He ignores me, pushing the door to his bedroom open, sauntering toward his dresser to pull out a pair of boxer briefs and shorts, tossing them on his bed. He walks past me, stepping in front of his closet in search of a shirt before adding it to the pile.
Crossing my arms in front of me, I stare at his back, debating if I want to give up and walk out of here. After what happened between us the other night, then lying in bed missing him for the past two nights, I hadn’t expected he’d go back to treating me this way.
Well, I guess I should say I hoped we hadn’t gone back to this.
He flings his hat on top of his dresser, ignoring me like I’m not even standing here. With his back facing me, he peels his shirt off. The Roman lettering with “Ward” printed in ink spans his upper back.
His hair is pulled back, matted to his head.
Even though he doesn’t look like his usual self, he looks incredibly sexy. Standing in front of me, without a shred of emotion, he grabs the waistband of his shorts and drops them to the floor with his shirt, leaving him naked.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
I can’t help myself, I let my eyes eat up every inch of his body. The arrogant asshole he is, he doesn’t even try to cover. He stands there, letting me drink him in like I’m dehydrated and only his body can fill me with all the nourishment I need.
When my eyes finally fall on his, I’m relieved to find something more than exhaustion on his face. Judging by the size of his, uh, package, I can tell he enjoys it just as much as I do.
“Well, now I guess I’m going to have to do something about this, too.” His hand wraps around his length, he reaches for his clothes before waltzing through the door.
It takes a second for my feet to catch up with him, my mind in other places thinking about his hand on himself again. After the first time of watching him in the shower, I’m eager at the thought of getting a second viewing when I see him head toward the bathroom.
He disappears through the door, only this time he shuts it behind him. The sound of the lock clicking feels like a punch in the gut.
I hate that he’s pushing me away and how easily I find myself back in this place, disliking how he makes me feel embarrassed and rejected.
I dejectedly walk back down the stairs and collapse on the couch, continuing to paint my toenails. I don’t have long before I have to get ready for my shift.
After his shower, Brix is dressed in his usual black Dickies. This time he’s dressed in a white t-shirt and his all-black Vans. He mutters something about heading over to Tysin’s to prep for their show tonight. They store their equipment and practice at his house. He doesn’t say anything, he just grabs his keys off the counter and stalks out the door.
It’s on my mind the entire time as I get ready and all along the drive to the bar. My eyes keep checking the back door, waiting for when he and the guys come through to set up.
The knot in my stomach starts to lessen some when he arrives, and I see his eyes search the bar looking for me. I can’t be sure since he’s on the opposite side of the room, but for a second, I think he smiles when he finds me looking back at him, too.
Whatever happened, whatever is going on with him, something tells me it has nothing to do with us. As much as I want to push him, just like he’s done to me, I know I need to give him time and space to work through whatever it is.
After they arrive, time seems to fly by. Every chance I get, my eyes seem to drift back to the stage, watching them set up for their show. Once they finish, the guys head toward the bar in search of drinks. It’s the same moment Trevor shows up, taking a seat at the same barstool he used the first night we met, near where I’m working.
“Hey, Trev,” I say, smiling. He looks good, his hair curling on the ends, giving him a more boyish look.
I can’t help but think back to the nickname Brix gave him, feeling guilty comparing the similarities between the two. Despite Brix’s disapproval, Trevor has been nothing but good to me. He’s tried reaching out a couple of times over the past few days. All his attempts were met with no response.
He doesn’t deserve for me to ignore him. The fact he’s even sitting here in front of me, talking to me, says far more about the kind of man he is.
“Hey, Ivy.” He grins. Reaching into the cooler beneath the bar, I grab him a tallboy of Busch Light. Popping the tab, I set it down in front of him.
“Thanks.” He flashes me a wink, as Brix takes a seat next to him.
Trevor glances between the two of us, uncertain of how I’ll react after the last two incidents.
“Hey, man, I think I saw you outside our house the other day,” Brix says, ignoring the fact he saw us together at the fair and on the boardwalk. He looks serious, but I know better than to believe he’s being nice. “What’s your name again? Frank, right?”
I bite down on my lower lip, my eyes widen at the thought of what’s about to come out of his mouth next, glancing from Trevor back to me. Goddammit, I want to smack him upside the head right now.
“Ahhh, nah, man. It’s Trevor.”
“Right, Trevor. I must’ve confused you with someone else then.”