Until Trevor (Until #2)

Until Trevor (Until #2) Page 5

“Who are you talking to?”

I scream, jumping back, and end up falling on my ass. When I look up, I see the cause of all of my problems standing over me. “You scared the crap out of me.” I glare at him; he ignores me, pulling me up.

“How’s your bottom?” he asks, pulling me closer.

“Stop!” I yell, as he starts patting my butt where dirt and twigs are now stuck.

“You’re dirty, baby; just trying to help,” he says, holding up his hands in front of him.

“It’s fine. I’ll get it,” I grumble, dusting myself off. Trevor leans forward and his eyes narrow.

“Whose sweatshirt is this?” he asks, tugging at it with a look of disgust on his face.

“Bill’s,” I say, starting to walk around Trevor; but before I can make it two steps, I'm upside-down over his shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing? Put me down right now.” I kick my feet, trying to get him to put me down, but nothing is working. Then I'm right side up, but sitting on the tail of his truck. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?” I ask, then Bill’s sweatshirt is gone. “Hey, I was wearing that!” Suddenly, I'm wearing a hoodie that smells like Trevor; my senses go into over drive. “What are you doing?” I repeat, as he pulls my hands through the sleeves of his grey work–hoodie. Oh great, the Mayson logo on it, along with his name.

“You smell like that douche,” he says, looking irritated as he rolls the sleeves up on his sweatshirt. “Are you drunk?” he asks, leaning forward and looking into my eyes.

“I'm not drunk,” I whisper; having him this close and smelling him all around me is playing havoc on my intoxicated state.

“I'm taking you home,” he pulls me off the back of his truck and leads me to the passenger side.

“I'm staying here,” I tell him, trying to pull free. I don’t want to stay, but I really don’t want to go with him.

“You’re drunk. It’s late and I’m taking you home.”

“I'm not drunk. I can’t leave my car here, plus I drove Bill.”

He starts laughing, looking around. “So you’re here with that guy? He let you drive here, and he let you wander off drunk?” I see his jaw clench.

“Last time I checked, there wasn’t a law about women driving; and not only that, but I didn’t wander off. I'm not a dog who needs to be on a leash,” I say, becoming angry.

“I never said you were; I'm saying that if he was with you, then he should be making sure that you’re okay.”

“I was going to my car; I wasn’t going to wander in the woods, Trevor.”

“Just let me take you home, okay?”

I let out a long breath. “I’ll have Bill take me,” I tell him, trying to compromise.

“No, I'm taking you.”

“I drove him here. I can’t leave him stranded out here.”

“I'm sure that Tammy will give him a ride.” I scrunch up my nose, wondering who Tammy is, and why she would give Bill a ride. Then I look in the direction of the bonfire and see Bill sitting on a large boulder with a red-haired girl in a very, very short skirt, who I assume is Tammy, straddling his waist.

“Okay! So she will give him a ride, but I still need to get my car home.” Trevor looks at me like I should be crying over Bill and Tammy, but I honestly couldn’t care less.

“I’ll have Cash come and take your car home.”

“Okay, but aren’t you going to miss out on the party?” I say, looking around.

“No, Mike told me you were here, so when you didn’t answer my calls, I came to make sure that you were okay.”

“You came all the way out here to check on me?”

He shrugs, looking a little uncomfortable. “It’s what friends do; I'm going to be your best friend.”

“I don’t want you to be my best friend. I don’t really even want you to be my friend,” I say, wondering if I’ve been sucked into Trevor’s universe by some unseen force.

He mumbles something that I can’t hear and I raise an eyebrow, signaling for him to speak up. “Can we fight about this tomorrow?” He scrubs his hands down his face. I can see the tiredness around his eyes when they come back to me. “I'm beat. I had a long day and I just want to go to sleep.”

“Fine,” I sigh, climbing into his truck, feeling bad that he came here to check on me when he’s so obviously exhausted.

“Now, what are you doing?” I ask, batting his hands away.

“Putting your seat belt on.”

“I can manage my own seat belt,” I tell him, pulling it out of his hands and locking it in place. He finally climbs in behind the steering wheel, pulls out his phone, calls Cash, and asks him to take my car home. Cash and Nico promise to drop it off at Mike’s by morning, and to leave the keys in the cup holder. I am not worried; in the country, no one steals cars, and everyone I know leaves their keys in their car overnight. Half way home, my phone rings, and I see that it’s Bill calling. I answer on the second ring.

“Hey,” I say, putting the phone to my ear.

“You ditched me, and someone saw you driving off with Trevor Mayson.”

“Trevor’s taking me home. I'm tired,” I tell him, which is not a lie. “I saw you with Tammy and didn’t want you to leave just because I wanted to go home.”

“She came on to me, I swear; I tried to push her off.” I roll my eyes, wondering how stupid he thinks I am.

