He nodded and made a sound of agreement. “Will be nice not to have a houseful of people watching my every move.”
Something in his voice made me pause. I sat back, abandoning my food, and reached for my glass. “Someone there giving you a hard time?”
“No.” He sighed. “It’s just been a long week. Being the president, hell, being a football player too, is like an entire identity, you know? Everyone expects you to be a certain way.”
I nodded. “It’s a lot of pressure. Especially when you aren’t sure the identity you have is the one you want.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked quickly. His eyes widened a bit. He almost looked like a deer caught in a pair of headlights. Shocked I saw him…
“Means I get it,” I said, casual, as I watched him. “My whole life I lived the identity my father wanted me to have. It was never the life I wanted.”
He relaxed. The trapped look left his eyes, and he picked up his soda to take a drink. “Yeah, it’s like that.” He agreed.
After that, our conversation turned to cars, more specifically, my driving and what tomorrow might be like when I met with Gamble.
Even though the conversation changed, my inner thoughts remained with our previous exchange. Not so much the words, but the way Trent looked and reacted as we talked.
It was almost like he was hiding something.
Or running.
Made me wonder what was really going on inside his head.
Trent
Maybe the road trip wasn’t a good idea.
Not because of brothers’ night at the frat either.
Because sitting in the enclosed space of the car, sharing a table at the diner, and talking to him about stuff I don’t talk about with anyone else… well…
It got to me.
He got to me.
Under my skin.
Deep down where no one’s ever been before.
It meant something, something I didn’t want to admit to myself.
However, just because I didn’t actually think the words to myself didn’t mean they weren’t there. It didn’t mean I didn’t feel them.
I did.
It didn’t used to be this difficult, but the past few months, tension had been coiling inside me, winding me up like one of those stupid plastic toys.
There was a constant war inside me. A constant fight.
Be near him. Stay away. Both were equally hard.
He was my best friend.
But he was more.
It was just like earlier, back at the frat house. He asked me to come. I’d wanted to immediately. His driving was almost as important to me as it was to him. I knew we’d only known each other for a while, but it seemed like I’d been on this rollercoaster of his career with him far longer. I saw the passion in his eyes when he talked about racing. I’d watched the careful way he meticulously worked on his car. Yeah, he was an adrenaline junkie, but it went beyond that.
Drew was meant for racing.
Being at a meeting that could literally change his career just seemed natural. It felt right.
Still, I’d said no.
I’d used the frat as an excuse. Even as I said the words, something inside me revolted. Something was angry with me for pushing something like this with him away.
He was disappointed. Seeing that had been like a knife in my chest. I never wanted to be the person in his life that left him feeling let down. Best friends were supposed to be better than that.
It was hard to be Drew’s best friend.
When I felt so much more.
It was equal parts pleasure and torture to be with him. As much as I wanted to pull him close, I urged to push him away.
I had to be a masochist.
In the end, I always chose the torture. The torture of sitting close to him and swallowing back the emotions bubbling up inside me. The torment of hearing him laugh and feeling it low in my belly. Denying myself every single time I saw his dimple and itched to rub my thumb over the indent to see how deep it really went.
I enjoyed his presence. His scent. The familiarity of his movements and the way he always ate the fries off my plate.
I hated ketchup. But I’d douse my plate in it just to watch him snatch the damn fries off my plate.
I noticed the way the waitress glanced at us tonight. The way her eyes lingered on his hand wrapped around my foot.
It made me uncomfortable because I knew what she must have thought.
Still, I hadn’t been so uncomfortable to pull my foot back, out of his grasp. I don’t think he knew he was doing it really.
I knew.
Oh, I knew.
My heart tripled in rhythm, and my stomach bottomed out the minute his wide, long-fingered hand wrapped around the sole of my shoe.
I liked it. I liked it way more than a best friend should.
When Drew saw the waitress looking, I expected him to react. To pull back in embarrassment or even disgust.
He surprised me. Just like he always did.
He smiled lazily and made a joke.
Like he didn’t even care what she thought.
Or maybe Drew just didn’t understand. Maybe he didn’t realize what she was thinking. If he had, it would have been different.
Even though I’d basically committed myself to torment by proximity just by coming with him tonight, I didn’t regret it.