Contradictions (Woodfalls Girls 3)

“You don’t look too shabby yourself. I have to admit, I had my doubts when you said you already had a Han Solo costume, but it’s awesome.”

“Told you,” he said proudly, smoothing a hand down the front of his shirt.

I heard a familiar snort of laughter behind me. “What’s so funny, chuckleheads?” Turning around, I spotted Derek and Cameo looking overly amused at my expense.

“No, it’s not funny,” Cameo said, trying to suppress her laughter. “I mean, you two definitely look—”

My aggravation level began to rise. “Good is the word you’re searching for.”

“She’s just teasing,” Derek said, pushing Cameo into her room. “You look hot. That’s a pretty extravagant costume, Trent. You actually got that from one of those Halloween stores?”

“Nope. I bought this sucker for Comic-Con a couple years ago.”

“Don’t forget to use protection for your lightsaber,” Cameo called out from her room, causing Derek to bust out laughing.

“Actually, Han Solo doesn’t have a lightsaber. He’s not a Jedi,” Trent replied, looking oblivious to the razzing he was receiving.

“We’re out of here,” I mumbled, grabbing my coat and purse. Taking Trent by the wrist, I tugged him toward the door before my roommates could say anything more that would cause me to do something I would regret.

“Tress, don’t be mad. We’re just goofing around. You guys seriously have fun,” Derek said.

“You guys can suck it,” I replied, slamming the door behind us. Sure, I liked to poke fun at Trent, but it didn’t mean I was going to stand by and let him be the butt of my friends’ jokes.

I stomped down the hallway and was halfway down the first flight of stairs before Trent spoke.

“Hey, where’s the fire?” He lengthened his steps to keep up with me.

I glared at him, which he responded to with the same clueless look he always h

ad. Why he was so oblivious to the world around him I didn’t know, but he was seriously turning me into a two-faced twat. Anytime I was around him, my inner protective demon seemed to pop up. Well, protective from everyone other than me, considering at the moment I wanted to push him down the last remaining flight of stairs to make my point. Either that or hurl myself down the stairs.

By the time we reached the bottom step, I had gotten to the point that I was regretting even going to the festival with him. I could come up with some lame excuse and save us both some aggravation.

Trent halted at the first-floor landing and grasped my wrist loosely, but didn’t say anything as I turned around. As clueless as I thought he was, he could tell when I was upset. Of course, I wasn’t exactly a closed book when it came to expressing myself.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles,” he said quietly, sliding his hands inside my jacket, which was gaping open since I had pulled us out of the apartment in a rush. His warm hands slid intimately across my exposed midriff, leaving me breathless.

He tugged me in close, keeping his hands firmly hooked around my waist. “You make yourself an easy target,” I muttered.

“Tressa, I am what I am. You don’t have to apologize for me. Do you think I care what everyone thinks?”

“I care,” I replied. My words were sharper than I’d intended.

He tugged me against his body. “Why?”

His closeness was so distracting I could barely string together coherent thoughts. It was like getting wasted at a party, but without all the side effects. The subtle hint of his cologne combined with the smell of orange Tootsie Pop, which had recently become so familiar, filled my nose.

“Why do you care?” he repeated, rubbing my back. His touch was sure and confident.

I wanted to tell him the reason, but up until this very second, I wasn’t sure I wanted to believe it myself. I had been working so hard the past couple of weeks at denying my true feelings, even blaming Trent for my own hang-ups and insecurities. If I admitted now how I felt, I would be giving someone else control. “I care because I’m starting to like you, dumb-ass,” I snapped. My admission was a leap of faith against my better judgment.

He smiled and the urge to punch it off his face was so strong I clenched my fist. “I like you too,” he said smugly.

“No shit, Sherlock. We all know that. The issue is that me—Tressa the Party Girl—likes you.” I pointed at him dramatically.

“Whoa, let me step out of the way to make room for your ego.”

“It’s not my ego I’m worried about, it’s you. I told you from the beginning, we’re so different. You’re a genius and I’m, well, me. Eventually you’ll realize I’m not good enough for you, and shame on me for letting you do that to me,” I said, out of breath. I had nothing left to hide.