Page 99 of Trusting You
And the fact he’s gaining a fast reputation as one of the best pastry chefs in the city? Yeah, most people choke on their drinks after hearing that doozy.
Once Ash’s ink is properly assessed, gazes slide over to Ben and recognition flashes in most of them. He’s a power player this season, a receiver for the Giants, and, despite only having finished his rookie season in the NFL, already has over a thousand yards receiving and caught eleven touchdowns his rookie year. Ben’s living my dream, but I wouldn’t know it, since he does everything he can to respect my situation, and it’s getting annoying.
Oh, and there’s also the innate awkwardness that happens between us now that I know he’s fucked my sister, and he’s got no clue I’m aware of it.
My buddies, summed up in a nutshell.
“Carter, nice to see you again,” Ben says upon reaching us.
Carter smiles, but since I’m familiar with her skittishness, I can tell it’s a scared one.
“Nice of you guys to show,” I say.
Ash punches me in the shoulder, and I fake a wince. He likes to think he’s tough, and who am I to swat away this tatted pastry chef’s fantasy?
“Being early is for losers,” he says.
“Or for people with real commitments,” Ben pipes in.
He rests against the bar, signaling for a drink. Carter’s attention immediately lands on Ben’s scarred forearm, the result of a childhood trauma he won’t talk about. All I know is, he became an orphan because of it. The press has tried to figure out the source of the burn, but he’s since changed his name, and any court documents indicating what happened are sealed.
“You seen him yet?” Ben asks me after requesting two shots of Johnny Walker.
“Nah,” I reply, shooting back my tonic. It’s the second I’ve finished in about twenty minutes. Being sober definitely means I’m going to piss a lot.
“Where’s the shrimpette?” Asher asks as he squeezes in behind Carter, noticing her ass while tipping up his shot of Walker.
Carter isn’t paying attention. She’s back to flitting between my phone and my face, an action she isn’t aware she’s doing, but I’ve seen it at least six times. I tear my glare away from Asher, working my jaw, so I don’t rear forward and clamp my jaws on the flesh of his bicep and tear him away from Carter like a pit bull in heat, and glance at my phone.
Sis: All is well at casa Hayes. Tell Carter to relax already.
“Lily’s fine,”I say in response to Ash, but I’m looking at Carter. “Astor’ll have her ready for bed soon.”
The tension leeches out of Carter’s shoulders. “Great. That’s great.”
She takes a long draw from her beer.
If Ben reacts to my sister’s name, I miss it, because I can’t tear my attention away from Carter and how a simple few words have brought color back to her cheeks, a sway to her stance, and a genuine curve to her berry-colored lips.
Raspberry today. A bright pop to that gorgeous face. It would stain me for sure.
In all the right places.
Ah, God. I’ve got to stop thinking of her writhing beneath me. Otherwise, I’ll have to be obvious and adjust my growing bulge. And I won’t be able to hide it. The boys would unleash their hyena laughs and call me out right in front of the girl.
The lights dim and someone gets up in front of the microphone. I recognize the bar’s manager, Karl, by his giant frame, wide belly, balding head, and massively large arms. His nickname is Green Mile because of his resemblance to the main actor in the movie. His voice booms out.
“Ladies and gents—mostly ladies. I see you girls. Hi.” He waves and winks, and receives a few half-hearted finger flutters in return. Some in the front jump up and down. “What you’ve been waiting for is about to begin. Normally the drummer to Nocturne Court”—screams and phones start flashing up out of the crowd—“He ain’t nocturnal tonight. Giving a rare evening show that he’s only present for because he owes me one, please welcome to the stage, Easton Mack!”
Carter covers her ears at the sudden thunderclap of screams, followed by a sustained pitch, only contained in its worldwide effect by this tiny, wooden, stuffy room.
Holy shit, I see her mouth.
I lean into her ear, loose, small strands tickling my lips, “Told you I’d show you a good time.”
“I’ve never heard of him,” she screams back. Our noses are almost touching, and I avoid the urge to dart forward and bite on a juicy berry.
“You wouldn’t’ve,” I shout. “But you will.”