“Angry about something?”

I whip around to find Ben standing behind me with his arms folded over his chest and a knowing smirk on his face. I turn back and execute a perfect kick. “Not at all.”

Ben walks around to catch the bag. He gestures as if to tell me to continue while he holds. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

I hoof the bag extra hard, and in a way I know Ben isn’t expecting. I hope it hits him square in the balls, just for bringing up Trent. It doesn’t, but it does earn a grunt. “What boyfriend?”

“The one who’s always at the bar.”

“Have you seen him at the bar lately?” Punch.

There’s a long pause. “No, suppose I haven’t.”

“Well, then, Lawyer Boy, what would you deduce from that? Or are you not able to? You’re not going to make a very good lawyer if that’s the case.”

Another kick to the bag. Another grunt from Ben.

“So you’re unattached again?”

“I’ve always been unattached.”

“Right. Well, then, how about we go out tonight?”

“I’m working.”

“So am I. Let’s grab an early dinner and head over together.”

“Sure, fine. Whatever,” I say without thinking. I don’t want to think.

Ben’s brow arches. “Seriously?”

I stop kicking now and wipe the layer of sweat from my brow with my forearm. “Isn’t that what you wanted to hear?”

“Well, yeah, but I was expecting a ‘drop dead’ answer instead.”

“I’m good for that too.”

“No, no!” Ben quickly answers, backing away from me. “I’ll come get you at six?”

“Fine,” I say, flying through the air with a perfect round house.

***

“What did I agree to?” I ask myself as I stand under the hot water, staring up at the showerhead, imagining another red serpent there to scare the daylights out of me. If I screamed loud enough, would Trent magically appear? Would he break down the door again? I wouldn’t let him leave this time. Not a chance.

I run into Livie in the kitchen. We’ve hardly talked since our fight. “I’m sorry, Livie,” is all I say.

She ropes her arm around my waist. “He’s a jerk, Kacey.”

“A stupid jerk,” I mumble.

“A big stupid jerk,” she answers. It’s a game we used to play when we were little. It drove our parents batty.

“A big stupid smelly jerk.”

“A big stupid smelly jerk with hemorrhoids.”

I slap my forehead. “Oh! And she pulls out the ’roids for the win!”

Livie giggles. “Where are you going?”

I slide out from her grip to put my shoes on. “Out.”

“Like on a date?” Livie’s face lights up.

I hold my hand up to stall her excitement. “Ben’s a meathead from work. We’re grabbing a bite and then he’s driving me to work and I’ll smash his nuts if he tries anything.”

There’s a knock on the door. “One meathead, coming right up!” I joke as I throw open the door, expecting to find Ben’s giant frame and obnoxious grin filling the doorway.

I stumble back two steps as the air is knocked out of my lungs.

It’s Trent.

Chapter Fifteen

“Hey,” he offers, sliding his aviator glasses off to show me those beautiful two-toned blue eyes that I could lose myself in.

I stare into those eyes, feeling the blood drain from my body as I watch the full gamut of emotions play across his face—relief, guilt, grief, bitterness, and then guilt again. I’m sure there’s an array of reactions showing on my own face but I couldn’t identify any one of them right now. And so I simply stand there, mouth agape, having lost all ability to speak.

Livie hasn’t though. Far from it. “You! Stay away from her!” She shrieks, charging forward. Her movement breaks my trance, and I just manage to grab her before she rakes ten layers of Trent’s skin off with flailing claws.

“Give us a minute, Livie,” I manage to say with complete calm. Inside, a torrent of sensations threaten to sweep me off my feet. The door beside me sways and I fight harder to pull air into my lungs as my heart speeds up. Trent is back. It’s as much a punch to the gut as a swell inside my chest. Like a bad addiction, I know it’s wrong, but, damn, does it leave me satisfied.

Livie turns and stomps toward her room but not before throwing one last icy glare Trent’s way. “Hemorrhoids! Remember that, Kacey!”

Her sudden outburst and the seriousness of her attitude ruptures my panic attack like a needle to a balloon, and I find myself chuckling. God, I love that girl.

Maybe it’s my laughter that eases Trent, gives him the crazy nerve to touch me, I don’t know. “Let me explain,” he begins, his hands moving to mine.

I recoil, my mercurial mood snapping back to anger. “Don’t you dare touch me,” I hiss.

He holds his hands out in front of him—palms outward—in a sign of peace. “Fair enough, Kace. But give me a chance to explain.”

My arms cross my chest and I hug myself tightly to keep from collapsing. Or reaching out to him, to his warmth. “Go ahead. Explain,” I growl, fighting the overwhelming urge to throw myself at his body, to not listen to any excuse because none of it really matters. It’s the past, and the way he makes me feel when I’m near him is all that matters right now. But I can’t do that. I can’t weaken.

His lips part to speak and my knees go wobbly. Oh God. If I have to stand in his presence for one more second, I am going to lose all my fight.

Ben appears around the corner like a knight in shining armor.

“Time’s up,” I declare a little too loud. I shoulder pass past Trent, slamming the apartment door shut. “Hey, Ben!” It’s obvious to anyone who knows me that this is all an act. I’m never this cheery. I’m never cheery, period.

Ben looks at me, and then at Trent, and I see the wheels turning. He knows he just interrupted something. He’s a smart meathead. “Do you want me to—” He gestures to the exit, like he’s suggesting he could leave.

“Nope!” I hook my arm through his and tug him forward, holding my head high and Ben’s arm close, letting my anger fuel my steps forward.

Inside, I feel the walls caving in.

***

“You’ve hardly touched your pasta,” Ben notes. We’re at an Italian restaurant five minutes away from Penny’s.

“I’ve touched it plenty,” I grumble as I stab it with my fork. “I’ve touched it so much that your pasta is jealous. I hear talk of a spaghetti smack down.”

“You’ve hardly eaten your pasta,” Ben rephrases but smirks.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Is it because of that guy?”

We’ve been sitting at this restaurant for forty-five minutes and this is the first question Ben asks me. The rest of the time, I listen to him drone on about the shot knee that kept him from a football scholarship, and about how he wants to be a criminal lawyer in Vegas because that’s where all the rich crooks live. I don’t know if he doesn’t ask me anything because he’s a narcissist or he realizes I don’t like answering questions. Either way, it has suited me just fine.

I sigh as I pull a twenty out of my purse and toss it on the table. “We should probably get going soon.”