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Chapter Three

Trey

My mind is consumed.

I’ve spent the last week walking around like a man possessed – thoughts of kissing Addy and the way her skin felt beneath my fingers, so soft and perfect, slowly driving me insane. Addy is my best friend, besides Tucker, so insanity is the only logical explanation for why I can’t stop thinking about doing it some more, grabbing her and pulling her into me until her lush curves are pressed up against my body, and I’m kissing her again. I know we’re just friends. But goddamn, that kiss.

I knew something was off with her that night. She got so drunk, which is something she never does and started talking about wanting something so badly that it physically hurt her – something that I related to so well. I never expected her to do what she did, though. So when she reached up and touched my cheek, I was frozen in place. I knew it was wrong but it didn’t feel wrong at all. In fact, it felt better than anything else I’ve ever experienced. It’s like my eyes are open for the first time in my life, and I’m really seeing this incredible woman in front of me.

Then, I went and lied to her about the kiss. She still thinks that nothing happened between us while I’m dealing with this riot of emotions. I don’t know what I was thinking. She just looked so horrified at the thought of something happening between us that I didn’t know what else to do. And she looked so relieved by my lie that I have to assume she’s not feeling the same way I am. Plus, she’s got Kyle, and I wouldn’t want to mess that up at all. So I just need to push down the jealousy that boils in my blood whenever I think about her with him. Distance is exactly what I need to fix this and get our friendship back on track.

“Man, she must be amazing if she’s got you this messed up,” Rupert, one of the regulars at the bar, says, and I glance up, smiling.

“Who said I was thinkin’ bout a girl, Bert?”

He lets out a loud belly laugh and shakes his head. “You call me Bert one more time, boy, I’m gonna thump ya, and it’s always about a girl, my friend.”

Dragging the rag across the top of the bar, I shake my head in response, and he grabs his bottle of beer, scooting down a couple of stools so he’s closer to me.

“Come on, what’s her name?”

“You know, Rup, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. You want another beer?” I ask, pointing to his almost empty bottle, and he nods. When I turn back with a fresh bottle to set in front of him, he slaps my shoulder.

“You shouldn’t be so stubborn. This old man just might have a trick or two up his sleeve for you.”

“Trey? Stubborn? No way,” Moe says, walking up behind me and slapping my other shoulder.

“Moe! Talk to the boy! He obviously needs some pearls of wisdom from us old folks.”

Moe scoffs. “Speak for yourself. I’m still a young buck.”

Rupert lets out another loud laugh and smacks his hand down on top of the bar. “Sure, Moe. You’re young enough to be his papere!”

I chuckle at their back and forth banter as Moe shoots a death glare at Rupert for calling him a grandpa before turning to me. “So, come on, what’s the story with this girl? You didn’t think we were gonna let you off the hook, did ya?”

Sighing, I toss the rag down and lean back against the bar, crossing my arms over my chest. “Would ya’ll get off my back? There’s no story.”

“Don’t listen to him. I saw the look on his face. He was mopin’,” Rupert says, his Cajun accent getting thicker with every swallow of beer. Moe turns to look at me, arching a brow in question.

“You know, Rup, I think you’re right. Our boy does look a little mopey. Come on, Trey. What hot blonde has got you all tied up in knots this time?”

I scoff and shake my head. “Who said she’s blonde?”

Both of their eyes light up, and they share a conspiratorial look before I realize my mistake. “I’m afraid in your case, it’s always a blonde. You have a type, kid,” Moe says, and I shake my head.

“That’s right. What was the name of that one he met in college? Foreign exchange student, wasn’t she?” Rupert asks, and Moe nods.

“Ah, yes. Camilla. Broke his poor heart, too.”

I scoff. The last thing I need is them talking about all my failed relationships. When I was younger, I tended to fall harder and faster for all my girlfriends and it usually led to our break-up. Now that I’m older, I like to take my time and really feel things out before I make the leap. I learned that lesson the hard way too many times.

“All right, when y’all are done discussing my failed relationships, maybe I’ll be back out here,” I say, pushing up off the bar and grabbing the rag, intent on finding some dishes to wash or something.

“Oh, don’t go! Tell us all about this new girl. I’m living vicariously through you. Old men like me don’t get much action anymore.”

I stop and turn back to face them, tossing the rag back to the bar. “You know, I’ll stay just because I’m impressed that you used the word vicariously correctly after your eighth beer, Rupert.”

He levels a glare in my direction, grabbing the towel off the bar, and chucking it at my face. I catch it effortlessly and laugh at him grumbling on his bar stool. “Get the hell out of here, boy. Aren’t there dishes or something you could be washin’?”