Love In the Red Zone (Connecticut Kings Book 1) (26 page)

My impatient eyes shot up to him for answers. Slowly, Trent’s head rose from the back of the sofa and his eyes opened to a familiar conflict I knew all too well. He shook his head.

“We—” He swallowed, my excitement glistening around his mouth. “Not like this. We can’t do it like this. It’s not—”

He didn’t continue. Trent stood to his feet and faced me with slanted eyes I was sure were similar to mine. His thumb caressed my cheek adoringly as he peered into me, regretful eyes searing me in half. Burning me. Trent strolled off and out of the room, leaving me on my knees in heavy arousal, confused, and hurt. The jab of rejection pounded over me, the blows beating my sensitive skin. I curled into the fetal position, suddenly feeling raw, vulnerable, and dejected. Once again, Trent allowed me to open myself to him physically and emotionally, only to tell me he didn’t trust me.

I loved him. I knew from the moment he left me in my most vulnerable despair that I loved this man hopelessly and pathetically. I knew because the countless times Ryshon betrayed and hurt me, he’d never disappointed me to the degree that Trent just had by not choosing me. I didn’t understand him. He wanted me as bad as I wanted him. I could tell by the way his muscles flexed at my touch. But he wouldn’t fall into the moment with me. Ever. Something held him back, burning me each and every time.

“So,” she sighed, lifting from a squatting position as Kyree ran up the steps for his things. She turned to me with a megawatt smile and gleaming eyes fanned by long lashes that charmed the masses. “How’s it going with Trent?”

My brows hiked, completely caught off guard. I had a flash pout and squint as I quickly contemplated how I’d answer that personal and very private question.

“We’re...” I hummed in hesitation, not to giving her truth, but still stunned by how she could feel so comfortable asking me that. “Great.” I smiled tightly, rocking on my heels with my fingers stuffed into the pockets of my jeans.

“Just great?” Her eyes widened with one hiked brow, her smile just as diagonal. She gestured with her neck. “Come. I’d like to have a word with you in private.”

Private?
We were down in the vestibule alone. And a word? For what?

My mother only stepped a few feet into the formal living room, just off the foyer before speaking with a delicate murmur.

“I’ve been thinking about you and Trent and would like to offer an ear if you need experienced influence. I understand men of wealth and how demanding their world is, how difficult their social circles are to navigate. If you have any questions or just want someone to listen, I’m here, Jade.”

My face held expressionless. I would never share about my relationship with Trent—if I were to ever get a relationship with Trent. Not only was he super private, but I wouldn’t allow Chéri McDowell another opportunity to highlight a new imperfection of mine. She would chop at my ego about not being able to keep a man, and especially one like Trent. She didn’t even know he wasn’t exactly rich anymore. She was the reason I’d been struggling with my self-image, never feeling good enough. Indirectly, but certainly with strong correlation, she was behind why I was hanging on to him by mere threads, because of my insane need to fuck him in order to feel close to him.

It was laughable imagining me telling her about his umpteenth rejection last night. Would she believe I went down on him weeks after being invited to stay in his home along with my homeless child? She certainly would find humor in the fact that I snuck into his bed every night, prying for intimate conversations to gain his trust and then his heart.
And last night
... How would she react if she knew he wouldn’t even fuck me after putting me in sexy, expensive lingerie? I’d laugh right along with her about that one.

“What makes you think I need assistance?” I asked curiously.

Was something said in their church?

“Oh, dear...no!” She expressed her revelation of me being offended with a dainty touch of her neck as she gasped. “It’s just I know you haven’t been in an adult relationship. The one with Kyree’s father was...” She hesitated. “Let’s just say you were a child yourself. Trenton is of a different caliber. He needs special hands for his holdings, is all.”

She still couldn’t refer to Ryshon by his name. I could accept that. I’d disappointed her dreams for me at his ill-advised side. But my mother had no idea if I’d experienced another love after because she stopped speaking to me. For years.

I swallowed hard, swiped my tongue over my bottom lip. “Mom, it’s been a long day. Now’s not a good time...”
Or ever.

She bowed her neck slightly, lowering her lids momentarily. “It was a never-expiring offer. I know how difficult the pursuit of a strong foundation in a relationship is.”

I nodded, unable to look at her.

I was exhausted.
This
was exhausting. After the long six-hour day I had giving mani’s and pedi’s to a bridal party all day, I just wanted to go back to Alpine, soak in the tub, and sleep in
any
bed. Not only was my day spent hunched over chatty girlfriends cackling about old sex, new sex, good sex, lazy sex, scandalous sex, and bad sex, I decided sex played the backdrop of my thoughts too much lately and I needed a break. I also decided I would go to Pennsylvania with Ryshon’s family just as a means of putting needed distance between Trent and me.

Kyree started down the stairs; timely, breaking this bootleg kumbaya moment my mother tried manufacturing.

My face lit up. “Got everything?”

“Yup,” he assured on the way down, coat unfastened.

