Hard Love (Trophy Boyfriends #3) - Sara Ney Page 0,68
by a calculating teenage girl.
Tripp Wallace… adorable?
No.
It cannot possibly be.
Don’t do it, Chandler.
Do. Not. Fall for him.
Don’t.
I glance over at him as he rummages through the kitchen cabinets, retrieving baking pans and spoons and a carving kit. Knife. Bowl. Another knife. Another bowl.
As if he does the choreography to this activity on the regular, bopping around the room fetching supplies that will help us with the jack-o’-lanterns.
Oh boy.
Ohhhhh shit.
It’s happening…
“Will you excuse me? I have to use the bathroom.” I pause. “Um…where’s the bathroom?”
He points past the laundry room.
That’s right. “Gotcha.”
No sooner than I’m closing the door to the slate gray painted powder room do I frantically text my cousin, praying to see those three little conversation bubbles at the bottom of the screen.
Me: Houston, we have a problem.
I briefly set the phone down on the edge of the sink so I can pull my leggings down and sit on the toilet to pee, multitasking at its finest before I have to wipe, wash, and head back into the kitchen.
My phone pings, thank god!
Hollis: Tell me this problem you speak of—is this about clothes?
Me: No. This is way more complicated. I think…I like your brother.
Hollis: Uh. You like Lucien?
Oops, shit, that’s right. I always forget Hollis has a brother—my cousin, Lucien—whom I barely speak to. It’s not that he’s not a nice person, we just never see each other, and he’s a few years older and was always following their dad around like a shadow.
Me: Oops. I mean your BIL—brother-in-law. Tripp.
Hollis: Tripp? You like Tripp? Why is that a problem?
Hollis: Ohhhhh, you mean you LIKE him like him.
Me: When you say LIKE him like him, you make it sound like I’m fourteen.
Hollis: But falling into like with someone is so much fun and isn’t it FUN to feel young again…? **SIGH**
Me: Maybe, but this is TRIPP we’re talking about. The man is impossible—I should seek COUNSELING to get my head on straight. I mean. He’s the least likely man to fall in love with someone.
Hollis: I’ll admit, he does seem rough around the edges and hard to talk to.
Me: Hence the problem.
Hollis: Do you want me to ask Buzz to ask Tripp if he likes you back?
Is she insane!?
Me: HOLLIS, I JUST TOLD YOU TO STOP MAKING IT SOUND LIKE WE ARE IN MIDDLE SCHOOL.
Hollis: And I’m telling you it’s MORE FUN THIS WAY.
Me: If you say anything, I swear I will murder you in your sleep.
Hollis: Blah, blah, blah.
Me: Why are you like this?
She changes the subject.
Hollis: So be honest: have you slept with him yet?
Me: NO! We were at the pumpkin patch today and we’re at his house carving them. I mean—I’m carving mine and he’s suddenly turned into Michelangelo and thinks he’s sculpting his, but that’s a whole other story I can’t get into right now.
Hollis: Pumpkin carving sex.
Me: Are you listening to yourself???
Hollis: Pumpkin carving sex.
Me: HOLLIS, TRIPP AND I ARE NOT DATING!
She needs to stop. I don’t have time for this.
Pumping hand soap into my palm over the sink, I wash my hands and watch the three dots of texting bubbles appear, disappear, and reappear in the chat, heart racing.
Hollis: SO WHAT?? Since when do you have to be dating someone to sleep with them? That doesn’t make you anything but human—he likes you or you would not be in his house.
Hollis: Wait—where are you texting me from? Is he standing there?
Me: No, I’m stuck in the bathroom, hence the urgency.
Hollis: Stop overthinking this. Put your big girl panties on, get back out there, and let nature take its course. INTER-course. HA!!!!
Wiping my hands, I flick off the light switch and walk back to the kitchen, surprised to see two gutted pumpkins on the large center island, tops set off to the side, piles of slimy guts and seeds on two cookie sheets.
Did I disappear that long?
“Thought I was gonna have to send in a search party,” he teases, surprising me again with a laugh. “What happened? Did you fall in?”
My cheeks heat up, the telltale signs of a blush. I go for honesty instead of an excuse. “Hollis texted me and I wanted to finish the convo before I came back out.”
Okay—mostly honest.
I spy two glasses of wine nearby, one for me and one for him—this time it’s white, in goblets shaped like crystal skulls.
The man is a contradiction around every corner.
Blows cold, then hot. Pretends to be uncaring, then shocks me with little gestures, like pumpkin carving and holiday-themed glassware.