Page 14

14

JAKE

T rinsky cranked the volume on a rock song I didn’t recognize and drove west, one hand casually draped over the steering wheel, the other tapping a beat on his thigh. He’d removed his sport coat and rolled up his sleeves before we’d left the studio, griping about being hot and uncomfortable.

Ironically, I was the uncomfortable one now. Instead of soaking in the California sunshine on a beautiful summer day, I was hopelessly distracted by his beefy inked forearms and strong profile. Damn it, I should never have gotten into his car. I couldn’t be in his vicinity and remain neutral. It was impossible.

He either irritated me or turned me on. And that second one tied me in knots. I didn’t like that this feeling hadn’t gone anywhere. I’d been counting on a change of scenery to serve as a reset button. We didn’t have to be friends or even enemies. We could be ambivalent acquaintances.

But my skin didn’t overheat around other ambivalent acquaintances, and I didn’t blush like a teenager at the memory of what we’d done in that tent…and against that tree, and…

I lowered the volume and twisted in the lush leather seat. “You’re killing my eardrums.”

“We can put on a little yacht rock if that’s your jam.”

“I do not listen to yacht rock. I don’t even know what that is.” I snorted.

“It’s corny dad music. Although…some of it’s okay,” he conceded. “What do you listen to?”

“Everything. I’m on a podcast kick now.”

Trinsky lifted a brow. “Me too. My brother hooked me up with a good history one. The latest installment covers the Etruscan civilization.”

“Etruscans? That’s…interesting.”

He knit his brows and cast a quick look my way. “It’s fucking fascinating shit. Did you know the Etruscans were master metal workers, and they did these amazing murals? The Romans didn’t like them, though. Not sure why. Gotta tune in to the next podcast to find out.”

My lips curled of their own volition. I did not find him amusing at all—I tried not to, anyway. “You’re a dork.”

“A dork! Ha. I haven’t heard that one in a while.”

“If the shoe fits.”

I noted the swaying palms lining Wilshire Boulevard, the coffee shops, banks, and boutiques with colorful awnings. I’d been here dozens of times for games and had done all the touristy things, but the city was so sprawling that I never really felt like I knew it. Boston was charming, sometimes edgy, yet steeped with poignant history while LA had a vibe all its own. It was glittering and pretty with a deceptive coolness cloaked in smoke and mirrors. Nothing ever was as it seemed. Sometimes it was better, sometimes not.

Like Trinsky.

“You’re a funny one, Jakey,” he singsonged, squeezing my knee.

I yelped and smacked him, which made him laugh and made me want to strangle him. It was better than the floaty, woozy feeling in my lungs. But the ensuing silence was suffocating. I simultaneously wanted to jump out of the car and stay here, with the road stretching on for miles.

No, I didn’t want to say good-bye. It was an unfamiliar feeling where Trinsky was concerned…and I still had so many questions.

I wanted to know more about the charity he was involved in. Where did he live? Did he have a lot of friends in the area? What about a girlfriend? Shit . Did he have one of those? Was that secret hand sign he made on air for her? Why would I care? Did I care?

“Hey, what was that secret signal?” I flubbed through my own version of one. “Was that for your girlfriend?”

He stopped at a red light and glanced over with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You jealous?”

“Fuck off.”

But also…yes.

Trinsky chortled merrily. “I don’t have a girlfriend. That was for Eddie…my brother.”

“Oh. Sign language?”

“It’s sort of an inside joke. Eddie is learning ASL. I know more than I let on, but it makes him laugh when I intentionally fuck up, so…I do.”

I smiled. Mason Trinsky knew sign language, listened to history podcasts, and was involved in a children’s charity. Who the hell was this guy? At least two of those three things were connected to his brother, which indicated he was close to his family. Geez, he might be a dick on the ice, but he was proving to be less of one in his real life.

“That’s pretty cool,” I admitted. “How old is your brother?”

“Sixteen.”

“Does he play hockey?”

“No,” Trinsky replied.

“ Mmm . I thought maybe hockey ran in the family.”

He snickered. “Dude, I’m from Hermosa Beach. We have surf and sand…no ice.”

“How’d you get started? No, never mind. I’ve heard the story.” We’d spent too many years in the league and countless summers of camp together. I might not know much about his personal life, but I knew his hockey origin story. “Your friend’s dad worked the Zamboni for the Kings practice rink and used to take you after school.”

Trinsky gasped in faux surprise. “You googled me!”

I rolled my eyes, the way I always seemed to do around him. “Dream on. You’ve told that story to every group of teenagers in Elmwood since you started coaching summer camp.”

“Ah, well, it’s a good story. I used to bring Eddie with me to the rink when he was younger, but his balance wasn’t great and he’d get frustrated. He’s better now, but he’s more of an ocean guy. I told him we’d go surfing tomorrow. That’s always fun.” His lips quirked at the corners. “You should come.”

“Surfing? I haven’t been on a board in years.”

