months.”
Bishop frowned, continuing to stare at him, perhaps seeing right through his bullshit. Trent leapt up and headed toward the door. “Is Edison cooking? Something smells good.”
Trent didn’t bother glancing behind him; he could hear Bishop’s heavy boots following him down the narrow hallway. Damnit, he did need to chill out. All the anxiety of meeting Wood had given him some terrible headaches the last few days. While unpacking all of his possessions from his storage and getting his room in order had kept him pretty distracted, he still couldn’t shake the nerves he was feeling at the thought of a stranger—a recently released from prison stranger—sleeping a few feet across the hall from him.
“Trent, I’m still talki—”
“Edison!” Trent shouted, startling Bishop’s boyfriend. Edison flinched as he stood in the small kitchen stirring a steaming pot of something that smelled delicious. “This place only smells good when you come over. Leave Bishop and come cook for me full-time.”
Edison turned around with a soft grin on his round, handsome face. “You can’t afford me, Trent.”
“Or you could just tell him you’re not interested in leaving me,” Bishop growled at his partner.
“What’s this? Smells like chicken.” Trent leaned over Edison’s shoulder although they were about the same height and tried to remove the lid when his knuckles got popped with a wooden spoon.
“Shit! Ouch.”
“Wash your hands. I don’t know what you’ve been doing back there all this time.”
“That actually hurts, doesn’t it.” Bishop laughed at Trent as he held up his own red knuckles.
“Come on, guys, we better go or we’ll be late. That won’t be a good first impression, huh, Trent? It’ll take us at least thirty minutes to get to Suffolk if we can avoid any traffic.” Edison turned the stove off and wiped his hands on the dish towel. “I was thinking when we get back we could eat the stew, talk, and get to know each other.”
“Wood’s not that big of a talker, babe, and we don’t want to overwhelm him as soon as he gets here.” Bishop stood behind his boyfriend and rubbed his shoulders through his trendy button-up dress shirt, whispering in his ear, “Let’s hold off on the sharing session for a while.”
Trent stood with his back to them as he washed his hands at the kitchen sink. He needed to think of a way to get out of this car trip. Meeting Bishop’s other best friend like that would just make things weirder than they were already going to be. “I think I’ll just wait here. No need for a welcome wagon to show up.”
“Trent.” Bishop sulked, which looked ridiculous on a man his size. “You promised.”
“And I’m keeping that promise, all right,” Trent plastered on a huge grin. “Me and Wood are gonna get along great. You’re worrying for nothing.”
“All right. Whatever.” Bishop took Edison’s hand and strolled across the small dining room toward the front door. He absently helped Edison into his coat as if he did it all the time, and Trent again found himself looking away. Sometimes Bishop and Edison’s love for each other was damn near blinding. “We’ll be back soon. Keep everything nice and neat.”
Trent almost threw the stew spoon at the door after Bishop left. Who the hell did he think had been cleaning this place from top to bottom for three days? He glanced around the trailer as the silence slowly began to sink in. He went to the window and watched as his only friend in the world got farther and farther away. Literally. Trent wondered why he always paid the price when anyone around him found happiness.
Chapter Three
Trent
Trent reclined farther in the chair when he heard a car pull into the driveway. He was going for nonchalant because otherwise everyone would notice his frazzled nerves at meeting this stranger. The door swung open, and Mike rushed inside as if it was negative twenty degrees outside instead of forty-two. Bishop’s dad loudly stomped his hiking boots on the small square of linoleum at the front door before coming farther inside. Trent sat up and gave Mike a pound as he looked around the empty space.
“B and Edison aren’t back from picking up Wood yet?”
“Nope,” Trent mumbled.
“They must’ve hit traffic on the high-rise bridge,” Mike said with his back to him as he grabbed one of the few beers out of refrigerator and drank half of it before grabbing another.
“Help yourself to something to drink while you’re in there.”
“I see Edison was here. What kind of