She grins. “And one time was enough.”
Teepee is a reference to the time I covered the whole house in toilet paper when I was a little kid. Mom told me that, as punishment, she was going to call me Teepee for the rest of my life.
Over the years, it’s evolved into a loving nickname, something that calls me back to the simpler times of my childhood.
“There might be somebody, actually,” I say a moment later, the words coming as though somebody else is controlling my lips.
Mom pauses with her hand on the pan’s handle, gaping at me. Her mouth falls open as though I’ve just told her I’ve mastered the art of growing a second head.
“And who might he be?” she asks.
“I don’t want to say. But it doesn’t matter. It could never work anyway. He’s…”
How the heck can I tell her its Trent Tanner without telling her it’s Trent Tanner?
“It’s complicated. But there’s stuff in the way, too many reasons it couldn’t work.”
“Maybe you should spend some time with him.” She speaks carefully, as though aware of how rarely I talk about things like this. “See if there’s any chemistry there. Who knows, maybe you’ll hate each other and the problem will sort itself out.”
I don’t tell her Trent already hates me. He’ll probably no-show tomorrow at the trail, and that’s fine by me – I tell myself – just freaking perfect.
I don’t need Trent Tanner and his irresistible gleaming green eyes, or his thick safety-promising arms, or his smirk, or anything else about him at all.
I’m perfectly fine with my camera and the trees and nothing else.
“Yeah, maybe.”
Mom looks at me for a long time and then turns away.
“What?”
She laughs. “What?”
I smile. “Come on. You were about to say something. Don’t act like I can’t read you, Mom.”
Her eyes meet mine again, seriousness streaked across her features.
“Just because things didn’t work out with me and your father, it doesn’t mean relationships are inherently bad. I hope you know that.”
“I do,” I tell her, even if I’m not sure, I’ve never been sure.
I return to the table, picking up my Kindle and staring blankly at it. The words refuse to come into any sort of order. They shimmer and dance across the page, teasing me, as if they know my mind is going to be Trent’s prisoner for the rest of my freaking life.
I can’t imagine moving on, falling for somebody else, obsessing over somebody else.
But I also can’t imagine him wanting me either.
Chapter Four
Trent
The next morning, I stand at the gate to the nature trail, my hands behind my back out of habit.
One of the first things I noticed when I joined the military is nervous men tend to twitch and shift their hands, so I vowed to keep mine still, always, to never give a sign I was feeling anything.
I made myself cold.
Maybe that’s why I thought I’d never find a woman, never be hit with this bomb of obsession.
I breathe in the early-summer air, letting it move through me. Youngstone and the surrounding pine forests have a particular, welcoming scent, bringing me back to my younger years before I joined the Navy. I’d run through the forest in a weight vest, my body roaring at me to stop, but I’d keep going, on and on until I felt like I was going to break.
Part of me knows that’s what I should be doing this morning, instead of waiting for my daughter’s best friend.
I should be working out, punishing my body, making it so all I can think about is how badly I’m aching.
I could tell she thought I was joking when I agreed to come. It was in the sassiness of her expression, the challenge glinting in her eyes.
Those eyes… they watched me in my dreams last night, glinting fiery one moment and turned away in shyness the next.
I woke up rock hard, growling out angry, horny breaths.
I shouldn’t want her this badly.
I should leave.
I swear the universe is playing games with me. Just as I think about leaving – even secretly knowing I never could – Tessa pulls into the parking lot in a rundown hunk of crap. The car makes cranking noises as it rattles over the rocks, pulling up next to my black SUV.
A familiar feeling returns to me, the same anger that pricked me when she was worried about her boss finding out about the broken mug. My woman shouldn’t have to worry about broken mugs and a hunk of shit car.
I stroll over to the car, unable to stop the smirk from rising to my lips as my eyes drink in the sight of her.
She steps out wearing a military-green tank top and denim shorts, her calves shaped in walking boots.
She must have some idea of how crazy this is going to make me, her big milky tits barely contained within the thin tank top, her thick thighs tempting me as she leans into the car and brings out her camera bag.