Page 8 of Mistletoe and Mischief

My heart pounds. Trent—the nicest guy I’ve ever met—is here. Now. Of all the men who could have won me in the auction—Trent’s roommates… They called him Mo. He lived alone when we dated.

Could it be a setup? How? I wasn’t supposed to be on stage.

“I... uh... Let me get something to clean that.” I don’t wait for Trent’s permission or instructions on where to find things. I need time to think. I bolt toward the kitchen, nearly tripping on the sheet I’ve wrapped around my body. Quickly regrouping, I adjust it and tuck the end in carefully, making sure my hands are free.

As I scramble to find cleaning supplies, memories of the devastation on Trent’s face the night I rejected his marriage proposal haunt me.

When I get back to his bedroom, he’s crouching, placing pieces of the broken mug into a trash can.

I toss the paper towels onto the bed and use the broom to sweep the shards into a neat pile. “Let me do this. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know how to handle broken things. I’ll clean up my own mess,” Trent says, his voice tight.

The potential for double meaning isn’t lost on me. I shove the broom in place where he’s about to grab the next piece, sweeping the pieces to my pile. “There’s nothing heroic in doing it alone.”

“Says the one who’s independent. You don’t need people telling you what to do.” Trent grabs the paper towels and sops the spilled coffee.

I bristle. “Trent, I’m sorry. I had no—”

“Stop.” Trent drops a soaked wad of paper towel into the trash. He stands slowly and his ripped abs and chest offer a reminder that I didn’t let myself succumb to physical need two years ago, and I won’t now.

Aside from the virgin auction thing.

But now that I’ve had sex—a lot of really amazing sex—I can keep from letting it cloud my thoughts. Can't I? I’m an independent woman with a plan.

He doesn’t meet my imploring gaze until he’s fully upright. “You made yourself perfectly clear. You don’t want a commitment. As long as you aren’t stringing my roommates—my business partners and friends—along, you can do whatever you want. You don’t owe me an explanation.” His tone grows surprisingly calm.

“I feel like this…” I motion between us.

“It’s fine.”

It’s about as ‘fine’ as the busted mug. Unsure of how far to press, I scan the floor and spy a broken piece that shot a few feet away. Reaching with the broom in one hand and the dustpan in the other, my body twists just enough… It’s like slow-motion that the fabric loosens around my chest, slips down my body, then pools on the floor.

With my hands full, I try to stop the sheet, but fail.

Trent’s eyes go wide. He’s seen me naked before, but this time is different. I’m vulnerable, fearful that he’ll judge me.

Bending quickly, I grab the sheet, which is now a mess. I fumble to manage it with the broom and dustpan.

Trent looks away and makes a shooing motion. “Just go.”

That seems like the best option. For now. And with only my sexy red and white dress to wear, the Uber will be a total walk of shame. Oddly, that doesn’t bother me nearly as much as what just happened between Trent and me.

I never wanted to hurt him: I just wasn’t ready to settle down.

Gathering my clothes, I dress, then find my phone and pull up the rideshare app.

“Whatcha doin’, Peaches?” Landon strolls down the hall stark-naked, his morning wood ready for another round.

My personal high from last night is tragically gone.

“Getting a ride home.”

“It’s barely seven.” He caresses my shoulders.

Trent can’t see us from his room. It’s still uncomfortable. I shrug away. Keeping my voice down, I say, “Only one night, that was the deal.”

Blake takes my phone. I hadn’t even noticed he’d come into the room—also naked. “Haven’t you looked outside? You can’t go home in this.”

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