“No,” I said, and disconnected the call.

My phone rang again.

“Hello?”

“Did you just hang up on me?” Trenton asked, annoyed.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I was finished talking.”

“You can’t say good-bye?”

“Good-bye . . .”

“Wait!”

“That’s why I hung up. I knew you wouldn’t let me say good-bye.”

“You’re really going to cut me out of your life because of one fucking kiss?”

“Was that all it was?” I asked.

Trenton fell quiet.

“That’s what I thought.” I hit End again.

He didn’t call back.

Hank stood across from me, and we both drank our troubles away. We finished one bottle, and he opened another. We were giggling and being stupid by the time Jorie walked in the door. Hank tried to pretend he was sober but failed miserably.

“Hello, my love,” he said.

“Hi,” Jorie said, smiling. She hugged him, and he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her long, pearly waves against her back. She studied both of us, but it didn’t take her long to come to a conclusion. “You guys have been here a while. Got into the stash, huh?”

Hank grinned as he weaved back and forth. “Baby, I wanted to—”

“Hank,” I said, shaking my head quickly before Jorie could see me. Jorie turned, and I smiled at her.

“What are you two up to?” she asked.

“A bottle and a half,” Hank said, chuckling at his own joke.

Jorie took the rest of the bottle away from us and placed it back in the lower cabinet, locking it and putting the key in her pocket. She was wearing black shorts that looked like mini tuxedo pants, and a pretty champagne-colored, see-through blouse that revealed her black lacy bra. Her black heels were sky-high, but she still wasn’t as tall as Hank.

“I’m going to put a pot of coffee on. We don’t want the employees thinking it’s a good idea to come to the Sunday employee meeting hammered.”

Hank kissed her cheek. “Always thinking. What would I do without you?”

“Drink the rest of the bottle,” she teased. She picked up the empty pot and filled it with water. “Oh, damn. I forgot we’re out of filters.”

“No, they came in this morning,” Hank said, slurring. “They’re still in the back room.”

“I’ll go grab them,” she said.

“I’ll go with you,” Hank said, cupping her backside as they walked together.

I swiped the screen on my phone, contemplating the phone call I was about to make. Before I punched in the numbers, I opened my message screen instead. It was such a cowardly thing to do, but I did it, anyway.

You got a minute?

Can’t talk long. Miss you like crazy. What’s up?

We need to talk.

I was afraid you’d say that.

Call me as soon as you can.

I’d planned on it.

He was always so sweet. Was I really going to break things off with him because he’d been busy? He had warned me about this, and I agreed to try. I promised it wouldn’t be an issue. Then again, we’d barely spoken, with no hopes of the situation improving. And then there was the little matter of Trenton. It didn’t really matter if I broke things off with T.J. Going from T.J. to Trenton would still feel wrong, even if I waited six months. Even if I waited six years. I had been running around with Trenton behind T.J.’s back. Anything that came out of that was tainted.

Kody wasn’t within miles of being right about me. I wasn’t doing the same thing as Raegan. It was much worse. At least she had the decency to break up with Kody before she started seeing Brazil again. She didn’t string along two men at the same time. She was honest with both of them, and I had tried to lecture her.

I covered my eyes with my hand, so ashamed that I couldn’t even face an empty room. Even if spending time with Trenton was fun or comforting in the moment, I knew what it meant to Trenton, and how I would feel if T.J. were doing the same thing. Seeing them both—whether it involved sex or not—was dishonest. T.J. and Trenton both deserved better than that.

I kissed him.

I hit Send, and instantly my hands began to shake. Several minutes went by before T.J. sent a reply.

Who?

Trenton.

You kissed him, or he kissed you?

Does it matter?

Yes.

He kissed me.

Figures.

Now what?

You tell me.

I’ve been spending a lot of time with him.

What does that mean?

Idk. It is what it is.

Do you still want to be with me?

The question is, do you still want to be with me?

Again, I had to wait several minutes for him to respond. When my cell phone pinged, I had to force myself to look at the words on the screen. Even if I deserved it, I didn’t want him to throw me away like the trash that I was.

I’m booking you a flight to California.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

MY FLIGHT WAS AT SEVEN THIRTY. I LEFT THE EMPLOYEE meeting early to pack, and then tried not to let thoughts of Trenton sneak into my mind as I drove the Smurf to the airport. I glanced down at my left hand, which sat atop the steering wheel. Together, my fingers read DOLL. T.J. was not going to approve, and I hoped to God he didn’t ask why I’d chosen those words.

