A/N: I apologize for the long wait since the last update. Haven't had much free time to write. I'm also going to hand out a second apology for not responding to all the comments from the last chapter. Please know that I read each and every one of them, and I appreciate those who take the time to leave them.
So without further ado, here is the next chapter of Trey's dramatic love life. Thank you to all who have patiently waited for this chapter to be posted and continue to read. I appreciate it.
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Chapter 35
"So what do you have going on the rest of the day?"
Roland shouts the question across the lawn as he gracefully tosses another bean bag towards the wooden box. It skids across the surface before gently falling into the hole for another three points in his favor. Damnit. I knew Roland was good at Bags, but up until now, he's never been good enough to beat me.
I bounce my bean bag around my palm, clutching a beer with my free hand. My knees bend and I lean forward, tossing the square bag into the air. It skids across the surface of the opposing board before thumping onto the grass behind it.
"Son of a bitch!"
A tuft of grass leaps into the air as I kick at the ground. Without looking at him, I can feel Roland's teasing eyes following the start of my mini-temper tantrum. He knows how competitive I am and silently revels in it. The bastard.
Last summer the two of us played a round of golf at the local country club. He claimed he wasn't very good, but I should have known better. By the eighth green he had a seven stroke lead on me.
Seven stroke lead.
He didn't at all seem fazed that I was getting more and more pissed off. But by the time we reached the eleventh tee, my frustration status had successfully morphed into a real-life version of Happy Gilmore. If I remember correctly, I even lost a pretty damn good putter when I heaved it into the lake next to the course.
I grit my teeth and reach down to grab another bean bag.
"Clearly you've been practicing," I shout back.
Roland shrugs and gracefully sends another bean bag in my direction. Once again it glides across the surface and neatly falls into the hole. For another three points...and the win. My fingers tighten around the pliable bean bag in my palm.
"I think that's game," he shouts.
"Fuck you!"
Roland brings his own beer to his lips and smirks. It's the same reaction he always gives me. Subtle enough to egg me on, but not provoking enough to push me past the point of no return. As I stalk towards him, he pulls the beer away from his lips and his smirk darkens.
"Is that an offer?"
I open my mouth but nothing comes out in response. Is he...is he flirting with me? I'm used to him talking shit and egging me on in his own, sophisticated, indirect way. But flirting? It's the first time I've seen it in the context of our prior 'normal' friendship.
Well, shit.
I'm used to seeing him smirk ten shades of smug every time he wins and I shout my inevitable 'fuck you' in the bitter realization that I've lost. Has he always wanted to ask that flirtatious question in response to it, though? Just the thought makes my stomach flutter. I think back on the many, many times I've bantered with him over the years when the two of us competed. How could I have been so blind?
I swallow hard and Roland chuckles, shaking his head and lightly punching me on the shoulder.
"Relax," he says and moves towards the sliding door of his apartment. "I'm kidding."
I follow behind him and quickly drain the remainder of my second beer. I'm not tipsy yet, but the combination of coffee and beer is causing an annoying headache to form in between my temples. My jumbled nerves can't be helping the situation either.
"So you never told me," Roland says. "What are you up to the rest of the day?"
The coolness of his AC is a welcome change in temperature compared to outside. I plunk down on one of his fancy silver stools and gingerly rub at my temples. Roland swipes up my empty beer bottle and heads towards the kitchen sink to wash them out before throwing them in the recycling bin.
For a split second I wonder how different things would be between us if we were...you know, a couple. I'm used to being Roland's roommate. It was easy. It felt right.
Would being his lover enhance that? Or make things weird?
"I've got to go to the store to get ingredients," I answer, shooing away the distracting thoughts. "I promised Jordan I'd cook her dinner tonight."
Roland turns towards me and leans against the counter. His eyes brighten at the subject of cooking. He crosses his arms over his chest, and the denim material of his shirt tightens over his muscular arms and torso. I've always thought Roland was a good-looking dude. Is it possible I've always been attracted to him on some level...and just refused to acknowledge it?
"Picking up a pizza from the frozen section?" Roland jokes.
"Har-har. No, I think I'm going to attempt making my mom's chicken parmesan casserole."
"Impressive. Well if it's half as good as your mom's, I'd chalk it up to a success."
The conversation reminds me that I do in fact need to leave Roland's apartment sometime soon to start shopping for dinner tonight. And with that reminder comes the realization that I don't want to leave. It's been months since I've been able to enjoy Roland's company. I've missed it.
"You should join us," I say suddenly.
Roland looks genuinely surprised by the invitation. "For dinner?"
"Yea. Or for cooking. Or shopping. Or all three." I hear the excitement in my voice and quickly add, "that way I can pawn off all the work on you."
Roland's lips twitch in amusement. "Charming."
I smirk. "You know it."
He returns the grin, and once again that fluttery feeling happens in my stomach. Roland runs a hand through his hair before nodding in agreement.
"Alright," he says. "We taking two cars or one?"
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Despite not hearing from Bennett, the day seems to fly by with Roland by my side. The two of us grocery shop and the introductions between him and Jordan go as smooth as butter. They immediately find a common ground with school and jump into a conversation that I can only categorize as book smart nerd status.
"How long am I supposed to cook it for?" I ask, shouting over Roland's lecture about who-knows-what.
Jordan glares at the interruption and Roland's reaction isn't far off. But after a moment his look softens, and he moves around the table to stand beside me at the oven. Roland silently checks to see that I've set the oven to the correct temperature before opening the door and nodding for me to set the casserole inside.
