Page 10 of False Start

“Not really. Both of us are pretty useless with cars, but she’s learning. She inherited the car from her dad. He had some half-cocked idea of racing it back in the ‘70s and she wants to compete with it to fulfill his dreams or something like that. Honestly, I think she just wanted an excuse for a long vacation after she’s done getting her bachelor’s.” Derek relaxed back into his seat. “So, what’d you say to her?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose with a wry smile. “I bought her a drink and then put my foot in my mouth. Pissed her off again.”

Derek laughed. “What’d you say?”

“I said her job was gross.” I grimaced. “And acted like an ass when she said she hadn’t gone to college.”

He shook his head. “I’m sure she loved that. So, I guess that means you’re not coming over for the game tomorrow?”

“What if I bring a shit ton of snacks?”

“You should have led with that.”

FOUR

KIT

After a shiftin the microbiology lab, I smelt like pseudomonas, a sickly grape smell reminiscent of children’s cough syrup. Thanks to the mice infestation in my dad’s car, I’d walked to work, and I hoped a late afternoon breeze would rid my scrubs from the smell. Instead, I walked into a wall of heat and humidity.

Walking was clearly a bad idea, but I’d spent the weekend stuffing my brain with so much information about parasitology and coagulation theory that I hadn’t checked the weather. Or accounted for the fact that spring in Virginia was summer in the rest of the country.

Hot, humid, and exhausting.

The promise of a cold drink and air conditioning fueled me up the two stories to our apartment, a tiny 2-bedroom Derek and I had rented when we’d left our hometown.

Rather than live in university housing, Derek tapped his private scholarships, putting down a deposit on the cheapest apartment in the least seedy part of town. And while he studied for his business degree, I drew blood as a phlebotomist before bootstrapping myself through an associate’s degree to work in the lab.

Now, in just a few short weeks, I’d have my bachelor’s degree, a bump in pay, and whenever Derek left me to move in with a boyfriend or a husband, I’d be fine. Comfortable even.

I caught my breath at the front door, sticky from the walk and flushed. I slotted my key into the lock when an unfamiliar voice from the opposite side of the door caught my attention.

No, not unfamiliar.

I winced as I pushed the door open to find Trent Vogt on my couch.

“Hey! You’re home!” Derek called jovially. He stood at the center of the room, pacing with a soccer ball under one arm and wearing his lucky jersey. “The game just started.”

My gaze swung back to Trent but snagged on the wild amount of food laid out on the coffee table. “What’s that?”

“I brought snacks.” Trent folded his ankles, bringing his palm to the back of his head.

The hem of his T-shirt rode up high enough to see his tanned abs. Golden roped muscle that on anyone else would be an instant turn-on. The thought replaced my exhaustion with irritation. “Are there more people coming?”

“No.” Derek shook his head, gripping his ball in both hands and giving it a squeeze when the opposing goalie scooped up the ball on-screen. “Why?”

“There’s enough food to feed a small army. I assumed there’d be more people coming.”

“Nope, just us,” Derek groaned as a ref pulled out a yellow card.

I briefly considered ignoring the food in favor of a shower, but my stomach betrayed me, rumbling loudly.

“Here,” Trent said, grabbing a plate from the corner of the table.

“Thanks.” I grabbed the plate with some reluctance.

Derek had asked me to ease up on Trent, which would have been easier if Trent didn’t plaster on that try-hard smile and use that smarmy self-assured voice, drawling out every word encapsulated in honey in a way he never did with Derek.

And I’d happily stepped aside in the past while Derek bro-ed it up with his high school baseball buddies. Of course, back then we didn’t share a house. The parties were held in the woods around a bonfire and not my living room, so I had the option of declining the invitations.

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