Or hot as fuck.
Same thing.
Almost.
But he picked a strange moment to deliver vulgar flattery.
“Trent, I don’t know why you would say something like that at a time like this.”
He mulls that over. “It’s been a terrible day. Jules was one of the better people in this crappy world. Believe me, I’m damn sorry for you and for Danny and especially for those two little girls. But you’re still hot as fuck, Gretchen. I’m not taking that back.”
If Trent is on a mission to fluster me, he has succeeded.
“Does this act of yours charm the girls in Miami?” I sniff.
“Sometimes.”
“I’m sure you keep a small army of the most eager ones at your disposal.”
“You’re confusing me with your brother.”
“Oh, please,” I scoff. “Back in high school there was nothing unusual about walking into the girls’ bathroom and finding some heartbroken cheerleader wailing by the sink and cursing your name.”
“High school ended a while back.”
The hard clip in his voice is noticeable. It’s possible I’ve insulted him but I’m too tired to play this back and forth game anymore.
I wrap my arms around myself. “It’s so horrible being in the house without her. I can’t imagine how the girls feel.”
He breathes deeply and lowers his head. “They’re confused. They’re heartbroken.”
“They told you that?”
He pauses and I get the impression he’s wondering if he should share this next part. “Caitlin asked if I might be their father. I could tell she was hoping I’d say yes.”
That’s difficult to hear.
Hot needles prick my throat. I hold my breath for five seconds and try to will the tears away.
I can’t.
Trent sighs, a lonely sound that reminds me he knows a thing or two about grief. I have clear memories of his mother. She had waist length black hair, an unmistakable New York accent and a contagious laugh. She adored her only child. Trent ran from the cemetery on the day of her funeral. He climbed to the top of the town hall tower and refused to move even when snow began to fall. Danny was allowed to climb up there after him. Danny persuaded him to come down when no one else could.
Trent has suffered loss. Trent has suffered a lot of things.
We were never friends before. However, we do have a long connection and in the midst of all this pain that counts for something.
I don’t intentionally reach for him.
Yet I find myself doing exactly that.
My cheek rests against his heart and I don’t mind when his arms swiftly trap me. I also don’t mind when he rubs my back and then gathers a fistful of my long hair. Trent is all hard muscle and strength.
And sex.
He’s definitely that too.
I can’t stop the sudden ache, low in my belly, and I won’t think about the fact that this is TRENT CASSINI, a boy I used to know and didn’t have much reason to like. He’s been a friend on this terrible day and right now he’s holding me in a moment when I desperately want to be held.
His heartbeat is an inch away and it speeds up when I shift my body. He exhales in a thick hiss and I like this power so I take more of it. I hook my arms around his shoulders and press close.
Extremely close.
Close enough so he can feel my breasts and realize that I’m no longer timid little Gretchen. I’m all grown up and I like sex.
I like sex a lot.
But I should have known Trent wouldn’t tolerate being teased.
What’s more, Trent has never hesitated to do what he wants.
He shoves my dress up to my hips, flattens me against the wall and lifts my legs around his waist an instant before he demands my mouth. Trent is not a gentle kisser and there’s no reluctance, no apology, in the claim his tongue makes on mine.
He’s not exactly acting alone. I’m kissing him back just as hungrily. I’m glad to feel something other than loss and desolation. Our only witness is the moon. This will make it easier to do whatever we didn’t plan on doing but are going to do anyway.
The wall is cold at my back but his hands are hot on my skin and they explore at will. They are on my back and then inside my bra. They are between my thighs and threatening to erase my panties. Trent’s hands are everywhere.
And then, suddenly, they aren’t.
He breaks the kiss with the suddenness of a gunshot. He unwraps my legs from his waist. He holds me by the shoulders before taking a step back.
“Good night,” he says with no hint of passion in his voice while I’m practically panting.
“Wait,” I manage to gasp but he’s already leaving.
He takes long strides across the yard and doesn’t look back.
What the fuck just happened?
I kissed Trent Cassini.
I moaned into his mouth, opened my legs and urged him to rip off my underwear.
That’s what happened.
The gate hinges creak as they open and close. Quickly, I look to the carriage house but nothing seems amiss and even if Danny had decided to step outside he wouldn’t have been able to see much all the way over here with the patio lights off.
My dress is still bunched up and I hastily shove it down where it belongs. I tie my sweater belt in a double knot, swipe the cold beer off the ground and drink the entire thing in twenty seconds even if it is shit like Trent said. The alcohol breeds rapid warmth in my chest although I’m shivering once more.
Trent isn’t coming back and even if he did I absolutely wouldn’t be kissing him again. In fact, I feel like a complete jackass.
But I’m also exhausted. I think I might be able to sleep now without stress and sorrow generating bad dreams.
After enduring the icy outside air, the house feels far warmer and more pleasant. I toss the empty bottle, take note of the fact that there is much cleaning up to be done after so many people traipsed through here today, and decide to leave it all for tomorrow.
Upstairs, the girls are still sleeping soundly. My brain has already begun a mental checklist with all the things I’ll need to do when the sun comes up.
I need to call the family lawyer. I need to check in with the girls’ preschool. I need to get the house utilities transferred to my name. I need to sit my brother down and figure out where his head is at. I need to consider what the hell I’m going to do for a job.
I rub my eyes and force the list to quit growing.
Jules’s bedroom door is closed because I couldn’t stand the thought of being in there or having anyone else in there.
That door can’t stay closed forever. I might as well open it now.
Stepping inside is like being rewarded with a glimpse into my sister’s head. The primary colors are yellow and blue and there are pictures of the girls everywhere. And pictures of us. Me and her at my high school graduation. Me and her and Danny as children. Danny holding the girls when they were infants. Me and the girls at Christmas.
This room is all love and family and devotion. It’s all Jules.
The surfaces of the dresser and small desk are cluttered with small objects, mostly arts and crafts projects that were clearly made by tiny hands, like collages of glued macaroni and paper butterflies. Beneath a bumblebee popsicle sculpture I spot the CD of Abigail Fisher’s Greatest Hits. I think it must be the same one we listened to on the way to Ithaca so long ago. I left it behind when I went to college.