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CHAPTER 7

T RINA

To say I took extreme measures to avoid Ben on the flight from Las Vegas is an understatement. After bolting from his room, I ran back to mine, showered, then packed and left for the airport. Six hours before my flight. Once at the airport, I paid an outrageous sum of money to upgrade to first class before I hid out in an airport bar as far away from our gate as possible. I waited in the bar until right before boarding time, then made my way to the gate, watching from a distance until all the other passengers—most importantly, Ben—boarded before I approached the attendant. Of course, I was counting on the flying gods smiling down on me so I could get to my first-class seat at the front of the plane, and off again once we arrived in Elladine, before Ben ever saw me.

Truthfully, it worked out beautifully, and he was apparently none the wiser until I was climbing into my Uber back in Elladine and I heard him call my name. I’m not proud of it, but I ignored him until I was secure in my seat with the car door closed and the driver pulling away. Only then did I allow myself to turn my head back. And I wish I hadn’t, because the crestfallen expression on Ben’s face and his drooping shoulders caused a twinge of guilt in my conscience.

Not that I owe him anything; I certainly don’t.

It nearly killed me not to call yesterday to find out if we really got married, but I was working and didn’t want to risk anyone overhearing. Now I’m on hold waiting to speak to a live person, my hands shaking with nerves.

The wait music stops. My heart rate speeds up.

“County Clerk of Courts, this is Sue.”Her voice is flat and monotone.

I clear my throat. “Um, hello Sue. I’m calling for some clarity on marriage requirements in the state. I, uh, got myself in a bit of a situation when I was traveling there this past week and need to find out if,”—I take a deep breath—“I need to find out if I’m married.” A nervous laugh escapes me.

Sue responds with an annoyed sigh.

“You don’t know if you’re married?” I don’t miss the sarcasm in her voice.

“I don’t remember. I had too much to drink on Friday and woke up on Saturday with a piece of paper saying we were married…” I swear I hear Sue snigger and I want to strangle her through the phone for making this harder than it already is.

“Well, did you get a marriage license before you got married?”

I wrack my brain but can’t recall doing that. “I don’t think so.”

“But you’re not sure?” she challenges.

“Um. I guess not. Much of Friday afternoon is fuzzy in my mind. Can’t you check in your system?”

“Not today. I can’t. The system is down. And honestly, we’re busy enough with legitimate department business that requests like this are low priority.”

“Low priority? You don’t think it’s important for someone to know if they truly got married or if it was a sham wedding at some sidewalk tourist trap?” The irritation in my voice is loud and clear.

“Of course I do. Which is why I recommend a person not make life-altering decisions while under the influence of alcohol.”

I sigh. This lady is a bitch, but I need to keep my claws in, or she won’t answer the rest of my questions. “Can you please just tell me how to find out for sure if I’m married or not?”

“Well, the only way to be certain is if a marriage license doesn’t get filed legalizing the marriage.”

“Oh, thank God. There’s at least a process. How long does that take? A day or two?”

The haughty witch actually has the audacity to laugh at me. Cackle, more like it. “No. The officiant has ten days to file the license. And it can take us as long as sixty days to get it loaded in the system so it shows up online. We’re always backed up this time of year, catching up on all the Valentine’s Day weddings.”

My throat is instantly as dry as the Sahara Desert. “Sixty days?” I practically whisper.

“Yes, that’s what I said. So, you can start checking online after day ten, but if it doesn’t show up online, don’t bother calling back until it’s been sixty days. The only way to be positive you aren’t married—assuming you have no more incidents between now and then—is to wait until that time period is over. If an officiant doesn’t file a license, you aren’t legally married. Now in the eyes of God?—”

“Okay. Thank you.” I hang up. The last thing I need is for this lady to tell me what she believes God thinks about what did or didn’t happen with Ben and me last week.

Now to get the second tough conversation of the day over with. I pick up my phone and text Ben.

Me: I spoke with the Clerk of Courts office about our situation. Do you want me to tell you what they said in a text?

Ben responds almost instantly.

Ben: Uh, no. I want you to talk to me. In person, please. Can you meet me at Pat’s Diner?

Me: No. Not at Pat’s. Someone might see us. Text me your address and I’ll meet you at your house in a half hour.

It’s a few minutes before Ben responds.

Ben: Fine. 38 Bay Lane. See you in 30.

I don’t reply, but twenty-five minutes later, I’m waiting on Ben’s back patio when he arrives holding two coffees and places one in front of me.