“It’s fine. I told you, we’re just friends; you can do whatever, or whoever, you want,” I reply, looking over when I hear Trevor chuckle.

“You have my sweatshirt,” Bill says. I can hear the agitation in his voice.

“You said you had some new info on my brother, right? You can tell me tomorrow when I drop off your hoodie.”

“Yeah, all right. Look, just call me when you get home, okay? I want to know that you’re safe.”

“I’ll be fine; just go have fun,” I say, hanging up.

“What’s the deal with you and that guy?” Trevor asks.

“We worked together at the Tollie factory when it was open. We dated for about a year. When the factory shut down, he moved and started working for his uncle, who’s a private investigator. We agreed to see other people, but were always friendly. Then when I found out what Tim did, I called him and asked him to help, and he agreed,” I say, laying my head against the window, watching the moon follow us off in the distance.

“So, he’s your friend?”

“I guess.”

“I should have talked to you,” he says, and I couldn’t agree more. I thought that we were friends. We’d spent time together, we laughed, I could call and talk to him about anything, and he was there for me. Then it was like I wasn’t worth anything to him when he thought I was a virgin. He wouldn’t talk to me; he ignored me when we were in the same place. And worse, if we were out, he always had a girl on him. And any man that came and introduced himself, he would send someone over to make him leave me alone, even if it was the girl that he was talking to. It was like he was trying to say that I wasn’t good enough to have a relationship with anyone.

“Yeah, you should have talked to me,” I whisper, looking back out the window, ignoring him the rest of the ride home. “Thanks,” I say when we pull up in front of Mike’s. I grab Bill’s hoodie from the floor of the back seat where Trevor tossed it, and then I get out of the truck and start walking around to the back of the house to my entrance. I slide the key in the lock and notice that Trevor is behind me. “You didn’t need to walk me to the door,” I say without turning around. I push the door open and step inside, planning to turn and block Trevor’s steps, but he pushes the door open more and steps inside. “Now what are you doing?” It feels like I’ve asked him this a million times tonight, but I can never figure out what’s going on in his head. I cross my arms over my chest.

“What time are you seeing Bill tomorrow?” he asks, ignoring my question yet again.

“I don’t know; probably like eleven.”

“I’ll be here at ten-thirty; we’ll go talk to him before we go see July.”

“How about I meet you at November’s house at twelve?”

“I’ll see you at ten-thirty,” he says, grabbing the front of his hoodie I’m still wearing in his fist. My hands go to his biceps; holding on, I go up on my tiptoes. His mouth hovers over mine. I can feel his breath against my lips. “Are you going to be ready to go?” he asks, and I'm in Trevor’s universe, so all I can do is nod my head. “Good. I’ll see you then, baby.” He says softly, right before his lips touch mine in a gentle, sweet kiss. He lets go of the hoodie, puts his hand on my belly, pushing me back from the door, then he’s gone, leaving me standing there shocked and confused.

I go through my nightly routine on autopilot. My brain is mush from the emotional rollercoaster Trevor has put me on. I shake my head, toss Bill’s sweatshirt onto the couch in the living room, walk down the hall towards my room, get undressed, go to the bathroom, wash off my makeup, and brush out my hair. I walk back to the bedroom and look around to make sure I'm still alone. After pulling Trevor’s hoodie back on, I climb into bed and go to sleep, smiling because he’s never getting his hoodie back.

A loud buzzing has me jumping out of bed. I look around, trying to figure out where it’s coming from. I stumble and almost fall on my face when I see the time. “Crap,” I moan, as I stumble to the door, stubbing my toe on the way. When I get there, I pull the door open, hopping on one foot while my other foot is in my hand, and see his gorgeous face smirking at me. I want to hit him, but instead I say, “I overslept,” and start hopping down the hall towards the bedroom. I shut the door behind me, go into the bathroom, and pull off his sweatshirt, hoping that he didn’t notice. Jumping into the shower, I wash off, and quickly get out. I wrap a towel around myself, then open the door and stop dead in my tracks when I see Trevor sitting on my bed. His back is against the headboard, and he’s looking at a fashion magazine that I had on my nightstand. His legs are covered in black, baggy sweats; his plain white shirt is tight, and I can see the outline of his pectoral muscles. He has a tribal sleeve tattooed on one arm that travels up over his shoulder, and down one side of his body. I’ve never seen where it goes once it enters his pants, but I know how the top looks and tastes on his chest and arm. “Can you wait in the living room?” I ask. His head comes up; his eyes hit me and do a full body sweep, leaving me feeling naked—or more naked than I already am.

“If you kiss me.”

“I'm not kissing you. I think it would be better if we never kiss again,” I tell him, walking to my dresser to find a pair of lace boy shorts. I pull them on under the towel I'm wrapped in. I turn around, raising my eyebrows. “Can you wait in the living room?” I ask again, this time a little more annoyed, but he hasn’t moved at all.