“Would you like for Ginger to pack food to go? I know you’ve worked all day,” she offered.

I received Ky in my arms, pulling him into me for a much needed embrace. I gathered strength from these little arms on many days.

“No thanks,” I declined on a strain, hugging him. I released Kyree and absorbed his cute smile. “I actually cooked dinner before work today. Can’t wait to dig into that.”

“Oh, wow!” She clutched her neck again, seemingly pleased. “I’m impressed, honey,” she confirmed how well I knew her snootiness. Those green eyes with hazel specs dazzled in amazement.

“Well, five years of homemaking school has paid off.” I patted Ky’s hand, wanting to add something about Ginger’s guidance in the kitchen, but didn’t want to upset her. No matter that she was unable to totally change her aristocratic stripes, I still felt she’d been trying to build a bridge between us. I much preferred the bridge being Kyree and not my romantic relationship or lack thereof. “Thanks for this. He really enjoys you, George, and Ginger.”

“We enjoy him, too, dear.” She bent to kiss Kyree. That act pulled on my heart. No air kisses, pure intimacy as her painted lips touched his soft flesh. “Hopefully again soon. Okay, bud?”

He smiled a closed mouth one and nodded. We took off for Alpine, and four minutes into the ride, Ky was out. I snickered, and decided to be grateful for the quiet time. Once inside the house, I went straight into warming up dinner. Kyree took the back steps up to look for Trent, whose pickup was parked in the garage. I called them down when the food was ready and we chowed down together, Trent and Ky in the mix of their own world.

Later that night, after I put Kyree down, I showered in the bathroom off his bedroom and threw on a t-shirt, panties and shorts. By the time I made it to Trent’s room, he was lying in bed, tossing a ball in the air.

“What’s good,” he greeted.

I sat on the edge of the bed. “Nothing much.” I yawned. “I’m tired. Gonna turn in early.”

I felt him shifting on the mattress, making room for me on
my
side.

I shook my head, my back still to him. “I’m going back in there with Ky.” Preparing myself, I took a quick silent breath. “I’m going to let Ky go with his father’s family for Christmas, up in Allentown.”

“Yeah?” I heard the ball slamming into his palms. “That’s what’s up. I know that was a hard decision for you.”

“Yeah. What made it easier is me going with him.” Silence shrouded the room. I ran my tongue over my bottom lip. Taking a deep breath to calm my unnecessary and uninvited nerves, I shrugged. “It’s just for three days. We can leave if things get uncomfortable.”

“Yeah...yeah. It’s a bet.” His sputtering echoed in against the walls.

“Okay. Night, Trent.” After realizing he had no more words, I lifted from the bed and padded for the hall.

“Yo, Jade,” he called after me as I made it to the doorframe.

I cast a gaze over my right shoulder, acknowledging him.

“Your two sexual encounters... Were you in love with them?”

I turned back toward the hall. “No,” I muttered, answering him truthfully with a shake of the head.

She thought she would trap me with threatening to go away with her baby’s daddy’s peoples for Christmas. What Little Miss Stealthy didn’t know was I could not be manipulated, especially over no ass.
I was not led by my dick, and though most men were, a woman had to choose a new method of game to get me. That was my attitude for the first day and a half after Jade and Kyree left for Pennsylvania. Then my resolve did a flip and landed on a different leg.

“Bro!” I heard called from the end of the hall. “What the fuck…”

Alton Alston, Point Guard for the 76ers, stopped in his tracks abruptly as I was sorting my clothes in the laundry room. His face dropped as though he saw something scandalous. After a few seconds of returning his hard scowl, I lifted my brows to counter him.

“Can I help you?”

“Nah—no… I mean, yeah,” Alton stammered, in a stupor of sorts. “The fuck you doing, bro?” His five foot, six-inch frame glided into the room, approaching me cautiously. He lifted a pair of my basketball shorts with two fingers from the hamper filled with my dirty clothes, bringing them to my face and dropped them back into the basket unceremoniously. “What. The. Fuck. Bro? You need to get a bitch for this domestic shit. You got more important stuff to do!”

I hiked a brow, reaching for the next handful of clothes to dump in the washing machine. “Like what? Beat you in Madden?”

“Yeah, whatever.” He waved me off. “I’m just saying. Get a woman. I get you were on the crazy side before.” Leave it to Al to make light of depression, but he was compassionate about the topic. Athletes understood the misfortune of getting fired and going broke as a result. “But damn, man, you can get a beard in here to fuck and feed you.” He turned, pouting worse than Ky.

“Yeah?” I snorted. “So, I can’t cook for myself?”

“You can—shit, that spaghetti and chicken parm was bangin’ as fuck—but you ain’t gotta. No man’s food should taste that good because they shouldn’t have the practice time needed to get so good at it. Cooking and all matters of the house is a woman’s responsibility. Period!” He swiped his arm in the air for emphasis. “And find one that knows how to play behind ya balls. And the right way; no penetration, my nigga.”