Page 122 of Dear Future Husband

Bear only shrugged his large shoulders.

Trey turned back to me. “What’re you doing here?”

“I’m here to see you.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because I’ve failed my last two math exams. I need you and your brain to teach me.”

He watched me for a moment and in that moment, I genuinely feared he might turn me away. But to my sheer relief, he pivoted for the hall and huffed over his shoulder at me, “Fine. Come on.”

I started down the hall after him but not before shooting Bear and Gracie a quick wink and thumbs up. I knew Trey wouldn’t be able to turn me away when I needed help. It may have been a little manipulative of me, but desperate times.

I shut the bedroom door behind me, which earned me a sidelong glance from Trey, but he didn’t argue. He dropped his bag on the floor while I kicked my shoes off. I jumped onto his bed with my bag, notebook, calculator, and pen in hand.

He didn’t say much more than the bare minimum as he walked me through each problem. Which was fine. It was a good first step.

“Who thought it was a good idea to combinenumbers and letters?” I grumbled while writing out the wrong answer to a problem we’d been working through together.

He sighed, leaning close to scratch out my wrong answer and replace it with the correct one.

“How?” I demanded, and his lips sealed together as his eyes darted from me.

“The Father of Math, Muhammad ibn Musa al-Khwarizmi. You forgot to solve the equation in the parentheses first. Screwed up the entire process.”

I tilted away, dropping a harsh cough into the crook of my elbow, then a barked “nerd” disguised as another cough.

Trey saw right through the charade. Again, his lips went tight, and I realized he was trying to hide his smile from me.

“Stop stalling and try again,” he urged, and I obeyed. Not before I slid him one last dubious smirk.

Only an hour passed before we got through each math equation I claimed to struggle with. Even the few various questions I may have added to draw out the time. When we finished with the last one, Trey retreated from the bed.

“Good luck on your test. Close the door on your way out,” he said by way of farewell before locking his bathroom door and turning on the shower.

Instead of leaving, I put my school supplies back into my bag then pulled out my little, black, leather-bound journal. I opened to a random page and began to read, because I refused to let one more day pass of wasted time between us.

I messed up not communicating the Sam misunderstanding with him earlier. I should’ve told him everything that night on the dance floor, but I didn’t know how.

More like, I was scared to. When it came down to it, Sam was the last little hurtle between me giving myself toTrey fully. He was the last obstacle and I let it sit there, carving out more space between us.

It wasn’t fair.

When I was upset about the Juliette situation, cornered by mistrust, Trey hadn’t let it rot between us. He wasn’t afraid. He didn’t allow me to continue believing he ever cared for her or would hurt me in that way.

He never ran from us or what could be.

Trey was always clear, honest about his feelings and intentions with me. While I… I ran away, pretended and locked my heart up.

He emerged from the bathroom. Steam wafted out with him on his exit and good god almighty, he was only wearing a towel.

Trey approached the dresser in the corner of his room, obviously missing me still strewn out on his bed. I gawked at the sight of his glistening skin, and his rippling muscles under bronze skin. I witnessed him in only a towel that day he was sick, but I hadn’t gotten the opportunity to admire the way I could now.

I don’t know why I was so startled when his towel suddenly fell from his hips, revealing every inch of his backside to me. But I yelped, dropping my face into the covers.

“Holy shit. Damnit, Maybelle!”

“Sorry!” The fabric muffled my hollered apology.