The apartment building came into view, and a minute later we stopped at Tria’s door.
“So what are you going to do if he shows up here again?” I asked.
“Not let him in,” she replied as she rolled her eyes.
“And?”
“I don’t have your number.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes. Tria shoved both hands inside of Sasquatch’s Satchel and pulled out a pen and an entire notebook of paper. We exchanged numbers, and I asked her why her ex couldn’t seem to just drop it and move on.
“Beals is a very small town,” Tria explained. “More of a village, really. There are only about five hundred people living there, and my adoptive family made a living in lobster fishing. The whole community revolves around it. I understand it to a degree. So many of the kids in the area end up moving away since the industry is regulated, and there isn’t enough lobster to go around. The number of members is dwindling, and they’re afraid the whole culture is just going to cease to exist someday. I know they want to protect that, but telling me I have to stay home and have babies for their sake isn’t the answer.”
A flash of a slightly bulging stomach ricocheted through my head, accompanied by chills and a tensing of the muscles in my lower abdomen. I grit my teeth and forced the thoughts away.
“You don’t want kids?” I heard myself ask. I had no fucking idea why I asked such a question—it was a door that remained closed in my head.
“Someday, maybe,”
she said softly. “But not at eighteen, like he wanted.”
I had to change the subject as quickly as possible, so I went for the most obnoxious thing that could have come out of my mouth—obnoxious, crass, and far too close to what I really wanted to know.
“So you were fucking him,” I said.
Tria crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes.
“Look, this isn’t exactly a topic I care to discuss in the hallway.”
“It’s not my bedtime yet,” I told her. I glanced from my wrist, which didn’t actually have a watch on it, to her partially opened doorway, and then back to her face.
Tria sighed, opened her apartment door wider, and made a gesture toward the inside. I was so surprised the tactic worked, I almost just stood there and stared at her outstretched arm, but my feet finally woke up and moved me forward.
The only other time I had been in Tria’s apartment at all, I hadn’t really paid any attention to anything in it. I had been far too focused—first on the asshole who was yelling at her and then by the act of will it took to keep from pressing my cock against her stomach while she hugged me. Now that the distractions were removed, I looked around a bit more.
The layout was exactly like mine—a small living room and eat-in kitchen with a little hallway leading to two other doors—the bedroom and bath. Her furniture was slightly better than mine since she obviously got a place that was completely furnished, but it was still pretty bland. There was a couch and a coffee table sitting across from a bookshelf with a little television with rabbit ears on top of it. The rest of the shelf was covered in books—both novels and textbooks, as far as I could tell. Next to the couch, there was a little table with a butt-ugly lamp sitting on it.
“You want something to drink?” Tria asked. “Um…I’ve only got water and some apple juice, though.”
I couldn’t stop the smile.
“Apple juice is awesome,” I said. Tria walked into the kitchen to pour two glasses while I sat on the couch and looked around. There weren’t any decorations or anything on the wall, but I did notice a small, framed picture of a guy in an army uniform standing with a little girl, who I figured was Tria.
I didn’t get a chance to take a closer look before Tria came back with the drinks, which she set on little cardboard coasters. She stood there nervously for a moment before sitting beside me and curling her legs up underneath her.
“So?” I asked as I leaned an elbow on the back of the couch. I tilted my body toward her, pulling my leg up slightly and nearly matching her posture. I leaned my head down onto my open hand.
“I have no idea why I’m talking to you about this,” Tria said.
“Apple juice will make you say all kinds of crazy shit,” I informed her. I gave her a very serious look. “Chug that glass, and it’ll all just flow right out.”
“The story or the juice?”
“Both.”
Tria snickered and rubbed her hands against her thighs. I waited somewhat patiently as she seemed to gather herself.
“This is so embarrassing,” Tria said as she dropped her head into her hands. “We tried, okay? It just didn’t really work.”