? Like maybe all the extra stress caused it.”
“I doubt it. And even if it did, I can guarantee she wouldn’t have had it any other way.” I pause, turning toward him. “That must have been really hard. Losing your mom and your grandma.”
“It was,” he admits. “Anyway, was that personal enough for you?”
“I don’t want you to feel pressured to talk about things like that. Especially if it upsets you,” I tell him. I let a few beats of silence go by before speaking again. “Congratulations, by the way, on your promotion. Scotty told me.”
“Thank you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Just didn’t think it was that big a deal,” he says.
“It is to me,” I assure him. I rest my head back against the seat, cursing myself for the shit timing of my fatigue.
“You get one more question, and then no more talking, okay?”
This perks me up momentarily. I rack my brain for a juicy one. “Okay. If you could picture any woman to break your non-relationship spell, what would she be like? Hypothetically.”
He goes stiff as a board. “I dunno, Tara. What do you think she’d be like?”
My lids close as I visualize. “Hmm . . . Beautiful. Probably the type who would watch sports with you. Eat a burger. Drink beer. One of the not-like-the-other-girls.”
“What’s that?”
“Exactly how it sounds. The girl who doesn’t care what anyone thinks. Isn’t needy or anything like a stereotypical girl. Like Seth’s girlfriend, Ingrid.”
He chuckles. “So . . . the opposite of you.”
“Basically. You know how in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, supercool Kate Hudson pretends to be a clingy, emotional, fern-obsessed girl to make Matt McConaughey dump her?”
He clears his throat. “No, but go on.”
“I always hated that movie because that girl was me. I was the annoying one that no guy would ever want to date. Anyway, I think that’s the kind of girl you’d be with. The cool one.”
He watches me for a moment. “You’re tired. You should take a nap. Save your voice before you talk my ear off,” he instructs, giving me an unexpected yet gentle squeeze on the forearm.
I can barely even register the delicious scorch of his touch. His eyes ensnare mine unexpectedly, and for some reason, I can’t look away. His small smile is the last thing I see before my lids flutter to a close.
* * *
? ? ?
ALL I SEE is beige. The fabric of the interior ceiling of Trevor’s car. There’s a hot sensation pooling in between my thighs, countering the coolness of the car window soothing the side of my head.
My skin is a live wire. Tingly, pulsing, and sensitive to the tiniest gust of air. Soft lips dance past my chest, making a trail down the valley of my stomach. I can’t see his face, but I know it’s Trevor. The tiniest scrape of his stubble sends a ripple through me. I’m counting my breaths, because if I don’t, I’ll surely pass out. And with each inhale, his spicy scent overpowers everything else. It’s all around me and I want to bask in it like a load of warm, freshly dried laundry.
My breath quickens as his lips move past the curve of my belly button, over the groove of my hipbone, and down. One hand gently palms my breasts while smoothing over my thigh, parting my legs.
Somehow, I’m already undressed from the waist down, sweater bunched up around my stomach, and for some odd reason, I’m not surprised about it. There’s pressure in my thighs as rough fingers dig into the softness of my flesh.
I angle myself upward to run my fingers through his hair, pulling in a light tug. He teases the patch of skin above where I desperately want him. Like the pain in the ass he is, he takes his lips off my skin and meets my eyes in a seductive challenge.
“Keep going,” I whisper, arching my back to push against his compliant mouth.
My vision is a blur of stars as the pressure crescendos higher and higher and—
Click, click. Ding.
My eyes fly open. A harsh flood of fluorescent-yellow light hits me straight in the eyeballs, rendering me near blind. The sweet, chemical aroma of gasoline floods my senses as I force-blink my spotty vision away.
I let out a muffled cry. For the briefest of seconds, I think I’ve been kidnapped—until I take in the finger-drawn lopsided heart in the fog on the windshield I drew earlier in the firehouse parking lot. Past the window, there’s a painted number 35 on the concrete wall that tells me I’m in the apartment parking garage.
Trevor grunts as he hauls himself out of the driver’s seat.
A brief glance downward tells me I’m still in my clothes too, bundled in my coat. Layered leggings, wool socks, and boots laced tight.