Wood (A True Lover's Story #2) - A.E. Via Page 0,7

Don’t try to fight,” Mike teased as Trent used both hands in attempt to pry Mike’s off.

The front door opened, catching him off guard, and Bishop walked in with a laughing Edison behind him. “I can’t believe Bishop really did that.”

“Edison, your boyfriend did a lot of crazy stuff to entertain me sometimes,” a deep voice rumbled on the other side of the door.

Trent stumbled when Mike released him, and he had to lean against the table to catch his breath. He was still glaring and holding his throat when he got his first look at Wood. And that’s all he knew of the man too—Wood. Was that the guy’s first name? Middle name? A pet name, what? As tall as he was, maybe he was nicknamed after a Redwood. The man looming just inside the door was maybe a couple of inches shorter than Bishop’s six three with a kind of veiny, muscular physique that a man could only get from years of doing time.

Even though Wood was an imposing figure, that wasn’t what had Trent stunned stupid. It was Wood’s age or assumed age. If all the silver mixed in with the sprinkles of black hair was any indicator, the man had to be in his late sixties, Trent exaggerated. Bishop could’ve at least told him he’d be living with an old guy. His friend had refused to tell him even the most minute details, insisting he wanted him to get to know Wood for himself.

Well, shit. Trent thought Bishop was introducing him to someone he could go shoot pool with, go to the club, or catch an action flick at the cinema. But Wood didn’t look like a man who was into any of that. What could the two of them possibly have in common? Trent didn’t have an AARP membership to gripe about. They couldn’t exactly sit around and dish about the good ole days before Google, or where the fuck Chia Pets went. Trent wasn’t sure he was even born when Wood was growing up. Bishop should know that being ex-cons didn’t make anyone automatic friends.

“Wood, come on in. You can hang your coat on the hook right there next to Trent’s.” Bishop tossed his coat on the back of one of the dining chairs and led Trent’s new roommate toward where he and Mike stood leaning against the counter. “This is my dad, Mike. You spoke to him already.”

Wood’s gaze ricocheted back and forth as if he was surprised by the startling resemblances between Bishop and his father. “I think I could’ve figured out which one was your old man, Bishop.”

“Speaking of old men,” Trent murmured.

Wood cut his eyes over to him, and Trent thought he saw a slight quirk of his lips before he turned away. If Bishop or Mike heard his quip, neither bothered to acknowledge him and kept talking.

Mike shook Wood’s hand. “Man. You sounded younger on the phone. I feel like I should call you Mr. Wood.”

Wood laughed a deep, boisterous sound that made Trent’s eyes widen. “Don’t you dare call me that.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you, man? Bishop says you pulled seventeen years inside,” Mike said.

“I did. I went in in my late twenties. I’m forty-six.”

“No shit! You’re a year younger than me. You look older,” Mike said bluntly.

“Mike, geez. That was… frank,” Edison said as he slipped on an apron he kept on the inside of the pantry door. “No reason to flatter him so soon.”

“It’s all good.” Wood chuckled again. “I’m not that sensitive, Edison, especially about my looks. Prison has a way of aging a man. I guess the lack of sunscreen and moisturizer has its effects after a while.”

Mike and Bishop laughed as if the ice was broken and the tension was gone. But not for Trent. He had somehow worked himself into a tight wad of tension as he took in every inch of his new roomie. And there was plenty for him to see.

“And this is Trent, Wood. Y’all are gonna be sharing this place for a while. Or like you said, until you get on your feet.” Bishop gripped Trent hard on his shoulder, his dark eyes boring into his. “I didn’t tell him much about you, so if he seems a little surprised or caught—”

“He is standing right here, Bishop,” Trent bit out.

Mike rolled his eyes and got his third cold beer out of Trent’s six-pack. “Great. Here we go. As we continue with another dramatic