Parking, catching a shuttle, and getting checked in seemed to take forever. I hated being in a rush, but T.J. had booked me on the last flight out, and no matter what, I was going to get on that plane. I needed to know that I wasn’t just falling out of love with T.J. because of the distance.

I stood in the long line at security and heard my name being called from across the room. I turned to see Trenton running full speed toward me. A TSA agent took a step, but when Trenton slowed down next to me, he relaxed.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, his chest heaving. He put his hands on his hips. He was wearing red basketball shorts, a white T-shirt, and a worn, red Sig Tau ball cap. My stomach fluttered at the sight of him, more because I felt caught than flattered.

“What the hell are you doing?” I said, glancing around at all the people staring at us.

“You said I’d see you tomorrow, and now you’re getting on a fucking plane?” A woman several people ahead of me covered her young daughter’s ears. “Sorry,” Trenton said.

The line moved forward, and I moved with it. Trenton moved with me. “It was kind of last-minute.”

“You’re going to California, aren’t you?” he asked, looking wounded.

I didn’t answer.

We took a few more steps. “Because I kissed you?” he asked, this time louder.

“He booked the ticket, Trent. Was I supposed to say no?”

“Yes, you say no! He hasn’t bothered to see you in over three months, and all of a sudden he’s booking you a ticket? C’mon!” he said, letting his hand fall to his thigh.

“Trent,” I said quietly, “go home. This is embarrassing.” The line moved forward again, and I took a few steps.

Trenton sidestepped until he was next to me. “Don’t get on that plane.” He said the words without emotion, but his eyes were begging me.

I laughed once, trying to somehow make light of the situation. “I’ll be back in a few days. You act like you’re never going to see me again.”

“It’ll be different when you get back. You know it will.”

“Please stop,” I begged, glancing around. The line moved again.

Trenton held out his hands. “Just . . . give it a few days.”

“Give what a few days?”

He took off his hat and rubbed the top of his head while he thought. The desperate expression on his face forced me to swallow back a sob. I wanted to hug him, to tell him it was okay, but how could I comfort him, when I was the reason he was hurting?

Trenton returned his hat to his head, pulling it down low over his eyes in frustration. He sighed. “Jesus Christ, Cami, please. I can’t do it. I can’t be here, thinking about you there, with him.”

The line moved forward again. I was next.

“Please?” he asked. He laughed once, nervous. “I’m in love with you.”

“Next,” the TSA agent said, motioning for me to approach his podium.

After a long pause, I cringed at the words I was about to say. “If you knew what I know . . . you wouldn’t be.”

He shook his head. “I don’t wanna know. I just want you.”

“We’re just friends, Trent.”

Trent’s face and shoulders fell.

“Next!” the agent said again. He had been watching us talking, and wasn’t in a patient mood.

“I have to go. I’ll see you when I get back, okay?”

Trenton’s eyes fell to the ground, and he nodded. “Yeah.” He started to walk away but turned around. “We haven’t been just friends for a while. And you know it.” He turned his back to me, and I handed my ticket and ID to the agent.

“You okay?” the agent asked, scribbling on my ticket.

“No,” I said. My breath caught, and I looked up as my eyes filled with tears. “I’m a huge asshole.”

The agent nodded, and motioned for me to move on. “Next,” he called to the person behind me.

I didn’t want to move, just in case it was a dream. As a child, when I visited the homes of my friends, I began to realize that other dads weren’t like mine, and that a lot of other families were happier than mine. From that moment, I dreamed about moving out on my own, if for nothing else more than to just have a little peace. But even adulthood seemed more like a source of constant disappointment than adventure, so just to be sure this moment of happiness wasn’t some dirty trick, I stayed still.

This immaculate and minimalist town house was exactly where I wanted to be: wearing nothing but a satisfied smile, tangled in white Egyptian cotton sheets, in the middle of T.J.’s king-size bed. He was lying next to me, breathing soft and deep through his nose. He would have to wake up in a few minutes to get ready for work, and I would get a great view of his tight backside as he crawled out of bed. That, of course, wasn’t the problem. The next eight hours left alone with my own thoughts would take this staycation from nirvana to nerve-wracking.