"About an hour," he answers. "But we'll check on it at the halfway point."
A swath of heat hits my face as I stick the glass casserole dish into the oven and shut the door. Roland punches the time into the microwave timer – which miraculously still works – and grins at me.
"Congratulations," he says, and that same smirk I saw him wear this afternoon slips across his lips. "You've officially made your first casserole."
My stomach has that weird reaction again to the way he's looking at me. His dark eyes pull me into his gaze, and I am hyper aware of his forearm lightly brushing against mine as he passes. Heat rises to my cheeks. Am I aware of his touch because of the newer realization that I'm interested in men? Or because there actually might be something between Roland and me that I have yet to come to terms with?
"I should call my mom," I mutter. "She'd be so proud."
"She would be."
Roland nods in agreement, but his dark gaze studies my face as if he's following my every, silent thought. If Jordan wasn't here, would he try touching me again? Would I want him to? The sudden onslaught of questions makes me uneasy.
I pad down my pockets in search of my phone. When I find it in the bottom of my right pocket, I pull it out to find my battery is already down to two percent. I'm surprised it has any battery left considering it spent the night in Jordan's purse.
"Are you actually going to call her?" Roland asks, amused.
"Yea. I've got to call her anyway; may as well start it off with a brag fest of my cooking skills. Can I borrow your phone, though? Mine's almost dead."
"Sure."
Roland fishes for his phone and hands it to me without question.
"Same password as always," he says and heads back to the living to pick up his conversation with Jordan.
If Bennett was here and I asked him that question, there's no way he'd give up his phone so easily. He'd probably think I was putting a virus on it or something. It's like the two of us are always on edge with one other – just waiting to see if and how we'll be fucked over next. Hell, even our conversations are like pulling teeth. It's not the easy conversation I have with Roland. Talking with Bennett sends me into a spiraling mess of confusion and anxiety.
I unlock Roland's phone and pull up his calling icon to dial my mom's number. It used to bother the hell out of me how polite and well-mannered Roland was around my parents. Whenever he'd leave our house I'd have to hear from both my parents how great he was – so smart, so conscientious, so polite, so blah blah blah.
Now it's kind of comforting remembering how hard Roland tried to make a good impression whenever he came over. Because now I realize it wasn't for his own sake. He was also trying to make a good impression, because he was in love with their son.
I'm about ready to tap the call button when a sudden text pops across the top of Roland's screen.
Weston: Figured I'd take your advice about the whole dating -
The text cuts off after that. In order to read it, I need to tap on the message and open up their entire message thread. Curiosity gnaws at me. What dating advice is he referring to? Could it possibly be about Bennett? And just like that – reading one text - removes all the happiness and ease from the day. In their place, a heavy and unsettling anxiety stretches through my intestines.
It's none of my business. I know it's not. And if Weston had texted any other message, I wouldn't feel the need to be nosy and infringe on my best friend's privacy. Well, not to this extent anyway. My palms become clammy as I stare at the text. I know it will vanish soon if I don't tap on the message.
I swallow hard and my heart slams against my chest. I tap the message. With shaking fingers, I scroll up the message thread.
Weston: Did you confirm with Coach?
Roland: Yea. He's been suspended from the team for a month.
Weston: That's bullshit.
Roland: He'll be back in time for the season. It won't affect his stats at all.
Weston: Still bullshit.
Roland: Know what happened?
Weston: I haven't heard from Bennett since last night.
Last night...when Bennett was with me.
There's a break in their conversation until he texted Roland again just an hour ago. I remember when he got it, too. We were in line at the grocery store, and the text message noise went off just as I was paying.
Weston: Group of guys are heading to Rosco's tonight for the game if you're interested.
Roland: I've got plans.
Forty minutes later.
Weston: Well you won't have to deal with my drunken texts about a late-night hookup anymore.
Roland: Who can I thank for that? LOL
Then a minute ago.
Weston: Figured I'd take your advice about the whole dating your best friend conversation. He's here now and we just got done talking. I agreed to give it a try.
I swallow hard and stare at the texts. The twisting anxiety in my stomach churns up a bitter bile that travels all the way up my throat. Without thinking twice, I reply to Weston, completely forgetting that I'm using Roland's phone.
Roland: You and Bennett are dating?
After I hit send I can't tear my eyes away from the phone. Everything in me is frozen. Tears burn in the corner of my eyes. Please say no. Fuck. Please say no. Maybe I read the texts wrong. Because, fuck.
Bennett was in my bed just last night. I know he has feelings for Weston. Hell – I wouldn't even care if the two of them were sleeping together, because it would still put Weston and me on the same playing field when it comes to Bennett.
But dating? I can't compete with that.
I take my eyes off the phone for a split second and it buzzes in my palm. Tears blur my vision as the screen comes into focus.
Weston: Yea. He even used the term 'exclusive.' I didn't know he knew the meaning of the word. LOL
A lone tear escapes the corner of my eye and leaves a burning trail down the side of my cheek. They're dating. Exclusive. Whatever I had or was starting to have with Bennett is done – just like that. My chest constricts, and I try to control my breathing as Roland and Jordan's voices once again register in my mind.
I shouldn't care. Up until last night I knew this might happen. I've seen the way Bennett navigates through his romantic life, and he never gave me any indication I would be anything different. I knew that. I know that.
So why does it hurt so bad?