“Thanks,” I mumble, avoiding eye contact with him.

* * *

BEN

Geez, this is going to be more awkward than I thought. Trina won’t even look at me. At least it’s pleasant outside. The spring temperature today is warmer than we’ve seen in the last few weeks. It helps that the sky is an expanse of blue with the sun shining and not a cloud in sight. I’m not sure Trina would go into my house anyway, so I’m happy we can sit out here in pleasant weather instead of the dreariness and too cool for comfort temperatures that are often normal for late March.

“So, um, how have you been since we got home?” I ask. I take a seat at the table she’s already sitting at.

An irritated huff escapes Trina, and she finally turns her head to make eye contact with me. “How do you think? It’s not every day I find myself naked and married after a colossal drunken fiasco.”

I try not to let the animosity in her words hurt me, but it’s harsh. “Ouch, why don’t you tell me how you really feel?” I keep my tone teasing and light to lift some of the surrounding tension.

Trina glares at me, her nostrils flaring in anger. “Fine. I’ll do that. I don’t make mistakes like this, Ben. I’m very careful with my life. Yet a couple hours alone with you—for the first time in almost a decade—and look what happens. You and I don’t mix well. We’re like oil and water.”

My pulse quickens, and my skin instantly heats, but I tamp down my irritation. “I get that you’re upset. I’m frustrated with the situation we’re in as well. But I’d say the problem is that we mix too well, given the right circumstances.”

“Is this all a joke to you?” she hisses.

I let my chin drop to my chest and grasp my head in my hands, not bothering to look up when I answer this time. “No, Trina. It’s not a joke. But I also don’t think it’s doing either of us any good to toss hurtful comments out at each other. Contrary to what you might think, this is stressful for me, too.”

I glance up in time to see her grimace in response to my words before she averts her gaze from me. “Sorry,” she mutters. “I’m not trying to be mean. But I hate feeling out of control like this.”

My heart softens a little since I know her efforts to control what she can are likely her coping mechanism for how helpless she felt growing up. Hell, I’m not even sure she knows that’s why she does it.

“It’s okay. Why don’t you just tell me what you learned today?”

Trina spends the next five minutes recapping her conversation with the lady from Vegas.

“So, essentially, the only way to be sure is for us to wait the ten days and check back to see if an officiant files the license? But it might take up to sixty days to get into the system?”

Trina frowns and nods at me.“So, we can’t do anything to fix this until we know for sure… Maybe up to sixty days.”

“Okay. Well, maybe I should call next time since the lady was rude to?—”

“No. I’ll call. I need to hear it for myself.”

“Sure.” I stand and push my chair back. “You’re welcome to sit here as long as you’d like, but I need to get back to work.”

Trina rises from her seat, clearly eager to leave. “One more thing. I’m aware you’re close to your family, but I don’t want anyone to know about this. Okay?”

I get it. I don’t want anyone to find out either. Still, it irks me she felt the need to say it and a pinching sensation needles my chest, uncomfortably similar to that day years ago. The day when we began to tumble into our downfall with the first of several arguments about her not wanting to tell people we were together. Neither of us was mature enough to recognize it at the time.

I give her a curt nod and walk away.

As I drive back to the police station, I can’t get Trina off my mind. There are several moments from our relationship that are forever seared into my brain. That last night together, when I stormed out of her apartment over the same argument we kept having, the night at Pat’s Diner when I ruined everything, and the night I first learned dating me embarrassed her. That was the night she told me she didn’t want anyone to know about us.

I’m pretty sure today couldn’t be any more perfect. It’s been a few weeks since I first kissed Trina outside her apartment. We’ve spent every free evening together, usually cloistered away in her apartment, snuggling on the couch while we watch a movie or eating take out. A few times we’ve met at one of the wooded paths in our park system and taken walks.

Today, though, it’s gorgeous out—eighty-degrees at eight-thirty p.m. We found a secluded stretch of beach off the lake, and we’ve laid out a blanket on the sand. I’m supposed to be reading some material I wanted to brush up on before I start school the week after next. But I’m super distracted because I can’t take my eyes off Trina. She’s stunning, sitting cross-legged on the blanket, holding a sketch pad on her lap as she scratches out a drawing of the sun setting over the water. Wispy pieces of her long blonde hair have fallen from her ponytail and frame her face.

As I lay on my side, I place my book on the blanket and, before I can stop myself, I reach up and tuck a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. When she turns and smiles at me, I almost can’t breathe. She’s so beautiful.