“Body surfing. Eddie doesn’t like boards.” He stopped behind a Jeep and grumbled. “Traffic sucks. I hope you didn’t have to be anywhere soon.”

“Nah, I don’t have any plans.”

Trinsky did a double take. “Are you hungry?”

“Uh…yeah, I could eat.”

“Cool, we’ll go to my house.”

I sat taller in my seat. “ Your house?”

“Yeah, I have to jump on the freeway, but it’s not that far. And Bianca stocked my fridge yesterday. We’re talking…stocked. I need help doing justice to her enchiladas. Might as well be you.”

“Bianca.” I wrinkled my nose in confusion. “Is she your girlfriend?”

He snorted derisively. “Bianca is my housekeeper who also happens to be an amazing cook.”

“Weren’t you dating a model?”

Trinsky did one of those obnoxious side winks. “You totally googled me.”

“No, I didn’t. Did you—did you tell anyone?”

“About us? Oh, yeah. For sure. I broke up with my ex a few months ago, but I called her last week and told her I banged a dude and liked it. Now she wants a threesome. I got my agent to get me on this TV thing with you, so I could offer you a ride and ask how kinky you get. It was all going according to plan, but I guess the ruse is up. Phew . Weight off my chest, man.” He pounded said chest like a caveman and veered onto the freeway entrance.

“You’re very fucking funny,” I deadpanned.

Trinsky lost it.

He hooted, slapping his palm on the steering wheel. “You’re the best target. So easily offended. Lighten up, buttercup. I don’t have a girlfriend and no, I didn’t tell anyone I touched your dick. Sadly, that means no threesomes for us…if that’s where your kink lays.”

“Lies, not lays.”

“Shut up, Milligan,” he retorted almost affectionately. “You know I’m playing with you.”

“You’re a freaking child.”

Trinsky grinned. “And you’re a freaking stick-in-the-mud. How do you feel about enchiladas?”

“I love them.”

“Good. You’re forgiven. Now, hang tight. Let me show you what this baby can do.”

And with that, he revved the engine, zipping around slow-moving traffic at a hundred miles per hour, singing his lungs out to a Pearl Jam classic.

I was annoyed.

Totally…absolutely…annoyed.

And a little charmed.

At least now I could blame my racing pulse on the Porsche and if my smile felt too big for my face, well…I liked fast cars and Pearl Jam too.

Trinsky’s Hermosa Beach house was—well, it was…

“This is…nice.”

I bit my lower lip as I surveyed the opulent surroundings of the tri-level mafia villa meets California coastal chic abode. The floors were a mix of travertine and hardwood, the kitchen counters were dark granite, and not one, but two crystal chandeliers hung above an enormous island. The barstools were white leather, and there was a zebra-print rug under the glass table in the breakfast nook.

The best word to describe his place would be ostentatious.

“Don’t sugarcoat it. This house would have been Tony Soprano’s dream beach house, and you fuckin’ know it. Tacky as shit, but I’m only here a couple of months out of the year, so who cares?” He tossed his keys to the granite island. “Want something to drink? You name it, I’ve got it—beer, soda, water, wine.”

“Water is fine. Thanks.”

I passed through a stone archway and wandered to the wall of windows in the adjoining living room. The house was definitely not my taste, but no one could fault the view. His great room was on the second floor, offering privacy from boardwalk traffic as well as an incredible panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean. The soft earthy sand and turquoise waters softened the harsh interiors and in a funny way, balanced them out.

“Here you go.” Trinsky handed over a water bottle and motioned to the patio. “I’m gonna nuke some enchiladas and change into shorts. Pull up a chair outside. I’ll meet you in a few.”

Ten minutes later, he set a platter of warm enchiladas, rice, beans, and tortilla chips on the table, looking infinitely more comfortable in workout shorts and a snug-fitted Denver Condors tee. I hated that I noticed his pecs and the flex of his biceps as he flopped onto the chair across from me and slipped a pair of Wayfarers on. And I really hated that my first thought was, Damn, he’s hot .

I thanked him for the cutlery and napkin, and gaped at the feast…to avoid gaping at him. “Holy crap, this is a ton of food.”

Trinsky shoveled three enchiladas onto his plate and spooned rice and beans on as well. “Uh-huh. Bianca spoils me. She has a huge family, like five kids and fifteen grandkids, and the minute I tell her I’ll be in town, she doubles whatever is on the menu and stuffs my fridge with the best Mexican food you’ve ever had…guaranteed. Don’t be shy.”

I was pretty hungry and there was a lot of food, so I went for it. We made idle conversation about the beautiful weather, the fat seagulls stalking beachgoers, and Bianca’s amazing culinary skills.

“I didn’t know I liked enchiladas this much. Please pass my compliments on to the chef,” I gushed.

“You got it. Her chile relleno is even better. And don’t get me started on her tamales.” Trinsky dragged a chip through sauce mixed with beans and rice. “I’m lucky and I know it. If Bianca ever gets tired of me, I’ll be reduced to cereal and mac and cheese. Thank God she loves me.”

