I expect Trevor to tease me a little, so when he hangs head with a loud exhale, I’m confused.
“No. I should be the one apologizing.”
He turns off the device, setting it aside. Then Trevor pauses for three long seconds, almost as if he’s gathering his strength before standing to face me. I should concentrate on the solemn downturn of his lips, but a droplet of sweat slips from the notch of his collarbones. I watch it slide down the subtle groove between his toned pecs then down, down, down the valley between his impressive abs. It’s not until the droplet hits his waistband that I realize I’ve lost focus.
My gaze snaps back to Trevor’s face as my brows rush together. “Why would you apologize? I’m the one who walked in on you.”
“Because”—he runs his fingers through his hair—“my muscles hurt after dancing with you all night. If I don’t work this crick out of my lower back, I’ll be miserable all day tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, not quite getting it.
Trevor’s jaw tenses, a tendon popping in his neck. “Before the wedding, you were concerned about how this relationship would affect me, but maybe you should take some time to consider how it would affect you before…” His exhale seems to take all his energy with it. “Before we go any further.
My forehead seriously hurts from its pinched position. “I already did. The press will be mean for a few days, and then they’ll move on to something else.”
I don’t mention that Mallory also gave me a slew of tips for being in front of the cameras, like making sure to check my teeth first, holding something on purpose—coffee,a clutch, sunglasses, and always walking like I own the room. I’ll admit those first two are easier than the third, but maybe being in front of the media is like algebraic equations. It’ll get easier the more you practice.
“No.” Trevor looks everywhere but at me. “Because I’m old.”
I can’t help the cackle leaving my lips. “You’re not old.”
“I am.” His forearm flexes with frustration. “You need to seriously consider what it will be like to be with someone who’s ten years older than you. When you’re sixty, I’ll be seventy.”
My heart practically liquifies hearing that Trevor has envisioned our future. I haven’t let my mind wander too far down that line of thinking, but now that he’s mentioned it, I wonder what he’d look like with salt-and-pepper hair and with a grandkid on his knee. Probably like a silver fox smoke show.
“What if you wake up someday and realize you want something I’ve already lived through?” he asks quietly. “Or that you should be with someone who doesn’t need to stretch every day or use a massage gun after a night out because his back is seizing up?”
“I won’t.” My answer is automatic, resolute.
His jaw works soundlessly for a few seconds. “I just don’t want to be the reason you miss out on anything.”
I shouldn’t laugh. I really shouldn’t, but it bursts from me anyway.
“Trevor, I had the opportunity to spend my early twenties partying and trying new things, and Ichoseto live at homewith my parents. I chose puzzle nights, and early bedtimes, and gardening in my free time.” A snort escapes me. “Listening to myself, I sound older than you, practically geriatric.”
“Those things aren’t reserved for the retired. They’re just peaceful.”
“Exactly! Not everyone wants to go on a solo trip abroad with zero itinerary or spend the evening on a club crawl that ends in a drunken tattoo.” I shudder. “Even thinking about it makes me feel sticky.”
My grin hitches higher when Trevor chuckles softly.
“Even when I decided to stretch outside my comfort zone, I put down things like climb a lighthouse and go to a wedding, not BASE-jumping a fjord or tequila tasting in Cancun. You told me I shouldn’t call myself boring, so maybe I’m just an old soul.” I shrug. “Mentally, I’m in my forties.”
His lips flatten into a hard time. “But physically, you’re twenty-six. That’s bound to catch up to us eventually.”
“Maybe.” I tilt my head, considering. “But honestly, you eat better than I do and exercise way, way more. I also don’t drink enough water. I’m basically a dehydrated house plant.”
“I can help remind you to drink water,” Trevor tells me, moving until his dress shoes brush the tips of my socks. “I’ll get you one of those water bottles with motivational hash marks on them.”
My grin feels luminescent as I tilt my chin up. “Like an aqueous affirmation system?”
“Something like that.” His easy laugh fades too quickly. “You really don’t think our age gap is an issue?”
“Nope.” I pop the word, rising on my tiptoes to peck his cheek. Before his strong hands can capture me, I slip toward the weight bench. “Now, have a seat. I bet it’ll be easier for me to get into the muscle than you trying to reach it from the front.” I pick up the massage gun, turning it over in my hands. “Is this like a point-and-shoot kind of thing, or is there a specific technique?”
“You’re sure you want to help with this?” Trevor asks, not moving.
“This.” I lift the massager, setting my lips in a smile. “Finding your reading glasses in ten years. Icing your knees in twenty.”
