He gently squeezes my wrist once, then releases me to sit up in the water. Bobbing in the water in front of me, he tilts his head this way and that, considering me with a thoughtful look.
“Are you a virgin?”
Jesus. Heat creeps up my neck and down my chest, no doubt painting me with shyness. “No.”
Trevor hums again, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at me, then disappears under the water. He pushes the hair from his eyes when he resurfaces. The water moves out of the way between us until he’s standing right before me, on his tiptoes, almost close enough to touch.
“You’re a sweetheart, Beau Callahan.” Then he kisses the apple of my cheek. His lips linger against my skin for just a moment, soft and warm. I strangely feel like I’ve lost something when he pulls away.
We swim for a little while longer before climbing out. The sun’s just starting to hit the edge of the tree line, telling me sunset is only a few hours away. Trevor yawns, stifling it against his forearm. Time to get him home. My home. Back to my house. Jesus.
Hidden from each other on either side of the truck, we shuck out of our wet underwear, tugging our clothes back on.
Once back at the house, I head straight to the kitchen to cook dinner. I’m definitely one of those guys that’s better at the grill than anything with the stove. So, I pull out the chicken breasts I marinated the other day and head out to the back porch. Trevor disappears into his room, so I let him be.
The back porch of my house is heaven. It’s built up to the level with the house and the wood is stained dark. I’ve got a grill, a couple of cozy chairs, a hammock, and a great view of the forest line behind the house. Birds sing loudly in the spring and summer. Deer even sometimes visit my yard. The porch is my little oasis. I don’t bring many people here, but I oddly don’t mind Trevor being in my space.
He's a quiet, gentle guy.
A few moments later, the soft padding of Trevor’s feet reaches my ears.
“What’s for dinner, handsome?”
“Grilled chicken with rice and vegetables.”
The chicken hits the grill with a sizzle, along with the skewered vegetables. My gaze lands on Trevor leaning against the railing at the end of the porch, looking out at the forest. He’s changed into an old T-shirt and sweatpants, the comfy sort ofclothes that only people that know him really well probably see him in. My chest puffs out a little bit at that thought.
His cell phone vibrates in his pocket, and his face visibly hardens. With a grimace, he pads barefoot out into the yard, to stand under a large live oak. As the food cooks, I watch him carry on a conversation that has the lines of his body poised for attack. He doesn’t speak much, mostly listening intently. By the end of the conversation the man looks borderline sick.
“All good?” I snap the tongs before flipping the chicken.
Trevor waves his hand dismissively. “Nothing important.”
I highly doubt that’s true, but I don’t know him well enough to argue. Not that I’d argue anyway. He leans heavily on the railing, staring so hard out at the yard that I’m mildly worried he’ll catch my grass on fire. But the tension slowly leaves him as I finish cooking. His head tilts up towards the sky and he closes his eyes with a gentle, uninhibited smile.
Sometimes words leave me. Almost like I used up my quota of them for the day. Trevor doesn’t press me for more than I can give him. We eat dinner in companionable silence, just Trevor making happy noises when he takes small bites of the chicken. I bite back a smile. Silent through the entire meal, it’s as if he hasn’t had a home-cooked meal in years. Maybe he hasn’t.
After dinner, we stand quietly at the sink, passing dishes back and forth until every dish is sparkling. Trevor sends a soft, contented smile my way before letting out a jaw-cracking yawn.
“Night, Beau.” He lifts up on his toes to softly kiss my cheek. “See you in the morning.”
“Night,” I say quietly.
He disappears into the guest room, leaving me with what can only be described as a stampede of buffalo running wild in my chest. Only once I’m alone do I press my fingers to where his plush lips grazed my cheek, wishing to carry the feel of his lips into my dreams with me.
CHAPTER FOUR
TREVOR
Too-bright afternoon sunlight accosts me when I finally blink awake. Shit. I definitely slept in. Hurriedly grabbing my phone off the nightstand, I ignore the texts in the boyfriends’ group chat. It’s almost noon. Double shit. The rehearsal dinner is tonight. I can’t believe I slept for over twelve hours.
The phone call from my mother last night had been enough to send my brain into insomnia territory. But then Beau had been so endearing with dinner, so sweet, that her intended manipulation had turned into more of a sizzling frustration than a worrying demand. Usually, a call from one of my parents can cause my anxiety to spike, sending me into a few days of sleepless nights, but not this time.
Last night I lay in bed, just listening to the sound of the cicadas beyond the window. Only the random hoot of an owl broke through the sound of the loud insects. The scent of cedar lingers on the sheets, like they’d been tucked away waiting for use. Somehow it had all culminated to lull me into a peaceful sleep. Finally, I’d conked out at midnight, but I’d assumed I’d wake up in the morning aching for a workout.
Obviously not.
Rushing through my morning, well, myafternoonroutine, I decide to let my hair air dry around my shoulders. Quiet fills the house. I softly pad through the house, peering into rooms, but don’t find Beau.
