Hard Love (Trophy Boyfriends #3) - Sara Ney Page 0,82

in silence. Then,

“My parents will be coming down this weekend for the game on Saturday.”

I glance up, butter knife in hand. “Oh?”

Tripp shifts uncomfortably in his chair, squeezing the brim of his blue baseball cap, shaping it. Tips his head from side to side, cracking his neck.

“Yeah. Um…” He fidgets, tearing at the corner of his napkin to keep his hands busy. “Want to come?”

Do I want to come? “To the game? With your parents?” I emphasize that last word, choking on the cornbread in my throat, reaching for the water glass and chugging half of it down.

That feels huge. He wants me at the game and sitting with his parents? His parents.

Like, his mother and father, the ones who gave birth to him.

Calm down, you’ve met them both.

“Yeah. I think I can manage a family box if you want?”

If I want… What does that mean? I get to decide where we all sit? Me, the girl he’s taken out twice and had sex with on the first date?

“Whatever works. I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

He shakes his head. “Not an inconvenience, I just have to let my manager know so he can let will call know.” Tripp pauses. “Come to think of it, my mom’s going to want to talk your ear off, so maybe regular seats won’t work. Then Dad can eat without getting pissed he has to pay eight bucks for a beer.”

I can tell he’s not done talking, so I wait him out, pretending to be focused on everything except his awkward fumbling.

“I…” Tripp clears his throat. “Want you there. I mean—I would like it if you came.”

Whoa.

That admission had to have been hard for him; he’s revealed so little about himself, his past relationships, and what he wants for his future.

“I’d like it, too.” I watch as he eats another muffin, then another, reaching for the basket and sticking my finger into the linen cloth. It’s empty. “Hey, you ate all the muffins.”

“I told you I was hungry.”

The mood is ruined when I glare at him, breaking the spell. “Why do you eat like a human garbage disposal? Do you even taste the food going down?”

“Honestly? Not really.”

“Then save some for me!”

He looks abashed, shoulders sagging a little. “You’re right—I should be more sensitive and should have asked if you wanted another one before I plowed them down.”

The admission gives me pause, stopping my outrage in its tracks.

“Huh?”

“I mean…that’s what Molly said.”

“Molly told you to be more sensitive?” I want to laugh, but he’s dead serious.

“The words were that I had to be nicer, but like—same thing? Sharing is caring and clearly that’s something I need to work on. Sorry.” He leans forward and plants a kiss on my gaping mouth.

I’m so confused.

“Is Molly your relationship coach?”

“It does appear that way.”

We both laugh. The idea of a fifteen-year-old schooling him on how to behave with a grown woman is both absurd and also entirely appropriate.

“What else did she tell you?” Curious minds want to know.

Tripp hesitates before giving his head a little shake. “That’s confidential.”

Food comes and goes and we pass on dessert, taking coffee to go for an afternoon pick-me-up.

“You know what a good afternoon pick-me-up is?” he asks, opening the passenger side to his truck and giving me a hand as he boosts me up.

“What?”

“Sex in the back of a truck.”

The door slams shut and I blink out the front window. Is he serious? Does he seriously want to have sex in the back seat of his truck? I glance behind me—dark tinted windows. Plenty of space on the bench seat.

How convenient.

Unfortunately, we’re parked on a busy street, tourists passing by and a meter that needs to be fed.

I point this out.

“So? We’ll go up to Ohio Street where it’s dead.” His arm rests on the back of my seat, and when he shoots me a little wink, I’m a goner.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Find a spot, pull over, and fuck me on the side of the road.”

Tripp’s eyes are as wide as flying saucers. “Don’t fuck with me right now—my dick just went from semi wood to rock hard.”

“I’m not fucking with you,” I announce boldly with a lift of my chin, causing his irises to dilate and his nostrils to flare.

“Goddamn, it sounds so hot when you swear.”

There he goes again, calling me hot.

Making me shiver and tingle.

Tripp excites me; he’s the opposite of boring, and I think…he gets me.

I don’t bore him at all the way I’ve bored other men in the past,