I stare at her as she places her sketch pad on the blanket, out of our way, and lies down next to me. We lock eyes for several long moments before she leans in and places her soft lips on mine. It’s a struggle, but I use all of my willpower to let her set the pace of the kiss.

God, she’s so damn good at this for a woman who has only kissed three guys before me. I wish I could say the same, but I’ve kissed more girls than I can count and have been with four different women since I started having sex at sixteen. I’m not proud of it. In fact, I regret it. Trina and I have done nothing but kiss so far, and yet it’s more meaningful than anything I’ve experienced with anyone else.

I’m not sure how long we get lost in each other, but it must be a while because the sun has mostly set and there’s very little light left. There’s enough, though, that when Trina rolls onto her back, takes my hand, then places it under her shirt, I can see every detail of her face as I pull back from the kiss. My eyes search hers.

“Trina?” I don’t break eye contact with her.

“Please,” she whispers.

I lower my mouth back to hers and caress her plush lips with my own as I tenderly brush my trembling fingertips over the exposed skin of her upper abdomen and side. When she opens her mouth slightly on a moan, my tongue delves inside, exploring her and trying my damnedest to show her how much I care about her without words.

After a few more minutes, when I stroke the underside of her breast with the pad of my thumb, she loses any sense of hesitancy. Instead, she grabs the bottom of my shirt with both hands and pulls up frantically. When she’s gotten it as far off of me as she can, I sit up and remove it the rest of the way. Trina surprises me when she sits up herself and removes her tank top. My breath stutters in my chest at how pretty she looks in her lacy blue bra.

When I rip my eyes away from her chest and look up at her face, she’s biting her lower lip, watching me nervously. I mistake the look in her eyes as a sign she’s regretting that our shirts are off, so I reach for mine and move to put it back on. She grabs my wrist and stops me.

I take my free hand and cup her face. “It’s okay. We can go back to just kissing. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t wa ? —”

“I want to. It’s just…” She casts her eyes downward.

“Hey, it’s okay. Look at me and tell me. Nothing you say could make me upset.”

“I don’t take this lightly. That’s all. You have more experience than me and I want you to know the physical stuff means something to me. Okay?”

“Trina, believe me when I say that since the moment our lips first touched outside your apartment that night, everything in me has regretted that I have so much experience. I wish I didn’t, but I can’t change it. I can only promise you that this means a lot—everything really—to me, too.”

I watch as she reaches behind her, never taking her eyes off of me, and unhooks her bra. She lets it fall off her shoulders, then slips it off her arms. And I’m a ruined man.

We stay on the beach for another hour and a half, exploring each other’s bodies with our hands. Initially, everything stays above the waist, but when she begs me to touch her under her panties, I don’t have the strength to say no, to suggest we wait. We don’t have sex, but we both find our release in the touch of the other. Afterward, we lie on the blanket holding each other until Trina dozes off.

She has to work tomorrow so, after a few minutes, I kiss her on her head and reluctantly wake her so I can get her home, and she can go to sleep. When I drop her off at her door twenty minutes later, she tries to pull me into the apartment, but I resist. As much as I would love a repeat of this evening, what she really needs right now is sleep. She doesn’t argue too much, which is how I know she realizes it as well.

After I kiss her goodnight, I walk away, then remember I needed to ask her something. “What time should I pick you up on Thursday?”

Her brow furrows. “Thursday?”

“Yeah, remember I told you my parents are having a birthday party for Jack and me?”

A strange expression crosses her face, and she looks down at her feet. “Oh, um… I’m not sure me coming to that is such a good idea.”

Confusion washes over me. “Huh?”

She sighs deeply, peering up at me. “Ben, I’m not ready for other people to know about us yet.” She must see my eyes widen because she quickly tries to explain. “What if you tire of this—of me? What if…”

She stops talking and stares down at the ground.

“You don’t trust me.” It comes out as a whisper, not because I blame her—I don’t—but because I realize my reputation has caught up with me and is hurting my relationship with the one woman I actually care about.

Her only response is, “I’m sorry.”

I arrive at the Police Station and turn off my vehicle, then rest my head back on the headrest and sigh. If I have any hope of keeping the tenuous truce that lets Trina and I coexist slightly more peacefully recently, I have to remember all the work I’ve done to grow and be a better man than I was years ago. I have to stay self-aware of my potential triggers and avoid reverting to old attitudes. It’s not easy, but I have to do it. If not for me, then for her.

And I’d do just about anything for her.