“You sure you aren’t dating her?” I teased.

He kicked my chair and scowled. “Show some respect. She’s old enough to be my grandmother, and she’s more like a second mom to me…who I pay to cook and clean. My house and my mom’s.”

I pushed my plate away with a contented sigh. “Your mom lives close by?”

“Yeah, just a few blocks away.”

“ Hmm . Do you have other siblings, or is it just you and Eddie?”

“Just us. I never knew my dad, and Eddie’s dad fucked off a week after he was born,” he replied.

“Sorry, that sucks.”

“Meh, you can’t miss what you’ve never had. My mother has epically terrible taste in men, so I really doubt my bio dad was a standup guy. And Eddie’s…” Trinsky let out a low whistle, shaking his head in disgust as he sat back in his chair. “That dude was a scumbag. I know he wouldn’t dare make a surprise appearance, but if he tried, I’d fucking tear him apart, limb from limb.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Some people shouldn’t be allowed to procreate.” He scooted forward, leaning an elbow on the table. “If you ask me, there should be a mandatory test for any prospective parent. Maybe no one is perfect, but if you’re a human disaster zone, you pass your parent card to someone worthy and move on. No exceptions.”

“I want to agree with you, but I think my dad considered himself a human disaster zone before I was born.”

“ Your dad? No fucking way. He’s like…the original Mr. Perfect.”

I chuckled. True, my dad was a perfectionist, and if Trinsky noted that I’d followed in his footsteps, I wouldn’t deny it. But my dad was pretty awesome, and everyone knew it. Including Trinsky.

“He’s a good man, but he had demons to conquer. Everyone has baggage, I suppose.”

“What’s yours?” he asked.

“That’s a little personal.”

Trinsky huffed. “I just shared my enchiladas with you. Be nice. You don’t have to tell me what’s in the large suitcase. I probably can’t handle that shit anyway. Give me something from your travel-sized bag.”

I pursed my lips in amusement. “Easy. I’m bi, and I had a sexual encounter with my rival.”

“Funny thing…I got the same problem. And you know what’s worse?”

“What?”

“I don’t think I hate him. Not that I ever really did. It was more that I was annoyed as fuck with him, and I thought his face was totally punchable.”

I barked a laugh. “Oh, yeah? He sounds terrible.”

Trinsky nodded solemnly. “Very fucking terrible. The dude is hot, though. I just wish he didn’t get on my last nerve. Weird, ’cause I’m usually a pillar of patience—very reasonable, very chill. He, on the other hand, is allergic to fun.”

“I am not allergic to fun,” I grumbled.

“What makes you think I’m talking about you?”

“Good question. Are you?”

He flashed a devilish half grin. “I am. Want to know something wild?”

“Yeah…what?”

“I’m not sure that I like you, but I’m kind of obsessed with this queer sex stuff. I’ve done my homework every night since I left Elmwood. I started with basic definition and graduated to video tutorials. It’s been enlightening.”

I swallowed hard, my gaze tracking his tongue gliding across his lower lip. “I bet. So, you’re really fine with what happened…in the forest?”

“Fine is not the right word. I’m…horny.”

I snickered. “Good to know.”

“I’m not kidding. It’s been two weeks. I hoped the feeling would fade or that I’d be interested in hooking up with a woman, but…” Trinsky blew his cheeks out and released a slow stream of air. “My head is stuck in that tent. With you.”

My heart pounded against my rib cage. It was so like him to casually discuss our hump-and-grind fests over lunch with the soundtrack of screeching seagulls, giggling children, and a mishmash of music on the beach. There was so much static in the air and yet, he had my undivided attention.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t feel like baggage to me. I’m not afraid of it. I want it. The circumstances are tricky, though. You’re my only viable option and correct me if I’m wrong, but…I think I’m yours.”

I didn’t reply. Was he—did he want…did he want what I thought he wanted?

Shit, I was nervous. And that was crazy. This was Mason Trinsky, for fuck’s sake. He was an annoying asswipe who loved riling me up for no reason whatsoever. So what if he happened to be built like a Mack truck?

“So you’re playing nice with delicious Mexican food on a beautiful day at the beach to get in my pants,” I stated, proud that my voice didn’t crack or waver.

He flashed that wicked grin again. “Something like that. What do you think? Should we get this out of our systems? You can still hate me if you want. I won’t be offended.”

He wouldn’t be. Nothing would change between us.

This could be about physical release and sating mutual curiosity. Sure, it was strange that after years of putting sex on the back burner, I’d found myself drawn to Trinsky, but maybe that was because he elicited strong responses from me. I was calm and collected under pressure and yet…this guy always seemed to get to me.

Maybe I needed to get this out of my system too.

A tingling sensation zinged at the base of my spine. Fuck, this wasn’t smart.

Or was it? There was no way in hell he’d tell anyone about this. I could trust him.

One more time.

“Let’s do it.”