Page 110 of False Start

I nodded, releasing Trent to make excuses for fleeing the party while I waited on the steps for a valet to bring his car around.

Because Trent Vogt thought nothing about valet parking his car. Or tapping his assistant to make dinner reservations. Or offloading his chores to a cadre of cleaners. His lifestyle was a million light years different from mine.

He walked out, putting on a pair of designer sunglasses, looking like a GQ model. So far away from the sweatpants and tousled hair of the car rally, I almost didn’t recognize him.

The cocoon of my apartment for the last week made me almost believe that I could keep that version of Trent Vogt, but the barbecue made it abundantly clear he didn’t really exist.

He collected his keys from the valet, who raced down the steps to open the passenger seat for me. I thanked him, wondering whether I shared more in common with the valet than Trent, and shook the thought out of my head just as fast as I slid into the passenger seat.

I was spiraling, no doubt about that, but a well-deserved spiral. Despite the rules we’d agreed on, I was falling for Trent Vogt. And that was a one-way ticket to heartbreak.

“Frankie’s going to grab a ride home with Diego,” he said with none of his usual bravado. He eyed me cautiously. “I thought that was going really well. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Your teammates seem really nice,” I said noncommittally.

“They can be a little intense,” he said, pulling out of the driveway and driving back through the high-income neighborhood I had no business hanging out in. “I hope they didn’t freak you out. They’re just excited to meet you.”

“Why?” I fiddled with the hem of my sundress and wished I hadn’t come at all.

Trent stuttered, cocking his head at me. “Because…they’ve heard a lot about you. And they followed our rally account.”

“Right,” I nodded my head, even though that didn’t answer any of the questions swirling in my head.

Did they think we were dating? What had Trent really told them about me? Who was I to him? What were we doing?

Because thisfeltlike dating but wasn’t. And the longer I let myself fall into Trent’s world, the harder it would be to extract myself.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” He turned out of the subdivision and under more familiar surroundings, I could breathe.

I shook my head. “I should check on Derek.”

“You sure?” Trent lifted an eyebrow. “You haven’t even seen my apartment yet.”

“I’ve seen it once. Briefly.” I forced a smile as I scanned the road for something familiar. A road marker to act as a countdown to my house.

Because this had to stop. I had to stop it. Whatever had developed between Trent and me that passed beyond the bounds of friendship needed to end. And I had to be the one to do it.

“How about dinner, at least? We could grab take out from that Indian place you like. Text Derek and we’ll pick something up for him, too.”

I squeezed my phone and shook my head. “That’s okay. Why don’t you head back to the barbecue? Or go hang out with your teammates, instead? Frankie seemed like he missed you.”

Trent’s knuckles turned white on the steering wheel as he eyed me. “What’s going on, Kitten?”

He flipped the turn signal to turn onto my street, and I gripped the fading leather interior of the El Camino, steadying myself.

“We need to stop sleeping together.” I pushed the words out in a single breath.

“Okay.” Trent pulled into the parking lot of my apartment complex. “Sure thing.”

“Seriously. I mean it this time.” I pursed my lips. “We need a little space to make it stick.”

“Space?” He smacked the tree stick into park and rested his arm over the back of the bench seat, turning toward me. “What does that mean?”

“Maybe, just for a week or two, we only see each other at kickball.”

“I’m not going to kickball this week. I’ve got camp.”

“Right.” My pulse quickened and my stomach clenched. “So, maybe we just don’t see each other this week. Only for this week.”

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