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I take another drink of wine, waiting for her to explain.
“As in together together. As in, they were banging in his office! And what’s even crazier is that the things he heard . . .” She stops to laugh. “They were kinky. I’m talking, Trevor is a total badass in bed. There was spanking, some kinky name-calling, all of that stuff.”
I burst into laughter like a giddy schoolgirl. A schoolgirl who has consumed too much wine. “No way!”
I can’t imagine sweet Trevor spanking anyone. The image alone makes me laugh harder, and I shake my head trying not to think too much into it. Trevor is handsome, very handsome, but he’s just so well mannered and sweet.
“I swear! Christian was convinced he had her like tied to the desk or something, because when he saw him next, he was detaching something from its corners!” Kimberly waves her hands through the air, and a burst of cold wine shoots up and out my nose.
After this glass, I’m cutting myself off. Where is Hardin, the alcohol authority, when I need him?
Hardin.
My heart begins to race, and my laughter is quickly derailed until Kimberly adds another dirty detail to the story.
“I’ve heard he keeps a crop in his office.”
“Crop?” I ask, lowering my voice.
“Riding crop. Google it.” She laughs.
“I can’t believe it. He’s so sweet and gentle. He couldn’t possibly tie a woman to his desk and have his way with her!” I just can’t picture it. My traitorous and wine-controlled mind starts imagining Hardin and desks and ties and spanking.
“Who has sex in their office, anyway? My god, those walls are paper thin.”
I feel my mouth fall open. Real images, memories of Hardin bending me over my desk, flash through my mind, and my already-heated skin flushes and burns.
Kimberly shoots me a knowing smile and tilts her head back. “I guess the same people who have sex in people’s home gyms,” she accuses with a giggle.
I ignore her despite the burning embarrassment I feel. “Back to Trevor,” I say, hiding as much of my face behind my glass as I can manage.
“I knew he would be a freak. Men who wear suits every day are always freaks.”
“Only in those smutty novels,” I counter, thinking of a book I’ve been planning to read but haven’t gotten around to yet.
“Those stories have to come from somewhere, don’t they?” She winks at me. “I keep walking by Trevor’s office hoping to hear him nailing her, but no such luck . . . yet.”
The ridiculousness of this entire night has made me feel light in a way I haven’t felt in so long. I try to grasp this feeling and hold it as tightly to my chest as I can—I don’t want it to slip away.
“Who knew Trevor was such a freak, yeah?” She wiggles her eyebrows, and I shake my head.
“Fucking Trevor,” I say, and wait in silence as Kimberly bursts into loud laughter.
“Fucking Trevor!” she screeches, and I join her, thinking of the source of the nickname as we take turns repeating it in our best impressions of its creator.
Chapter forty-eight
HARDIN
This day has been long. Too damn long, and I’m ready to sleep. After the heart-to-heart with Ken, I’m worn-out. That, followed by Sarah, Sonya, S’whocares—whatever the hell her name is—and Landon eye-fucking her across the dinner table, has bored me to death.
Even though I wish Tessa hadn’t left without telling me, I can’t say that out loud because she doesn’t owe me any type of explanation.
I played nice, the way I promised Tessa I could, and ate my dinner in silence as Karen and my dad, or whoever he is, watched me with caution, waiting for me to explode or ruin their dinner somehow.
But I didn’t. I stayed quiet and chewed each bite. I even kept my elbows off the ugly-ass table-cover thing that Karen thinks adds a nice pastel spring touch or some shit, but it doesn’t. It’s hideous, and someone should burn it when she’s not looking.
I felt a little better—awkward as fuck—but a little better after talking with my dad. I find it amusing that I keep defaulting to calling Ken my dad now whereas when I was a teen I could barely speak his name without scowling or wishing he hadn’t left just so I could punch him. Now that I understand—well, somewhat understand—how he felt and why he did what he did, some of the anger I held inside me for so long has sort of fizzled.
It was weird, though, feeling that slip from my body. I’ve heard it explained in novels—forgiveness, they call it—but I’ve never felt it until tonight. I’m not quite convinced that I like the feeling, but I’ll admit it helps distract me from the constant ache of missing Tessa. Sort of.
I feel better . . . happier? I don’t know, but I can’t stop thinking of the future now. A future where Tessa and I shop for carpet and shelves, or whatever married people do. The only married people I know who can tolerate each other are Ken and Karen, and I have no clue what they do together. Aside from making babies in their forties. I immaturely cringe at the thought and pretend that I wasn’t just thinking about their sex life.
Truth be told, thinking of the future is much more fun than I ever imagined. I never expected anything from the future, or the present, before. I always knew I would be alone, so I didn’t bother entertaining stupid plans or wishes. Up until eight months ago, I didn’t know there could be someone like Tessa. I had no clue that this obnoxious blonde was walking around waiting to turn my entire life upside down by driving me absolutely insane and making me love her more than I love breathing.