Page 3 of Before You (Reckless Love #2)

CHAPTER TWO

Marley

“DO YOU THINK this is fine?” I ask Bria, my best friend and roommate. We’ve grown up together our entire lives as her parents are best friends with mine.

She’s lounging on my bed as I turn around to face her in our two-bedroom apartment.

She’s a sophomore, whereas I transferred for my junior and senior year here instead of Columbia.

I liked Columbia, but everyone there knew me, and I wanted an opportunity to figure out who I am outside of New York City where paparazzi wouldn’t follow me to class or offer to pay people in my dorms to get pictures of me rolling out of bed.

Bria loved it here so much last year, so I filled out an application to transfer.

Bria looks up from her phone, her face scrunching up. “I thought we were just going to Trent’s house to meet his roommates? I’m literally wearing this,” she says, motioning to her Beaumont Track & Field hoodie and athletic shorts.

Bria is the definition of a tomboy, and despises wearing any type of dressy clothing, not that it matters what she wears.

She inherited her striking features from both her parents.

Bria’s stormy grey eyes stand out against her long dark hair and fair skin, and she has enough confidence to draw everyone’s attention to her when she walks into a room.

I guess it’s to be expected with her mother being Tessa Kaplan, famed supermodel, and her father, Grayson Taylor, a hotshot corporate lawyer.

I look down at my blousy shirt and the denim shorts I thought helped dress it down. “I want to make a good impression on his roommates. Is it too much?” I ask, my nerves starting to get the better of me.

“They’re boys, Mar. I don’t think they’re going to care what you’re wearing.”

I chew my nails nervously as I face the mirror again. My hair is in its natural waves, and I put on a little mascara to make my blue eyes I inherited from my father appear brighter. “So you think I should change?”

She tries to smile, but then nods. “I mean, you look nice, but I think you’d be better off ditching the top and wearing a T-shirt?” Bria suggests, and I sigh, deciding to grab my favorite shirt from one of the many boxes I haven’t had the chance to unpack yet.

It’s a Beaumont Lacrosse short sleeve from when my dad went here, except it’s been washed enough times over the years the lettering has faded.

“Perfect, tuck it into your shorts, and you’re golden,” she says, and I realize she’s right. This is better.

“So what exactly do you know about Trent’s roommates?” Bria asks, slipping into her sneakers while I grab my keys.

Honestly, he hasn’t told me much about them. “They’re on the football team with him. I met Luka this summer, and he seemed nice.”

“Awesome, a bunch of jocks,” Bria muses, and I roll my eyes. Her logic is flawed and biased.

“Bria, you’re a jock.”

“No, I’m an athlete. They’re a bunch of jocks.”

“What’s the difference?” I ask, walking down the stairs to the lot where my car is parked.

I deeply regret asking the question after Bria spends the entire five-minute car ride to Trent’s explaining the complex difference. It sounds like the same thing to me, but what do I know?

I danced growing up because I loved it, but music is secretly my true passion. I love writing music, but playing my guitar is my favorite thing to do. It’s my escape from reality when the world becomes too much.

Unfortunately, it’s not something I could ever pursue as a career because my future has been set in stone my entire life: get a degree in biology or chemistry, and then my master’s degree while working for the family company, and once my father retires, take his place.

I knock on the door as Bria finally concludes her rant, taking it upon herself to enter before anyone has a chance to answer. “Bria,” I whisper, irritated because I have no choice but to follow after her. Is she seriously just walking into their house?

“What?” she whispers, looking at me over her shoulder. “He should have been waiting by the door for you to get here, and if they don’t want anyone walking in, maybe they should have locked the door.”

Yeah, or maybe we could have waited more than two seconds?

Trent appears in front of Bria, a smile forming on his face. She shrugs, looking up at him. “Your door was unlocked.”

“Nice to see you too, Bria,” he says, and she steps aside so he can get past her.

“Hi there,” I greet, hoping he doesn’t hold my best friend’s rude behavior against me.

Trent leans down, kissing me briefly on the lips.

My heart swoons a little at his quintessential all-American football player looks from his short blond hair to his brown eyes and lean build.

We met at a charity event both of our families were invited to in April, and he asked for my number.

He took me out for drinks the next night, and we were dating by the time he was home for the summer.

“Hi yourself. I’m happy to see you,” he says, kissing me one more time before grabbing my hand to pull me with him. “We got our asses handed to us at practice today.”

