Since I’ve taken Shana to many of her favorite spots this week—last night we went to Gaston’s—I decided that this weekend would be different. No fancy restaurants—she has to dress professionally all week. No crowded venues. No fuss.
I remembered something Duncan told me once about Kimbra. He said that one of his favorite times is when they hide out all weekend getting lost in one another, movies on Netflix, and comfort food.
Shana and I may not have the jet-set life of Duncan and Kimbra, but I like what he said. It shows me that despite what he does, my brother is still the down-to-earth guy that our parents raised. We didn’t always have a lot growing up, but we always had home.
For one weekend, I hope I can give that to Shana.
I take a look at my phone, hoping there’ll be another message from her, but instead there’s one from Max and one from my mother.
Great.
I open the one from Max first.
“EVERYTHING WAS CONFIRMED RECEIVED AT THE MAIN OFFICE. I’LL KEEP YOU POSTED.”
I don’t know if this is the best career move I’ve ever made. I’ve always been the guy who went where he was needed and picked up the pieces of whatever was given to me. This is the first time I’ve pursued a project with this much vigor. It could either work or backfire.
I scoff at my limited options.
“Yes, Trevor. You’ll either succeed or fail. There’s no gray area in that.”
It seems like my options are a lot like Shana’s. She did her best for that damn fashion show, the one I didn’t want to attend. She put herself on the line and according to her, the sales have been successful; however, the decision she made to walk on that stage, to put aside her insecurities for others, could be her undoing in ladies’ lingerie.
Nothing worthwhile comes without risk.
I decide to bite the bullet and open my mother’s text.
Mom: “DAD AND I ARE COMING TO THE CITY FOR A CONCERT ON SUNDAY. I HEARD A RUMOR THAT I’D LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU. MAYBE YOU COULD GIVE YOUR MOM A CALL?”
Fuck!
My damn brother is closer to our mom. It’s not an issue for me. I’m a thirty-three-year-old man. I don’t need to have dinner with her once a week. Yes, I think he still does that even now that he’s married.
But just because he has dinner with her doesn’t mean he has to tell her about me.
I look again at Shana’s text.
With Friday-night traffic, she should be here soon. Shaking my head, I decide to rip off the Band-Aid and face my mom.
Her phone rings only once. “Trevor!”
“Hi, Mom. I just read your text message.”
“So? Tell me...” Her voice is filled with excitement as if I’m about to divulge some Christmas secret.
“I can’t talk long. Did you say you’d be in the city?”
“Yes, your dad and I have tickets to the Philharmonic. It’s a rare Sunday evening show, Tchaikovsky and Elgar. I can’t wait.”
“I’d love to see you two, but I have plans this weekend.”
“Trevor,” she says, the elongation of my name meaning more than what she’s saying.
“Mom, I’m going to guess you heard a rumor from Duncan.”
“No, I heard a rumor from Kimbra.”
I scoff, shaking my head. It’s so much easier to be mad at Duncan than Kimbra. “And what did Kimbra say?”
“She said you are seeing someone. Oh, please, tell me it’s true.”
The intercom on the wall near my door buzzes.
“It’s true, Mom, and I need to go.”
“I want to meet her.”
The intercom buzzes again.
“Mom, I need to go. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Okay, see you Sunday at Kimbra and Duncan’s at three o’clock.”
Before I can reply, she is gone.
No. Just no. This weekend is about hiding from the world, not taking my girl to meet my parents. That’s like taking her from a bearskin blanket in front of the fire into the fire itself.
I push the button on the intercom. “Hello.”
Shana’s voice rings through the speaker. “Hi, it’s me.”
“Hi, me. Come on up.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Shana
Before I can knock, the door of Trevor’s apartment opens and the doorway fills with Trevor Willis. In worn blue jeans riding low on his hips, bare feet, and no shirt, I can’t take my eyes off of him. Tunnel vision doesn’t seem to be affecting only me.
Trevor’s gaze is zeroed my way.
Without his saying a word, my body is consumed by the hunger of his stare. His green eyes sparkle with explosions of golden flecks as he scans from my boots to my hair. With each second, it’s as if his gaze touches my skin moving upward, the heat disintegrating my clothing in its path until I’m bare in the hallway, waiting for him to bid me entrance.
The tips of his lips move upward until his smile shines with the intensity of his gaze, “Welcome, my lady.” He steps to the side, allowing me just enough room to enter. Still, our bodies brush against one another’s as I wheel my suitcase inside.
“What is this?”
“I thought if I were spending the weekend, I might need a few things.”
Slowly his head shakes. “I believe I told you it was a clothes-free zone.”
I take another look at him, also scanning upward. I cock one eyebrow. “You’re wearing jeans.”
“For now.”
As the door closes and I release the handle of my case, Trevor’s large hands frame my cheeks, pulling my face toward his.
I let out a soft moan.
The heat of his gaze and tease of his greeting can’t compare to the passion of his kiss. With a soft, sweet start, I’m lost as he pulls me closer, tempting my lips to open and rewarding me with the promise of his tongue.
I already know how talented he is with his lips and tongue. And while he can take me to ecstasy when he uses it on my sensitive parts, even with a kiss he has my insides twisting.
The spicy aroma of pizza causes my stomach to rumble, ending our kiss with his soft laugh. “My lady, are you hungry?”
I inhale the scent of his cologne encompassed in garlic and oregano. “For so many things. How about you?”
“Famished. Let’s satisfy one hunger at a time?”
“I guess there’s no rush. We have all weekend.”
“Yes,” he says, tugging me toward the kitchen.
Though it isn’t my first visit this week, I take in his apartment. It reminds me a little of the one Kimbra and I shared, but bigger. In New York City, space costs money. There are few people I know who have a place like Duncan and Kimbra’s. That’s all right by me. I like the feel of Trevor’s apartment. It opens from the hallway into his living room. There’s no balcony, but there is a fire escape outside the window. On a night like tonight we could move out there and enjoy the night air.
His kitchen is larger than the one Kimbra and I had. His is remodeled, as the building is too old for the stainless-steel appliances and white and gray decor. The way it is designed, there isn’t room for a table, but instead, there’s a breakfast bar with three tall stools.