Page 22 of Before You
“What if we set up JJ and Bria?” Trent asks, and my foot catches on a crack on the sidewalk, sending me pitching forward. Trent reacts quickly, catching me before I can fall flat on my face. “Woah, are you good?” he asks, his brown eyes scanning over me quickly with concern.
I laugh nervously, forcing a smile. “I wasn’t looking at the ground, so thanks for catching me.”
There is absolutely no way Trent thinks it’s a good idea to set Bria and JJ up. Aside from JJ being . . . JJ, Asher made it pretty clear he’sveryinterested in Bria.
“Always,” Trent says, smiling warmly at me. I lean up on my tiptoes, kissing him, catching him by surprise. I should have butterflies exploding in my chest . . . but perhaps the butterflies are as confused as I am. “What was that for?” he asks, brushing my hair out of my face.
“Am I not allowed to kiss you?”
He wraps an arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer. “You can kiss me anytime you’d like, babe.”
“Good to know,” I tease, trying to recover.
Trent kisses the side of my head, and I can feel myself relax a little, the sun shining warmly on us.
“So what do you think?”
I tense, looking up at him. “Think about what?”
“JJ and Bria.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I say slowly, my stomach twisting.
“Why not? They’re both single, and I’m sure he’d play even better than he is now if he’s getting laid.”
Is he serious?I untangle myself from underneath his arm, my stomach twisting in disgust. “Why do you have to keep saying it like that? It’s gross, Trent,” I say, and I can tell by his expression he wasn’t expecting me to have a reaction. “Bria’s my best friend, and she can decide for herself who she wants to hook up with, just like JJ. Maybe you could talk to him instead of assuming he needs to get laid to relax.”
This isn’t at all how the Trent I met this summer acted and spoke. It’s like coming here has brought out different versions of us, and I’m not sure I recognize either of us anymore.
“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry,” Trent apologizes, looking around almost like he’s nervous.What is he looking for?
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I say, dragging my hands over my face.
“Babe, there’s nothing wrong with you. I shouldn’t have said any of it.”
I’m self-sabotaging this, and I shouldn’t be. Trent still fits the mold of our relationship, but I’m not even trying to fit when I should be. I exhale, taking a second to collect myself, slipping back into the calmer, more rational version of myself. “It’s fine,” I say, reaching for his hand to squeeze it briefly. “Do you remember the day we went to the Hamptons?” I ask, staring up at Trent’s kind features, seeing my reflection in his dark lenses. Everything was easier in the summer, or maybe it still could be, and I’m the one making things difficult.
“Which time? We spent more than a couple of weekends there,” he says, and I wish I could read Trent’s mind to know what’s going through his head.
“The day we went to the little ice cream shop by the marina.”
“Of course I remember. You got a mint chocolate chip cone. What about it?” he asks, and I thread our fingers together.
“It was just a really good day,” I say, remembering how easy everything was with him. We walked along the beach, and Trent pushed my ice cream cone up when I went to take a bite. Some of it went up my nose, and we laughed so hard, he snorted, getting really embarrassed after. It was cute to see Trent get flustered compared to his usual confidence.
“It was a really good day, wasn’t it? We should do something like it soon,” he says, and I actually really like the idea of us going on a date. I think it’ll help things feel more normal than whatever’s going on with me right now.
“What about sometime this week?” I ask, my chest filling with hope, but I know when his smile dims we won’t be going this week.
“I’m sorry. We’re busy with the pep rally and the first game,” Trent says, dragging a hand through his usually styledshort blond hair. Everything about him is curated, fitting into a perfect, pretty picture.
I try not to deflate, but really? I know football is important, but he doesn’t have any time to go get ice cream? “You don’t have an hour to spare? It doesn’t have to be for long, but I think it’d be fun.” I don’t care what we’re doing, but quality time matters to me.
“I wish I could. I don’t want to make any promises I can’t keep,” he says, shrugging.
“I’m not asking you to keep a promise, I’m asking you to go on a date with me?”
Trent tilts his head in confusion, but I don’t know what there is to be confused about? “I have football. You’re not seriously upset with me about this, are you?”
