Wood: A True Lover's Story

“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?”

“Oh yeah. He sounds like a fox.” Summer grinned.

Trent tried to stop Summer’s heart with the fierceness of his glower, but all she did was laugh in his face. His boss had long ago grown immune to his attitude and puffing. All he could do was sit there and take the ridicule. “Trent, you know I love you like a little brother, right?”

“You’re not that much older than me, Summer.” Trent leaned his head back against the headrest. He’d had the same throb behind his left eye all night, and no amount of Motrin had relieved it.

“I got you by five years. That’s enough. So, let me give you some good advice.”

Trent closed his eyes. “I’m sure I’m gonna get it whether I want it or not.”

“That’s what she said!” Summer laughed loudly, eventually making him have to hide his own smile.

“You’re an idiot.”

“But for real. Here’s my advice. First. Be true to yourself, Trent. Please.”

“What the hell is that supposed to—”

She put her hand up, effectively cutting him off. “Just what I said. Then second. Go out and get laid, man. You and Sil broke up months ago, and now you’ve got cobwebs growing on your balls and it’s making you unbearable.”

Trent did laugh that time because it felt true. It had been a long time. Probably way longer for Wood though. Trent dropped his head into his hands, because for the millionth time today, his thoughts went back to his roommate. Was this part of that game he’d mentioned? Trent really hadn’t been playing at anything, but now Wood was messing with his mind. He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to relieve some of the pressure building there, but all that did was make the headache worse. His body… his senses were all going haywire.

Wood’s smell, the feel of those silver strands on Trent’s cheek, those damn lips so close to his mouth… Fuck! Trent grabbed his hard hat, jumped down from the dump truck, and headed back toward the worksite without another word.

“Trent, wait!” Summer yelled. He heard her boots crunching over the gravel as she ran after him.

He slowed down enough for her to catch up, but he honestly didn’t want to see that judgment in her eyes. The silent voice he heard that called him a damn wimp for taking the coward’s way out and trying to push Wood away.

“You know where I am if you need me,” she said when she fell in stride beside him.

He tapped her on her hard hat. “Thanks, boss.”

“Anytime.” She winked, then effortlessly dropped her sternness back over her gorgeous features and broke away from him to get the guys off their asses and back to work.

Chapter Eleven

Wood

Wood sat at the dining table eating a box of Hot Tamales and looking over his sketch pad when his roommate came home. Great. He didn’t bother to greet Trent with a “good evening,” waiting to see if the man was still pissed with him. He listened to the sound of Trent’s heavy steps as he went to the closet and tossed his bag and hard hat inside. While he stripped out of his thick coat, Wood glanced up in time to see Trent bent over, removing his boots. The man sure had a fine ass. It was round and looked firm to squeeze, and Wood bet his hands would fit just right, gripping that narrow waist while—

“What are you staring at?” Trent asked, now facing Wood with his hands on his hips. The hips he was just thinking about leaving fingerprints on.