Page 55 of False Start

“I’m sure your groupies all give you rave reviews.” I fluttered my eyelashes and lowered my voice into a breathy pant. “Oh, Trent, what a great kisser you are. Do I get front row tickets to a game? How about a night at the club? Want to take me to a fancy restaurant?”

“Ouch. See, that’s the exact reason I date models. They already have money.”

“Oh, they pay their own way?” I raised an eyebrow.

“No,” he admitted sheepishly. “But they don’t insult me when I buy them a drink.”

I laughed. “It’s good for you. Builds character. I’m helping.”

“Like a good friend.”

“Like someone who wants you to be a fully-formed human one day.” I bit my bottom lip with a wince, reading the hurt on his face.

I’d gone too far.

“Okay,” I said, eyes darting up to the ceiling as if a bunch of tattered dollar bills with messages like “I love Linda” and “SF + PR 4-ever” fascinated me suddenly. “I have very briefly thought about kissing you.”

He brightened. “Really?”

“Does that seem like something I’d lie about?” I snapped. “But just to be clear, it’s not because I like you.”

Despite the recent insult, Trent’s ego was shockingly resilient. “Sure, sure. Why then?”

The heat in my cheeks spread down my neck. I pressed my palm to my chest.

“Because you’re…” I waved my hand in front of his torso. “Ripped. It really has nothing to do with you as a person.”

“And you like the accent.”

“Yes, you have a very nice accent. You should be very proud of that accomplishment, even if it was completely by happenstance.”

He beamed, and I couldn’t tamp down the warmth flooding my stomach. Like making him happy made me happy. Like I’d done something.

“Don’t get a big head about this, okay? I doubt there’s a woman alive who wouldn’t see those abs and at least consider kissing you. And then you open your mouth?—”

“Hey now, you just said you liked my accent.”

I wrinkled my nose. “It’s not the accent, it’s the words that are sort of a turn-off.”

Were they a turn-off? Sure, when we first met, they were, but now?

“I thought about kissing you, too,” Trent admitted with a shrug. “Probably because you’re one of two single women on this rally, and we’ve been spending a lot of time together, and…well, you know. Hormones.”

I snorted, shaking my head. “So, I’m a female and in your immediate vicinity. That’s nice.”

His fingers tapped the top of the bench, hollow wood thumping. “It’s not just that.”

“Go on,” I prompted, unsure what I was doing. Trent was a nonstarter. A guy simultaneously out of my league and beneath anyone I’d ever date.

But he wasn’t talking about dating. He was talking about a kiss.

EIGHTEEN

TRENT

What the fuckhad gotten into me?

Normally, I’d blame the liquor. Four shots of tequila at a club and I’d say the first thing that popped out of my mouth to anyone who’d listen. But I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol since the night before.

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