Page 95 of Dear Future Husband: You're My End Game

Trey’s eyes softened; his lips pinched tight as his head bobbed. He finally got into the bed, and she retrieved a water for him.

Trey’s skin no longer looked sickly, but it was flushed and on fire. Maybelle retreated to the bathroom, soaking a small washcloth in cool water and ringing out the excess. She placed the cool cloth on Trey’s forehead and his eyes blinked open.

Those eyes.

They studied her, like he was memorizing her. They followed her lips, the shifting of her throat, the rise and fall of her breathing and then the way the mattress caved in when she perched on the edge of the bed.

He shouldn’t be looking at her like that.

Shecan’twant him to look at her like that.

“So, about last night.” It was the first subject that came to her mind and the best way she knew how to get Trey to stop studying her like that. It worked.

Trey’s focus went vacant with the reminder, but he feigned a slight, jeering grin, “What about it?”

“You can’t do that, ever again.” She scolded.

Trey eyed her, “You’re going to have to be more specific than that, love.”

Maybelle rolled the term of endearment off her shoulders, “The whole possessive, alpha dog shit where you interrupted— a moment and then dragged me out to the cars and sent me home like a child. Never again, Trey.”

She expected him to bicker with her more, tease, but he didn’t. Trey’s head slumped to the side of his pillow, away from her.

“How is Samuel this morning? Not too shaken up, I hope.” A sly smile tugged at the corner of his mouth with his inquiry, but he still didn’t look at her.

“Fine, I think.” And Maybelle immediately regretted her response.

Trey’s head jerked back, his eyes narrowing, “You think?”

Maybelle’s lips pulled into a tight line,shit.

“Mayhem, have you not reached out to the poor boy since last night?”

She fumbled, stumbled, and bumbled for the right words but what could she say? No, Maybelle had not checked in on Sam… Or replied to his last couple texts he had sent her the night prior and that morning. But that part, she would not admit to Trey.

“I have been busy.” It was a sorry excuse, she knew it and by the look Trey leveled at her under the damp cloth still pasted to his head, smooshing back his hair, he knew it too.

“How long have you been feeling sick?” Maybelle asked, hoping he could follow the subject change.

She was a fool.

“Since last night. I thought the nausea was just from seeing you and Sam together, but I guess not.”

If looks could kill…

“Ok, ok, I’m done.” Trey yielded.

His resting arm nudged against her thigh.

Maybelle recognized then that she had drifted farther onto the bed, always lured in by Trey’s magnetism. She needed to get away, put distance between them before she did something truly crazy.

“I should let you get some rest.” She said and Maybelle began to scoot off the edge of the mattress but was quickly stopped by Trey’s fingers hooking through the belt loops of her pants.

“Don’t— stay, please.”

Well, there went all her willpower, right out the damn window. She was weightless, hovering as she followed the pull of Trey’s fingers back onto the bed, deeper into his space.

She really was a weak, weak woman.

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