Mrs. Pennyworth walks between us.
I glance past her at Trent, trying to read the tension in his jaw, at the way his biceps tighten in his T-shirt. He’s wearing a polo shirt and khaki pants, every part of him throbbing and rock hard like he could tear out of his clothes at any second and walk naked through the forest.
A scar trails down one bicep, zigzagging, and I remember he was wounded in his twenties.
Shrapnel tore through his left side, luckily leaving him alive… And then he returned to battle.
I remember how Angela cried about that, but Trent had been unwilling to leave his men.
He’s brave. He’s strong. He’s exactly the sort of man I need to take care of my family.
Why the heck would he ask me if I wanted to start a family if he didn’t want to be the father?
A voice cackles within me, twisted and cruel.
Because he’s making small talk, you dummy. He doesn’t want you like that. He doesn’t want you like anything. Don’t embarrass yourself.
Maybe this is all in my head.
It’s not like I can ask him, anyway.
Firstly it would be too embarrassing, and secondly, Mrs. Pennyworth is too busy telling us all about the benefits of hardback dictionaries.
Finally, we return to the parking lot.
Mrs. Pennyworth takes off her red hat and runs a hand through her hair, grinning at both of us in turn before walking over to her Beetle.
“It’s been nice talking with you both,” she calls over as she climbs into her car.
I giggle once she’s pulled out, letting out a breath.
“I know,” Trent says, watching me in that close way of his. “She can be a lot.”
“Has she always been like that?”
“Ever since I can remember.” He nods. “She’s set in her ways.”
I stroll over to my car, my belly rumbling. It’s almost lunchtime and my body knows it, sending me angry signals to eat something.
Anxiety wraps around me when I imagine Trent hearing the rumbling, saying nothing but silently finding me disgusting.
I know he doesn’t want me. He wasn’t going to kiss me. He was just being nice.
“Well, I guess I better head back into town. Sorry, our walk was hijacked.”
He stands close to me again, almost trapping me against the car. I don’t move. I’m frozen, my heart hammering loudly in my chest, seemingly in my ears, moving through me and setting parts of me alight.
He smells manly, musky, his steel hair flecked with sweat and making it shiny. I want to run my hand through the shininess and feel how soft it is.
“Did you get some good photos?” he asks. “Maybe a few of Mrs. Pennyworth talking my head off?”
I giggle, gazing up at him. He smirks down at me. He’s so tall, looming over me, and for a crazy moment, I think he’s going to wrap his arms around me and pull me into an embrace.
It feels natural as we stare into each other’s eyes like it would be the most normal thing in the world for him to crush me against the car and paint my lips with his.
“A few,” I say. “I need to edit them though. Even photos this beautiful need a little touching up.”
“I can think of a few things that are beautiful without editing.”
My heart quivers and anxiety and lust dance through me, joining hands, shimmering, singing that this is it, the moment I’ve been waiting for my entire life.
He leans down. Time slows and it takes forever for him to bring his face closer to mine.
His hand rests on the roof of the car, trapping me close to him, his lips twisted into a compelling smirk as he pins me in place with those captivating eyes.
“You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”
“No,” I whimper.
I’m too afraid to voice those thoughts, because any second now he could break out in crazed laughter, wiping tears from his eyes. Did you really think I’d want you, you silly girl?
“Don’t play games with me,” he snarls, bringing his face even closer to mine, his hot breath shivering over my cheeks. “You know what I—”
His cellphone blares and I let out a bemused giggle.
Taylor Swift fills the air, her pop star voice seeming insanely out of place coming from Trent Tanner’s phone.
He steps back violently, as though I’ve burnt him.
“It’s Angela,” he explains quickly. “She made me set her personal ringtone as this, so I’d always pick up when she called.”
Angie.
Her name is like a bullet fired at me, shattering this moment, shattering any progress I was foolish enough to think we were making.
He was going to kiss me then, wasn’t he?
What other possible explanation could there be?
“Hello,” he says, answering the phone. “Wait… slow down. Oh, wow. That’s amazing, sweetheart. Congratulations. Yeah, yeah. I’m so proud. Alright. I love you. Huh? Yeah, she’s here. We’re just leaving. Sure…”