Chapter Nine
Wood
“Are you fucking crazy?” Trent hissed through clenched teeth, but the nerve he’d had behind his earlier words were gone, now replaced with caution… and lust.
“I asked you politely not to call me that. Now, I’m telling you. Don’t. Do it. My name is Herschel Wood, Jr. No middle name. You can call me Herschel, or Wood, that’s it. I would’ve told you that if you’d bothered to ask.” Wood fumed. He had his forearm across Trent’s chest, pushing his back into the closet door at the end of the dark hallway. He couldn’t believe what he was doing, but how dare Trent drive him to the edge like this? Wood pressed in so tight until there was only air and misunderstanding between them, his mouth mere inches from Trent’s parted lips. “You wanted to get a reaction out of me, you annoying, immature little shit… now you’ve got one.”
Trent’s eyes blazed as he tried to shove off the door, but Wood held him in check with his mass. “Fuck you.” Trent grunted, his hot gaze lasered on Wood’s lips.
Wood gave him a smirk and enjoyed as Trent squirmed even more against him. “You think I don’t know the game you’re playing? Maybe no one else does—even though I taught Bishop better—but I can see right through your transparent ass, Trent. So damn clearly.”
Trent’s masked desires were obvious—Wood had seen it the moment he’d laid eyes on him. He knew he hadn’t been wrong. But he’d wanted to leave Trent off-limits. Bishop just wanted them to be friends, but Wood was afraid he was finally going to have to tell his buddy that it wasn’t going to happen. The four of them wouldn’t be hanging out together all the time. There was too much screwed-up shit going on with Trent, and Wood deserved some peaceful days. He didn’t have the patience to put up with crap from hesitant men anymore. He had no doubt that Trent was pushing his buttons… because he wanted Wood to push his in return.
“Wood,” Trent snarled, as he clutched tightly to his shoulders with both hands.
Wood’s answer was another cunning smile. Did Trent even realize that he wasn’t pushing Wood away, he was holding him close? Wood wouldn’t point that out just yet. If Trent wanted to have some fun with him, then fine. He’d entertain himself until it was time for him to leave. He should’ve known this setup was too good to be true. What Trent pulled on him was exactly the kind of typical mess Wood was used to. People judging and condemning him for no reason.
Trent went completely still when Wood dragged his nose over his forehead and down the side of his face. His voice was shaky, and his breaths were hot and swift along Wood’s throat. “The fuck are you doing?”
“I’m doing what you want me to do.” Wood clenched his teeth. “I’m playing your bullshit game, Trent.”
“I’m not playing anything,” he breathed.
“Oh yeah you are.” Wood released Trent suddenly, but he didn’t pull away. He leaned in until his mouth was against Trent’s ear. “But I’m about to show you I’m much better at this game than you are.” Wood slowly eased away, then cocked his head to the side, motioning to Trent’s punishing grip he still had on his shoulders. “Now let me go.”
Trent inhaled sharply, then yanked his hands away, staring down at them like he’d never seen them before. He scowled at Wood as if he wanted nothing more than to knock his damn head off.
“This should be fun,” Wood grumbled and closed himself in his bedroom, leaving Trent dazed and confused outside his door.
Chapter Ten
Trent
“Stop laughing, Summer, it’s not funny.” Trent tossed his second apple core into his lunch bag, wishing he’d chosen to eat alone today. “He called me an annoying little… no… it was, an immature, annoying little brat.”
“Oh my gosh.” Summer rolled onto her side, clutching her stomach as she tried to control her amusement. “I like him already.”
“I bet he calls everyone under fifty immature since he’s like a hundred years old,” Trent mumbled, shoving Summer off him.
“You said he was forty-six. That’s not old, Trent, and you know it.” Summer set her thermos of lentil soup to the side and turned to face him in the passenger seat. They typically ate their lunches in the truck instead of sitting around the worksite in the freezing cold. “Come on, be honest. What’s the real problem you have with this guy?”
Trent stared out the front window, refusing to meet Summer’s knowing eyes. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” she pressed.
“Because he…” Trent stalled as he tried to tell Summer a legitimate reason why he’d pushed Wood so hard last night.
“You can be honest with me, Trent,” Summer said gently, reaching over and touching his tense forearm.
“I know,” Trent sighed, but he’d yet to be honest with himself. How could he tell Summer that he’d given his best first impression and Wood still couldn’t wait to get out of there the very next night.
Summer smiled softly and nodded. His foreman didn’t show her kind-hearted side often, only to him every now and then when he needed it. Summer worked in the male-dominated field of building construction, and her title hadn’t been earned easily. If she showed any signs of weakness, it was quickly used against her. But she had an ally in Trent, and most of the guys knew to watch their mouths now. Besides Bishop, Summer was the only other friend Trent had. They didn’t hang outside of work often since Summer’s girlfriend was quite possessive of her free time, but they’d worked well together every winter before he’d gotten locked up.
“So, come on, what is it?”
“I don’t trust him.”
Summer nodded understandably as she pulled out her garden salad. “Trent. It’s day three. Y’all just met. You don’t trust him because you don’t know him.”
“Exactly!” Trent snapped.
“But it’s not like you’re giving the guy a chance either. Why’s he have to open up and spill his life story within forty-eight hours of meeting a stranger. Remember he knows Bishop… not you.” Summer crunched noisily on a strip of bell pepper as Trent glared at the side of her face. “What’s he look like, by the way?”
“I don’t know,” Trent said.
Summer glanced up slowly. “What do you mean you don’t know? You don’t have eyes?”
“Yes, I have eyes,” Trent huffed.
“Okay. Has he been wearing a veil since he moved in?”
“Summer.”
“How can you not know what he looks—”
“He’s tall, okay!” Trent blurted.
“Tall,” Summer droned. “I’m five four, Trent. Eighty percent of the people in the world are tall to me. What else?”
Trent exhaled an annoyed breath. “And built. He has lots of fucking tattoos. Amazing ones. Full beard, and his hair…” Trent’s mind flashed back to last night when Wood had him pinned to the wall and the light gray strands of his hair had fallen across his forehead. “It’s um, gray… He has a lot of gray hair with like… black too. Okay! Is that enough of a damn description for you?”