Ten Tiny Breaths (Ten Tiny Breaths #1)

Trent: You’re vulnerable and I’m taking advantage of you by letting things like what just happened, happen.

I groan with exasperation.

Me: Please, take advantage of me! I’m giving you permission!

Trent doesn’t answer. I sigh, deciding to treat his concerns seriously.

Me: I’m fine, Trent. Believe me. I’m better than I’ve been in a long time.

Trent: No. You just think you are. I think you’re suffering from a serious case of P.T.S.D.

I fling the phone against the wall that adjoins our apartment, seething. Metal and plastic sails through the air as the thing shatters.

Everyone wants to be my personal fucking shrink.

***

I’m astonished when Trent show up at Penny’s that night. More so, I can’t keep my mouth from hanging agape as I watch him sit down by the bar, just like he did before, acting like we hadn’t just had a nuclear-sized fight. I raise my chin a notch. I’m not going to apologize. No damn way.

A box with a red bow magically appears in front of him. He slides it forward, his dimples forcing a smile on my face whether I like it or not. Dammit! Of course I go over and open it. Who doesn’t love presents?

Inside is a brand new iPhone.

“Wasn’t hard to figure out what that loud bang was against my wall when you didn’t answer my next text,” Trent murmurs, an amused smirk on his face.

“Oh yeah?” I slide my tongue over my teeth, acting all cool and unaffected. Inside, I’m not. I’m so not unaffected by Trent right now. “What’d the text say?”

He shrugs, now feigning indifference as well. I know he’s faking it too. That twinkle in his eye is his only tell. “I guess you’ll never know.” He exhales deeply as he holds my stare. It’s like the afternoon tension doesn’t exist anymore, and I don’t see how that’s possible because I still feel it. He’s up to something. I can’t figure out what though.

“Just think, our afternoon could have gone a completely different direction had you not smashed your phone to smithereens,” he says, sliding a straw into his mouth. His eyes blaze with intentions.

Inside, it’s all I can do to stop myself from leaping over the bar and into Trent’s lap. That’s inside. Outside, I’m cool as a November chill. “What can I say? I have anger management issues.”

His mouth twists as if in thought. “You need to find a way to deal with those issues.”

“I have. It’s called pounding on a bag of sand.”

His brow arches playfully. “Clearly it’s not working well.”

I lean forward over the bar, resting my body on my elbows. “And what would you suggest I pound on instead?”

“Jeez! Would you two just give in already?” Storm calls out with mock exasperation, a martini shaker in her hand.

I hadn’t realized how loud we were. Glancing to my other side, I see Nate’s smirk, and I instantly flush. I don’t know why, but I do. I’m always flushing lately.

Trent doesn’t answer Storm or me, taking a long sip of his soda instead, and I delude myself into thinking that maybe he’s finally given up on pushing me to deal with things long since buried. Maybe this can work.

***

Over the next few weeks, Trent holds true to his word about making me smile. Unfortunately, he also holds true to his word about taking things slow. Only this time, he actually does. After those few short and hot slip ups, the true unrestrained Trent is chained and the one who occupies my time gives nothing more than guarded kisses and hand-holding.

It’s enough to drive me insane.

Each day, I hop onto Trent’s bike, wrap my arms around his chest, and I let him whisk me off. It always starts off with the gym, likely because he doesn’t want to see me smash my phone against the wall again. I’m finding now though that I don’t have as much desire and focus to run through my drills with him around. Those take attention and determination and, let’s face it, bottled up rage. Trent has a dousing effect on my rage. We end up goofing off and play fighting until we get dirty looks and decide to leave. By that point I’m usually so hot and bothered by Trent though that I’m okay with jumping into the shower. I keep hoping he’ll lose his way and stumble in there. He never does.

The rest of the days are busy. Paint ball fighting, bike riding along the Miami boardwalk, a Dolphin’s game, restaurants, cafés, ice cream shops, a Frisbee league. It’s like Trent’s got a “Make Kacey Smile,” itinerary and it’s jam-packed. By the time I get to work each night, my face hurts from so much smiling.

“Don’t you ever work?” I ask him one day as we walk down the sidewalk.

He shrugs, squeezing my hand. “I’m between contracts.”

“Huh. Well, aren’t you worried about paying bills? You’re blowing all your money on me.”

“Nope.”

“Must be nice,” I mutter dryly, but I don’t press any further. I just walk down the sidewalk, hand in hand with Trent, letting my body absorb the sun’s warmth.

And I smile.

***

“Why don’t you stay until close?” I murmur quietly.

Trent’s hand slides across his mouth as if considering how to answer me. “Because then I’ll have to walk you home.”

I frown, slightly taken aback. “Yeah, I can see how that would be horrific.”

“No, you don’t get it.” His gaze slides to my mouth before lifting back to my eyes. “What do you think will happen when I walk you to your door?”

I shrug, catching his drift but playing dumb, just so I can see what he says. He stands up and leans in, reaching to grab an olive. When he looks at me again, his eyes have that smoldering quality to them that he can’t hide from me completely, the one that makes my knees wobble.

“At home, we don’t have Godzilla chaperoning us.” His head jerks toward Nate, who’s ever watchful of Trent’s close proximity.

I put on my best confused look. “Well Nate’s not there when you walk me to my door during the day.”

He chuckles softly. Yup, there they are. Those deep dimples that I want to run my tongue against. “You know you’re shit at playing dumb.”

I press my lips together to keep from smiling.

Trent leans further against the bar, close enough that I’m the only one who can hear him. “I have a hard enough time keeping my hands off you all day. I wouldn’t stand a chance, knowing you’re about to get undressed and climb into bed.”

I brace myself against the counter as I watch him slide an olive in his mouth, his tongue curling around it.

So he wants to play dirty …

For the next week, I scavenge Storm’s closet, picking the shortest, tightest, outfits I can find. I almost take her sequined stage outfits one night. I make a point of leaning over in front of Trent often throughout the night, swaying my hips to the music. When Ben makes a snide comment about me getting ready for my first stage performance, I nail him in the solar plexus and continue on my way, earning a deep roar of laughter from Nate.

But I can’t seem to break this new resolve Trent has. He only watches, resting on his elbows with his hands folded in front of me. Watching me move. Watching me flirt with him. Watching me turn myself into a hot mess over him.

Finally, one night, I lose it.

“Dammit, Trent!” I snap, slamming his club soda on the counter in front of him. He looks taken aback. “What the hell do I have to do to get your attention? Do I need to get up there?” I throw an arm toward the stage.