He holds the phone out to me, his hand trembling slightly, his jaw tight and his eyes averted like he can’t stand to look at me.
And even now – even when his daughter and my best friend have interrupted our closeness – something deep inside of me quivers at his intensity. I find myself wanting to reach past the phone and claw my fingernails down his chest instead, dragging through the fabric of his shirt to feel the solid muscles beneath.
“Hey, Angie,” I say, taking the phone and holding it to my ear.
I hope she can’t hear the nervousness quivering in my voice.
“I got the part,” she yells, voice brimming with excitement. “I know it’s just a silly TV advertisement, but there were like a hundred people there auditioning, and they picked me.”
“Oh my God,” I yell, her excitement infectious. “That’s amazing, Angie. I’m so freaking proud of you.”
Trent’s lips twitch as he watches me, clearly happy – or whatever passes for happy on his grim-set face – that I’m supporting his daughter.
How messy can this possibly get?
“We need to celebrate,” I say.
“Uh, duh.” Angie laughs. “Why do you think I called you about fifty times?”
“Did you?”
“You need to fix that phone, girl.”
She’s right. My phone’s battery is busted, just like so much else in my life. But mom wasn’t able to work when she was ill and my diner job doesn’t cover much.
Mom had to nag me for two weeks to persuade me to buy the secondhand camera.
“So what do you want to do?” I ask.
“How about dinner at my place? I’ll cook,” she says.
“Sounds great. I’ll see you later.”
“Bye-bye.”
We hang up and I hand Trent his phone. Our fingertips brush and tension shivers up my arm.
He won’t look at me, and I’m finding it difficult to look at him. It’s hard to believe that only a few minutes ago he had me pressed up against the car, his lips almost touching mine, like any second he was going to crush me with a kiss.
“It looks like I’ll be seeing you later,” I say, mostly just to fill the silence. “Angie’s cooking.”
“She’s always been a great chef.”
I stop myself from saying, She had to be. Trent and Angie’s mom – Lucy – separated when Angela was a little girl. So when Angela was staying with Trent, she would often cook a lot of the meals.
“I guess I should get going then.”
I open my car door and climb inside before he can say anything in reply. He’s looking at me like he did at the diner. Like he’s angry with me, and I can’t stand it.
It burns and it hurts and it makes me want to scream.
We were so close to my girlhood fantasy.
How many times have I dreamed of his lips crushing against mine?
I start the engine and silently pray that the car doesn’t choke and die, the same way it does almost every time I start this hunk of crap. It’s the most unreliable piece of junk I’ve ever driven, but at least it gets me from point A to point B…
Just as I’m thinking this, the engine makes a sputtering noise and I drift across the lot, coming to a stop barely twenty feet from where I started.
I grip the steering wheel and let out a breath, glancing in the rearview to find Trent watching me. His lips are twisted into something between a grimace and a smirk like he can’t decide whether he wants to be angry or glad that we’re going to have to spend more time together.
I’ve never believed in fate or destiny or anything like that.
But this is a little suspicious, my car breaking down at the exact moment we were going to leave each other.
I force myself to let go of the steering wheel.
I’m holding onto it like I want to break it.
I climb from the car and look over at Trent, shrugging.
“I guess it was only a matter of time before this hunk of crap failed me.”
He nods, striding across the lot. “Let me take a look.”
I step out of his way, watching as he strides past me, my eyes glued to the broad muscles of his back. I clasp my hands together to stop myself from reaching out and grabbing onto him.
My womb quivers and sings and cheers inside of me.
He’s not getting away from us that easily, I imagine her saying.
Chapter Six
Trent
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Tessa says, fidgeting in the passenger seat of my car.
I glance at her briefly as I guide us down the country road, the afternoon sun making everything glisten brightly.
She won’t look at me. She’s staring out the window, biting her lip, like any second she’s going to explode and let all the pent-up anxiety come tumbling out.
“No, it’s fine,” I tell her.
I was right about her car. It’s a hunk of crap, broken in more ways than one.