Page 45 of Friendshipped
“You don’t have to kiss her megalodon mouth.”
“Now there’s a visual,” Trevor teases. “We probably won’t be kissing while I’m picturing prehistoric sea creatures.”
He smiles over at me and I try not to imagine him and Meg kissing, but it’s kind of like when someone says, “Don’t look now,” so you look. My mind loops on the image of Trevor giving Meg a goodnight kiss—and based on the way I imagine Trevor kisses, it’s a kiss to end all kisses.
I squeeze my eyes shut, which, in case you are taking notes, does not keep me from seeing the image of the two of them making out, since it’s happening inside my head.
We pull up in front of our house. I rush out of the car almost before Trevor has it in park. I’m walking so hastily, the heel of my pump catches on a seam in the driveway. With my purse in one hand and my laptop bag in the other, I can’t brace myself as I fall. I go down like a tree at the mercy of a lumberjack. Tim-berrrr!
I look up at Trevor from my flattened spot on the concrete where I’m doing an impersonation of the superman pose, only my flight ended in a crash landing.
“I’m fine. It’s fine. Everything’s fine,” I say, rolling over from my sprawling position on the concrete and sitting up. I try to gracefully stand while keeping my skirt from riding up. I’ve never been graceful, so I bear a strong resemblance to a newborn colt finding its legs.
Once I’m upright, I square my shoulders and repeat. “I’m fine.”
Trevor hands me my purse and I open it to fumble for my keys.
“Lex, I think you’re bleeding,” Trevor says, looking down at my knee. “C’mere. Let me see it.”
“No. It’s fine,” I insist. “I’ll take care of it inside.”
“Lex, please,” he says with those begging puppy eyes. “Let me look at it.”
I can’t resist Trevor’s tone of voice or his face when he makes that look like a Labrador who lost his favorite squeaky toy, and he knows it. He uses these weapons on rare occasions like an ace in his pocket to get me to capitulate when I’m being stubborn.
“Fine,” I say. “But you’re not playing fair using that voice of yours”
“It’s my voice, Lex. The only one I’ve got.”
“You know what I mean,” I tell him, aiming my finger at him to emphasize my point. “You’ve got that irresistible thing you do with your eyes and you make your voice sound like warm caramel because you know it’s my favorite. You’re like a puppy kissing a baby bunny on one of those animal calendars grandparents always give away as Christmas gifts.”
“And that’s a good thing?” he asks with his eyes squinting like he’s trying to decipher me.
“It’s annoyingly irresistible, and you know it.”
“Mmm hmm,” Trevor says with a half-smile.
“You’re devious.”
Trevor chuckles. “Busted.”
I gingerly walk up our front steps, trying not to wince from the stinging pain shooting across the surface of my knee whenever it bends. When Trevor opens his door, I duck past him to go inside. Why does he always have to smell this good, like something musky and warm and very masculine?
This isn’t a day for mountain freshness. Not when I know Meg will be trying to climb Trevor like a tree tomorrow night. Speaking of timber, I’d like to chop Meg down. Did I hit my head when I tripped? Am I turning into some crazed lumberjack, or lumberjane?
I walk over and flop onto Trevor’s couch. He runs upstairs to grab his first aid kit. When he comes downstairs, he squats low in front of me.
“Let’s have a look,” he says, holding his hand out so I can extend my leg toward him.
“You’re such a Boy Scout,” I tease.
“Eagle Scout remember?” he corrects me, his lopsided grin pulling his left cheek into a dimple.
He takes out a disinfectant wipe, tears the package with his teeth and lifts my skirt, exposing my knee. Then he gently dabs my cut. His free hand holds my skirt away from the cut, pushing it up a few inches so the fabric is out of the way.
Trevor’s knuckles brush against my leg and I lightly shudder. He’s all focus right now, tending my wound. I feel a buzz along my skin where he touches me.
I silently will my nerve endings to chill out.
