Junkie(26)

“Do you want me to make up the couch for you? It pulls out into a sleeper.”

“I think I can handle it.” He smiled at her. I wanted to kick him. “Besides, I’m sure you have lots of work to do.”

“Actually,” she purred, prowling across the room toward him. “I get off in just a few minutes.”

“Sweet.”

“Maybe you’d like me to come help you make the bed then?” She ran a red-painted nail up his chest.

I jerked out of the doorway and stepped into the room. “Here’s a pillow,” I said loud. Then I stopped like I was surprised to see the woman there.

“Oh, hey,” I said. “You bring the sheets? Thanks. We needed ‘em.”

The woman’s eyes flared a little. Then her mouth opened and closed. Good. I hoped she was wondering about us. About Drew.

Only skanks hit on men they didn’t even know two seconds after laying eyes on them.

“I’m sorry. I thought you were alone,” she said.

I made a sound. “Yeah, ‘cause one guy needs all that extra bedding.”

Drew’s eyes narrowed on me over the blonde’s head.

She laughed lightly and her eyes turned calculating again. Clearly, she’d put together we weren’t sharing the same bed since we needed extra sheets.

Guess she wasn’t as dumb as she looked.

“So should I come back?” she asked, her voice low, for Drew only.

I still heard her. My back teeth came together, and irritation along with the feeling I was being poked with a branding iron pushed me across the room.

“If you know what’s good for you, you won’t,” I half growled, reaching around Drew to open the door and stare pointedly at the girl.

She marched out into the hall and turned back, her hair flinging as she moved.

I slammed the door in her face before she could open her mouth. For good measure, I threw the lock.

“What the fuck was that?” Drew asked, befuddled.

“That girl was a total ho,” I snapped.

His eyes widened. “It’s not like I was going to hump her right here in the middle of the room.”

I laughed, a bitter sound. “I’m sure she’d have let you.”

“Trent,” Drew said. The word was a cross between awe and confusion.

I cursed beneath my breath. I was acting crazy. No. Jealous. I was acting jealous.

Because I was.

“I’m going to bed. If you want to hook up with her, go ahead.”

His hand caught my elbow when I tried to walk away. “I don’t want to hook up with her.”

Something in his voice made me look up. His fingers were cooler than my skin, and it felt like relief. “I’m not up for you hooking up with anyone tonight,” I admitted with a whisper.

Our eyes met and held. For long moments, we just watched each other. I swear I measured my breath with his.

Minutes later, he released my arm. I felt oddly empty without his touch.

I didn’t look at him again or say another word. I hightailed it for the bedroom like the chicken I was.

“I’m not up for hooking up with anyone tonight either.” His quiet words caught up to me.

I stopped in my tracks.

I liked those words. I liked them so goddamn much.

I didn’t turn back, though I wanted to.

I was scared.

“Goodnight, T,” Drew said a few minutes later.

I didn’t remember walking into the bedroom or pulling back the covers or getting into bed. I just remembered suddenly coming back to reality once I was there.

The faint sounds of Drew moving around in the next room made my skin prickle. I rolled over and put a pillow over my head to block the sound.

I didn’t need to hear him.

I knew he was there.





Drew

The disruptive sound of a banging door cut into my sleep. Still heavy lidded, I cracked one eye open, mustering all the alarm I could, not even awake enough to be startled.

“Sorry.” Trent winced, walking farther into the room. “Tried to catch it before it could slam.”

I rubbed a hand over my sleepy face, trying to wake up even just a fraction.

“What time is it?” I asked, propping myself up on one elbow to look at my cell.

“Seven,” he replied.

I groaned and dropped the phone back where it was. I wasn’t much of a morning person, even though I had to get up early every day for work.

It was the weekend. Shouldn’t a man be allowed to sleep in on a Saturday?

Not when he had meetings with men who had enough money to sponsor a racecar.

“Coffee.” Trent’s voice was close by, but he spoke low and amused. He clearly saw my resistance to having to get up.

A tall cup with a black lid appeared on the table in front of me. Right beside it, he set a plate piled with eggs, bacon, and an English muffin drenched in butter. My stomach rumbled appreciatively.