Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 52338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Trent is already in the parking lot by the time I exit my last class. It takes everything in me not to run to his car the minute I see his text message alerting me that he's on campus. I try to play it cool by pacing myself, not trying to appear too eager but not wanting to seem uninterested. He smiles at me when I get into the passenger side, leaning over and pressing a kiss to my cheek.
"Ready to get this party started?" he asks as he makes his way out of the parking lot and into traffic.
"Sure," I reply. I look over at him. He's dressed as he usually is in jeans and a fitted T-shirt, but his backpack is nowhere to be found. "No class today?"
"Only a morning class. The other class is online." His arm rests on the center console as he drives. I observe the visible veins in his forearm and how they snake up to his bicep before disappearing under his shirtsleeve. Before I can stop myself, my fingers trace along them and he chuckles. "You know, I didn't think it was true that women actually have a thing for veins."
I giggle and pull my hand away. "Anyway." I clear my throat. "You seem to have a thing for having 'dinner' in the middle of the day. What's up with that?"
He shrugs. "In this situation, we have to start early because I have to cook. Plus, it'll give us more time to hang out and all that."
"Hang out, huh?" I ask with a smirk. He grins at me.
"Yeah. That's what friends do, right?"
Though his words are innocent enough, the lust in his eyes says something different. I drop my gaze from his as heat pools into my belly. "Right." I shift in my seat. "I'm surprised you're cooking. I don't think I've ever had a guy cook for me ever." I narrow my gaze at him. "You can cook, right? I don't have to worry about getting food poisoning if I eat it?"
His hearty laugh fills the car. "Three days in a row, you wound me yet again!" he states. "I'm convinced you're trying to kill me."
The rest of the ride is filled with jokes and a little small talk, and I can't help how good it feels to be around him. It's nice to hang out with someone who doesn't talk about my Instagram account, Father's connections, or my money. It feels good to talk and know that someone's genuinely listening to me and not only pretending to be interested so that they can ask me for favors later. Trent is the breath of fresh air I've always needed, and each day we spend together seems to bring us closer together.
My mouth nearly drops when he pulls into his driveway. I'm not sure what I expected his home to look like, but it definitely isn't the beautiful, modern townhome in front of me. None of this makes sense, at least if I'm basing it on the things he's told me. For someone who claimed to be a struggling college student, his car and home seem to make him look as if he’s lying or has severely downplayed his wealth. I don't know many college students who can afford to live in this area, which isn't even far from where I live.
"Wow," I say as I get out of the car. "Nice place."
"Thanks." He unlocks his front door and steps aside to let me pass. The interior is just as pretty, but the decor seems more mature than I would've expected Trent to like. Everything is a mix of black and white—from the furniture and artwork down to the stainless steel appliances in his kitchen. It doesn't necessarily feel cold, but the vibe isn't warm either. It's so different from the guy I'm getting to know, but then again, maybe I just don't know him well enough.
I walk around, taking everything in as Trent disappears down the hall. Even as I look at photos and decorations he has on his walls, I realize he doesn't have a single photo of either himself or family. At least the orphan part remained consistent, I think, just as he reappears.
"Make yourself at home," he says with a smile. "I'm going to get started on dinner."
The evening passes by in a blur as we bond over delicious chicken alfredo and conversation, sharing stories back and forth from things we remembered from our childhoods. It's so strange how we're both so different yet so alike, which is probably why I like him as much as I do. He's too good to be true, almost too perfect to be real. My gut tells me he's keeping something from me, but I'm too happy in his presence to care. After stuffing ourselves with food, he invites me over to the couch to watch a movie. I know I should probably have him take me home since it's getting late, but I can't bring myself to voice it. Instead, I sit next to him while he turns on the television and opens Netflix.