I called in sick to work.
Not because I didn’t want to get up early (though, who the hell ever wants to do that?), but because I wanted to drive.
I wanted the open road, my foot against the gas pedal, and the feeling of flying. I needed it, too—the solitude that came over me when I drove. There was a stillness that came with driving fast, a sort of mental clarity. It didn’t make much sense to say, but the only way I could describe it was the ability to literally speed up the world around me allowed my mind to only see what really mattered. All the scenery whipping by blurred together, leaving all that remained the stuff that mattered most, the stuff no amount of speed could ever blur.
I was happy—no, I was fulfilled being with Trent. But that fulfillment wasn’t without strife. I still had things to work through in my head. Decisions to make. And let’s face it. I was still beyond pissed about him getting jumped. Maybe some speed would shake loose some of the anger weighing me down.
Maybe the adrenaline rush would give me some courage.
“If I could skip classes today, I would,” T said, looking at me still tangled in the sheets.
I was enjoying the view. Though I could tell he was still sore, he was moving a little bit easier today… or at least putting on a good act.
It reinforced that what he really needed last night was rest, not us going at each other for hours.
It was early, but not as early as I usually had to drag my ass out of bed. The second my alarm went off, the familiar sense of dread about sitting in that cubicle all day with the damn noose—I mean tie—around my throat was too much.
I waited until more of a decent hour and called in. I told them I was sick, likely some kind of food poisoning from something I ate over the weekend. They believed me. There was no reason not to. I didn’t like my job, but I showed up and did the work well.
This was only the second time I’d called off since starting that job, the first time being when Ivy had Nova. I wasn’t even worried they would see me out because I was going where people I worked with never did.
After that, I settled back against T and drifted back into this weird but utterly comfortable place between deep sleep and consciousness. It was the place where my body and mind was totally relaxed, but I was still aware. I felt the rhythm of Trent’s breathing, the hardness of his body but the softness in which his arm wrapped around my waist. Those sounds were like rainfall pattering against the windows and overhead on the roof. Soothing, comforting, and the stuff that made you snuggle in a little tighter.
The second he worked his body from beneath mine, I was awake, fully and totally. Not even my lazy-ass brain wanted to sleep without him.
I watched through slumber-heavy eyes as he moved around the tiny room. When he disappeared to the bathroom, I listened for any sound he might make or any kind of disruption to what he was doing in the bathroom.
I wasn’t supposed to let anyone know I was in here, but so help me God, if anyone fucked with him, I’d fly out of this room so fast they wouldn’t even see who was beating their ass.
Luckily for all the fuckers in this house, no one caused an issue and I didn’t have to whoop any ass.
Trent let himself back in the room within minutes. His hair was of course styled into place, not so neat it looked anal, but not messy like mine usually was. Sometimes I’d almost dare to call his style preppy… but I couldn’t. His overall demeanor wasn’t preppy. He was too laidback for that label.
Besides, I hated labels. Any kind. And I wasn’t about to label my person with one so silly it was associated with the way he looked.
Trent wasn’t wearing a shirt, a fact that sort of made me crazy. This wasn’t an empty house. Who knows who saw him here on a daily basis without his shirt? It never bothered me before when guys walked around half naked. Hell, it was natural.
But it bothered me now.
Correction.
It only bothered me in relation to Trent. I didn’t want anyone looking at him.
He saw me watching and smiled. His lip was no longer puffy; it just had a healing cut. His eye was still slightly swollen but would likely be back to normal by end of day. The bruising was still heavy, that blue-ish purple shade that would soon start turning that ugly shade of yellow.
The Band-Aid on his head was gone, but the butterfly bandage was still in place. Personally, I would have preferred it to be covered completely, but I knew it needed air.
The button on his slightly faded jeans was undone, the band of my boxers visible, and I smiled. I guessed he hadn’t showered. His waist was tight and defined, and it made me think of how it felt to run my fingers up the ripples of muscles last night as I straddled him.
“You have time for breakfast before class?” I asked, still surveying his body. My eyes were just as hungry as my stomach.
“If we go now.” He picked up a shirt lying nearby, and it made my face pull up like the Cheshire cat.