Page 60 of False Start

“Not even a little something?”

“Nope. Why? Did you feel something?” I asked, the question breathy and my voice low. Sultry even.

His green eyes shuttered into slivers, studying the look on my face. I clamped my mouth shut again, sure that I’d given myself away.

He shook his head. “No, I guess not.”

Even with the air conditioning plummeting the room into a subzero ice box, and the covers bundled around me, I didn’t get more than a fitful night’s sleep.

What the hell had I done?

No, scratch that. What hadwedone? Ruined the rally, that was for sure. Because I couldn’t take Trent’s smug face when he realized that he’d shaken me. That the kiss hadn’t sucked. The kiss had actually been…kind of good? Sort of great?

The kiss wasn’t supposed to be good. It was supposed to be awkward and weird and confirm that there was nothing between Trent and me other than maybe a hint of mutual respect coupledwith a terse agreement to cohabitate in a shitty car for Derek’s sake.

And maybe Trent was just a great kisser. A fabulous kisser. Hell, the guy had enough experience. He’d been papped with more supermodels than a fashion show in Milan. The last guy I’d kissed was a random hobosexual at a bar who tried to follow me home.

I didn’t even know if I was a good kisser. But Trent knew. Or at least he knew now. What a mistake.

The alarm blared on my phone. I peeled myself out of bed, and a quick shower later, I stood at the door, bag packed, but not ready to step outside.

It meant nothing. Nothing to Trent, nothing to me. Nothing’s changed.

I repeated the affirmation to myself and plastered a neutral face on before pushing open the door.

“Hey, late start, huh?” Trent stood in the hallway, bag slung over his shoulder and hair slightly curled, still wet from the shower.

No, don’t think about Trent in a shower.

“I was tired,” I mumbled, brushing past him on my beeline for the elevator.

“So, about last night.” A slight waver invaded Trent’s normally confident cadence.

“What about it?” I tensed, palming the hotel room key in my hand as the doors closed.

“You okay, Kit?” The edge of his lip hitched up as he dipped his head so he could examine me straight on.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I lied, my hands turning clammy.

“Last night,” he repeated, following my brisk pace to the toward the lobby. “I wanted to apologize.”

I slipped my key into the box at reception. Trent’s hand followed, his fingers brushing mine as he dropped his key. Ipulled my hand back as if burned, a tiny jolt of electricity racing through my body and reminding me of the night before.

“I shouldn’t have pressed you…about the kiss.”

My cheeks burned as I raced for the car.

I slotted the keys, missing and scratching the door. “You didn’t press anything. We kissed, it sucked, we’re moving on. We don’t need to talk about it again.”

“You thought the kiss sucked?” Trent’s face fell, and I distracted myself by popping the trunk to put away our luggage.

My eardrums filled with the sound of pulsing blood, tricking me into wondering whether I’d heard an edge of dejection in his voice. Absolutely not.

Trent picked up our bags, loading them into the trunk.

I waved a hand. “Okay, sucked isn’t right. Lackluster? No. Exactly what we thought it’d be.”

With a deep breath, I sat in the driver’s seat, gathering my nerves before Trent climbed into the driver’s seat. This wasn’t going well.

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