Page 58 of Whatever Will Be

“How about I take all of you out to dinner?” Trent says in an obvious effort to distract the twins from the urge to explore danger zones. “There’s a brand new restaurant down the road in Dupont and I hear they’ve got a giant aquarium that you can look at while you’re eating.”

Caitlin claps. “I saw that on TV!”

“They have shark-shaped nuggets there,” Mara adds. “I want those. But with no sauce. I don’t like sauce.”

“I think they’re sold on the aquarium restaurant,” I inform Trent and we lock eyes for a moment over the heads of the twins.

He won’t look away.

My belly flutters.

I hope I’m not getting unreasonably attached to sharing my time with him. From what Trent has said about his romantic history, he’s not a relationship kind of guy. I can’t exactly fault him for that when I’m not known for long term commitments either.

At twenty-three years old I’ve never been in love before. Now here I am falling head over heels for my brother’s best friend. And I don’t even want to pump the brakes.

The restaurant is loudly chaotic and filled with rowdy families. I’m still amazed that Trent, who by his own admission has nothing to do with children, is content to dine on fish sticks and color a paper placemat when the twins push a pile of crayons in his direction. I watch him carefully and see no sign of impatience or irritation. He smiles when Caitlin compliments him on what a great job he’s done staying inside the lines after he scribbles on a starfish with a yellow crayon.

Trent Cassini truly is a prince.

The girls are given balloons at the end of the meal and Mara cries when she accidentally releases hers in the parking lot. Trent jogs back to the restaurant and quickly returns with a replacement.

Mara gazes up at him with awe. “I love you, Trentcassini.” She hugs his arm.

He says nothing and I’m touched to see that he appears to be kind of emotional. He lifts her up and sets her carefully inside the van, snapping her seatbelt on and then repeating the process with her sister.

We listen to the soundtrack from Frozen on the way home, the girls in perfect sync to every lyric. I don’t even need to ask Trent if he plans to stay the night. I know he does.

Trent waits downstairs while I get the girls bathed and put to bed. As always, I’m excited by the night ahead. I’m not a stranger to great sex and have no trouble getting off with abandon, but sex with Trent is just off-the-charts INSANELY hot every single time.

It’s a tossup what I love more; the intense physical pleasure or the soft contentment of curling up in his arms when it’s over and knowing I’ll be waking up in the same place.

He’s in the bedroom, already stripped down to a pair of black boxers and in the middle of brushing his teeth. At my suggestion, he’s taken over one of the smaller vanity drawers in the bathroom.

I stand behind him and pull my shirt off. He watches me in the mirror, spits into the sink and waits for me to continue undressing.

I won’t disappoint him. I slide my jeans down and kick them off. He keeps watching in the mirror, except now he’s casually running his right hand over his dick, which is ready to break through those silky boxers and have a good time.

With a smirk on my face, I unhook my bra.

Trent pushes the waistband of his shorts down. He’s still facing the mirror.

And my eyes land on the scars on his back. They aren’t unsightly. They might be overlooked completely at a glance. But I know they weren’t there before Tavington and I know whatever caused them is not something he’s willing to talk about.

Trent remains a mystery in some ways. I pour my heart out to him with no reservation and wait for him to do the same but he tends to hold back when the topic is especially painful.

The scars on his back are low, near the base of his spine; thin lines of tissue over skin that was once split open in a way that had to hurt.

He keeps watching as I approach from behind and run my fingertips over his back. I kiss between his shoulder blades and trace the heated muscle beneath his skin.

“You can talk about it,” I whisper and to my surprise, he stiffens. I kiss his back again to let him know I only want to feel close to him. “You encourage me to talk to you about Jules. You’ve let me cry in your arms when I’m overwhelmed by the grief and feeling the pressure that comes with being the guardian of two little girls. You listen and you hold me. Let me do the same, Trent.”

He remains silent.

I kiss his back again. And again. I push his boxers all the way to the floor and wrap my arms around him, sliding my palms over his chest, then his belly, then lower where he’s already hard and urgent.

Trent doesn’t let me get there.

He spins around, hauls my legs up around his waist and charges straight to the bed. I’m tossed on my back and my panties are ripped off. He’s not overly rough but he isn’t gentle either. He pushes my legs apart and I feel the hard length of him on my right thigh as he props himself up on his palms, trapping me between them. There’s a spark in his dark eyes that I don’t recognize and I wonder if I’ve said something I shouldn’t have.

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