I open the door slowly, stepping aside to let him in without a word.
He looks me over before he comes in, taking in my shorts and thin tank top. My complete lack of a bra or two shits to give about it. I watch him swallow thickly before brushing past me into the living room.
“Are you alone?” he asks.
I shut the door, throwing the lock. “I let you up, didn’t I?”
“The old guy isn’t here?”
“Who is ‘the old guy’?” I ask bitingly.
He looks around the room. Never at me. “The OC from the Buccaneers. He didn’t stick around?”
“For two days?”
“So he was here?”
“What does it matter to you?”
“You can do better than him, Sloane.”
“And I have.”
He looks at me now. He holds me steady in his gaze, his eyes intense. His calm is cracking. I haven’t seen it in months, but there it is. Nervous Trey. Anxious Trey. Wild Trey with so much emotion, so much passion that he can hardly stand to be inside his own body. So he hides inside mine.
That’s what he’s come here for tonight. I know it just looking at him. It’s in the air around us as he stands ten feet away, breathing slowly through his nose. He’s had other women, but now that I’ve had other men, now it’s too much. Now he wants this, wants me.
He’s such a selfish son of a bitch.
“Stop prowling around my apartment,” I demand, feeling my temper flare.
Trey frowns at me. “Prowling?”
“Yeah, prowling. You’re sniffing out the place like an animal searching for his competition. He’s not here. It was a one-time thing.”
“Trust me, I don’t see him as competition.”
“You’re such an asshole.”
“I’m an asshole?”
“Yes, you’re an asshole. What are you doing here, Trey? Shouldn’t you be out with some club whore catching crabs?”
He smiles, pointing at my face. “You’re jealous.”
“So are you.”
“Maybe I am.”
I laugh bitterly. “Maybe? What brought you over here? We haven’t been in the same room with each other in months. So what’s changed?”
“Nothing,” he snaps, cutting his large hand through the tension in the air like a knife. “Nothing has changed. I still want you, you’re still my agent, and we can’t do fuck all about any of it.”
“You should leave.”
“Don’t you think I would if I could? I wouldn’t be here if I had any control over any of this, but I don’t and it makes me insane.”
“I’m free to sleep with who I want, the same as you.”
“Are you?” he asks quietly, stalking slowly toward me. One step at a time. “Is that the truth, Sloane? Can you sleep with who you want?”
I shake my head, my heart in my throat. “Stop.”
“Answer me.”
“Don’t touch me.”
“Why? Are you worried what you’ll do?”
“You’re right,” I argue quickly, watching him devour our distance slowly. “Nothing has changed. We can’t suddenly do this again. You’re still my client. I’m still your agent.”
He’s in front of me, his body blocking out the light, leaving me in shadow. “Tell me you haven’t thought about it?” he whispers, his voice rich with the heady scent of whiskey and sugar. So bitter but still so sweet. “Tell me you haven’t thought about me over and over again since it happened.”
“No,” I breathe.
“If you can tell me that you didn’t think about me even for a second while you were with him, I’ll leave right now. I’ll go and I’ll never come back, because I’ll tell you a secret, Sloane. When I’m with those other girls, you’re all I can think about.”
“Is that supposed to be flattering?”
“It’s supposed to be honest. I can’t get you out of my head. Out of my system. So I’m asking you, did you get me out of yours?”
I can barely breathe. My eyes are latched onto his, my head tilted back to look up at him. My mouth lies open, desperate and un-denying because I can’t. If I’m being honest, and I always have been with him, I can’t deny it.
“Yes,” I answer breathlessly. “I thought about you.”
Trey lowers his head, his lips hovering over mine. “When you were with him?”
“Yes.”
He kisses me lightly. “When he kissed you?”
“Yes.”
He kisses me again, lingering. Tasting with his tongue. “When he touched you?”
“Yes.”
His hands take my hips. They’re searing hot on my skin, burning me alive.
“Are you thinking about him now?” Trey growls.
I shake my head faintly. “I can’t think.”
“What do you want, Sloane?” He kisses me again, delving his tongue inside my mouth in a slow rhythm that leaves no doubt in my mind what he wants. “Tell me what you want.”
I put my hand over his, over his throwing hand, and I drag it down my body. Across my abdomen. Inside the hem of my shorts and down to the direst desire in me that begs for him, and only him.