“Yikes,” I say, following him to the living room where two guys are sitting on the couch. I recognize Luka from a trip to Trent’s family’s house in the Hamptons this past summer, but aside from him playing with Trent, I don’t know much about him.

The one I don’t know laughs, shaking his head. “You can say that again,” he says, smiling at me. “I’m Asher. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m Marley, and this is my best friend, Bria,” I reply, motioning to Bria behind me, and his eyes instantly widen. Perfect, I knew bringing her would be the perfect ruse to take attention off me.

“Hey, Marley. Good to see you again,” Luka says, and I wave back awkwardly. God, I’m making this way more difficult than it needs to be. I’m awful around new people, never knowing the right thing to say.

“Do you guys want beers?” Trent asks, and Luka holds his up, shaking his head.

“I’m good,” Asher says, still staring at Bria like she’s the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. I’m tempted to wish him luck, because I have a feeling Bria will eat him alive.

“My eyes are up here,” she says, and Asher simply smiles at her. Or maybe not . . .

“I was reading the front of your shirt. You’re on the track team?”

I didn’t have this on my bingo card, but maybe I should have. “She is,” I confirm, and Bria throws a stormy glare in my direction.

“Ash, can you tell JJ to put some pants on so he can meet Marley?” Trent asks, and he nods, standing up from the couch.

“Sure.”

“Want to come with, Bria? I can show you my room, so you know where to find it later,” Asher says, and I’m thoroughly looking forward to how this will play out.

“Eat shit.” She scoffs, and he laughs, heading up the stairs, but my brain finally processes what Trent asked.

“Do you guys normally walk around without pants?” I ask, and Luka shakes his head.

“No, it’s just a series of running jokes we make when his door is shut because he doesn’t ever bring anyone home.”

Oh, well, okay then?

I don’t have a chance to respond—nor do I really know how to—when Trent pulls me along with him to the kitchen. I lean against the counter as he grabs a beer from the fridge, setting it on the counter. “Your roommates seem nice,” I say, relaxing a little.

“They’re going to love you, but not as much as I love you,” he says, moving to stand in front of me, confidence radiating from him. There’s hope in his brown eyes as he looks down at me.

“That’s sweet, Trent,” I say, and I don’t miss the hurt on his face because I don’t say it back, but he hides it quickly.

He told me a couple weeks ago he loved me after only three months of dating, and I couldn’t say it back. It didn’t feel right—and it still doesn’t—but I’d sound insane if I explained why.

I lean up, looping a hand behind his neck to pull his mouth to mine. Trent’s eager to respond, teasing his tongue over my bottom lip to deepen the kiss, but I pull away at the sound of someone coming down the stairs.

“Later,” I promise as more chatter comes from the living room.

He steals one more brief kiss, snagging his beer from the counter to head toward the living room. “Is he finally done shooting his load?” Trent asks, and I guess it is a little funny if everyone else is laughing.

“Sure,” a deep voice responds, sounding unamused. Why does that voice sound familiar?

Trent distracts me by wrapping his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into him. “Finally. This is Marley Benson, my girlfriend,” Trent says, pressing another kiss to my cheek. He’s awfully affectionate today.

I giggle, pushing him off me because the last thing I need all of them thinking is they’re going to see PDA all over their house if I’m here. “Trent, come on.” I smile, turning to face the final roommate.

Oh my god. I’d recognize him anywhere.

My smile wavers, and I will it to stay in place as he stands immediately, looking at me the same way he did when we met the first time.

Fuck, somehow he looks better than I remembered.

His roguishly handsome features are now .

. . devastating . JJ’s very presence threatens to shatter my common sense telling me why I can’t run straight into his strong arms. His midnight hair is messy, and his eyes are the color of spring, but those lips .

. . I remember vividly what it feels like to be kissed by them.

Based on his expression, I’d say he definitely remembers me.

I think someone says something, but I can’t look away. I’m trying to process him being here. JJ’s really here, and he’s walking toward me.

How is he here?

“Nothing,” JJ says, wiping his palms on his shorts.

“It’s nice to meet you, Marley.” He extends his hand to mine, and when I slide my hand into his, I feel like I can breathe for the first time in years.

Meeting JJ in France two years ago felt like lightning being injected directly into my veins, and I’ve been chasing it ever since.