There must’ve been a knock at the door, because he looked at something over his shoulder, and I could see a frown on the side of his face.
Getting up, he walked around the back of the couch, and just over his head, I could see him opening his front door.
The boho dress girl appeared in the doorway, a smile on her face.
The man didn’t look happy to see her.
He also didn’t look considerably excited when the woman threw herself into his arms and kissed him.
I swallowed hard, thinking this was about to get crazy, because I had the distinct impression that this man really didn’t have any idea that he was being recorded.
I mean, if I knew that I was being recorded, I would look at the camera, at least casually. Then I’d casually look away. The man’s eyes didn’t once stray above where he was watching the television. Nor did he casually turn back to look over his shoulder.
Nope. He was solely focused.
On the screen, the man’s head tilted, his sandy brown hair falling to one side, partially covering his face, making it to where I couldn’t see his expression.
The woman, though? Her chest was thrust out as if she was anticipating his reaction to whatever she was saying. And she was dragging her hand lazily along the length of her lace bra that was just barely exposed by her dress.
She bit her lip, and I could tell that she expected the man to take her up on whatever she’d offered him.
He shook his head, his shoulders tensing, then jerked his chin in such a way that the hair moved out of the way, once again revealing his face.
The woman’s face went from anticipatory to pissed in the blink of an eye. She crossed her arms over her chest, said something to make him shake his head, and then she left.
It wasn’t until he closed the door and walked back that I realized that there was no sound.
Like none.
Why wasn’t there sound?
I think I would’ve liked hearing his voice.
I would’ve…
“Hey there, Kitty Cat.”
I felt my stomach sour when Harlow’s boyfriend walked into the room, his eyes solely on me. I slammed the computer closed, not wanting him to see what I was watching. Nor did I want him to have something to talk to me about. The more I gave him, the more he took.
See, here’s the thing. I didn’t, under any circumstances, like Harlow’s boyfriend. He was brash, oily, and he made me feel like a lowly piece of trash when he settled his gaze on me.
I hated him. I hated that Harlow was with him. And mostly I hated that I couldn’t avoid him because he was Harlow’s man, and they were semi-living together.
“‘Sup,” I murmured, hoping that if I didn’t engage, didn’t look at him or talk to him any more than necessary, he wouldn’t hang around.
Sadly, that was not something that ever happened when it came to Trent Thames.
Trent Thames was tall, very good-looking, wealthy, and let everyone know that he does—and is good—at CrossFit.
The sad thing was, he was probably really good at CrossFit. Hell, he’d inspired Harlow to become healthier and to live a fitter life. So there was some good that came out of him being with her, I guess.
But there was also the hard truth of him being a slime ball.
He could be good-looking all he wanted, but when it came to his personality, I didn’t think there was a woman alive that would find him attractive.
The thing was, he wasn’t that way with Harlow.
He was actually a completely different person, and it was weird to see.
That was why I’d never brought it up to my best friend. Why, despite him grossing me out and giving me the heebie-jeebies whenever he was around, I allowed him to be with my best friend.
Trent was tall, six-foot, which was about seven inches over my five-foot-five inches. And boy, did he use that height advantage when Harlow wasn’t around.
“How was your day?” he asked, setting his shaker cup, his ever-present goddamn shaker cup, down onto the counter before giving me his full attention.
I clicked on an ad on Harlow’s Facebook page, following the leopard print duck boots to a boutique’s website before seeing if they had my size.
They did.
“Kitty Cat, are you going to talk to me, or ignore me?” Trent asked smoothly.
Luckily, before I could answer, Harlow came back into the room.
“Probably ignore you if you’re talking about Thor,” Harlow chirped as she walked up to Trent’s side, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and walked to her protein shaker cup. She picked it up and shook it at him. “This was mine.”
“I know.” He beamed at her. “But I couldn’t find any of mine this morning when I was leaving, so I borrowed yours.”
“Well, you borrowing mine meant that I couldn’t take any protein with me to the gym today,” she scolded him. A normal argument between the two.
See, Trent was also a selfish asshole.
He knew damn well that Harlow only had one protein shaker. Meaning, when he left his eighteen in his car—still coated with protein powder—he’d just use hers, even if it put her in a bind. And, when he finally took the time to gather up his shaker bottles, he didn’t take them to his own house. He took them to Harlow’s, threw them in the sink, and expected her to wash them.
Which was disgusting, I might add.
Because nine times out of ten, that shaker cup was sitting in the heat, in Trent’s car, for at least three days. And let me tell you something, folks. Fermented protein powder was disgusting.
It smelled god awful, and I had no clue why Harlow allowed it.
“Sorry, doll.” Trent grinned. “And I still don’t see why she won’t give Thor a chance to explain.”
Thor was Trent’s brother. Thor was, sadly, not taking the hint, either.
“Give him a chance to explain why he was fucking that girl in Cat’s ride?” Harlow asked, fuming now.
There wasn’t much that made Harlow mad, but Trent’s ambivalence to Thor’s actions made her hot.
And set her off each and every time.
Trent, seeing this, started to hold his hands up in a placating gesture. “Listen, I’m just seeing how sad he is. I know that he didn’t mean anything by it. He doesn’t love her like he loves Kitty Cat.”
Harlow rolled her eyes. Hard.
“Seriously?” she asked. “Thor knew exactly what he was doing. He was just hoping that he wouldn’t be caught. And you know how much she hates that nickname, so stop using it.”
It wasn’t that I hated the nickname as much as who was using it.
Thor and Trent used it in a degrading way.
I wanted to junk punch them each time they used it.
“It’s just in good fun,” Trent tried.
Harlow angrily spun the top off of her shaker cup, spilling gross protein all over the counter and herself.
She growled. “How many times do I have to tell you to wash this out when you’re done? I don’t want it to stink like yours do.”
“Can I not do anything right today?” Trent asked.
Harlow narrowed her eyes.
“The fact that you think adultery is ‘okay’ and the fact that you continuously do things that you know piss me off, makes me mad,” she explained. “I’m sorry that you don’t care enough about me to see that. You can go, Trent.”