21. Princess Trey
TWENTY-ONE
PRINCESS TREY
Rylee
When I return home, the apartment is dark, except for the soft glow of the television playing an animated princess movie. I drop my wallet on the counter and stroll into the living room. As I round the edge of the couch, Trey’s lying down, eyes closed. I tip-toe down the hallway and peek my head inside Abby’s room. She’s star fished in the middle of her bed. I softly close the door and make my way back to the living room.
I love you. I can’t believe I said that to him. I’m shocked there wasn’t a Trey shaped hole in my front door after I said that. The only reasonable explanation is I was going through the motions after saying it to Abby. I don’t love Trey. I can’t love Trey. Shit. Do I love Trey? I shove the thought away. Instead, I take this quiet moment to study the man before me. His dark hair is a rumpled mess, with strands poking through the plastic tiara on his head while his long, dark eyelashes fan out against his cheeks. If our friendship started seven years ago, I wouldn’t be as broken and maybe things between us would be different.
The cushion dips as I take a seat on the edge and smile. “Wake up, princess.” I gently shake his shoulder until his eyes pop open. He stretches his arms over his head before meeting my gaze.
“What time is it?”
“A little after ten. I see you got conned into being a princess for the evening.”
His brows furrow. I nod toward the pink plastic jeweled necklace around his neck. His fingers pat his chest until he finds the necklace and lifts it.
“Oh. Yeah.”
“The crown is a nice touch, too.” I giggle.
“I got hustled playing Pretty Pretty Princess. Your daughter ruthlessly kicked my ass, and she had no issues doing it.”
“I always tell her to be proud of her work.” I pick at a piece of invisible lint on the couch. “Your babysitting duties are over. Thank you for watching Abby.”
Trey sits up and leans on his elbow. He removes the tiara, along with the necklaces, and sets them on the floor. “It was nothing. Abby’s a great kid.”
“But also…” I pick at my fingernail. Nerves hitting me like a semitruck barreling down the freeway. “With it being so late, if you don’t want to drive home…”
He sits all the way up. His mouth inches from mine. “Are you asking me to have a sleepover?”
“Only if you want. So you don’t have to drive home. But sleep is the only thing that can happen.” I nod toward the hallway. “Abby.”
There hasn’t been a guy in my bed since Kyle. Sleepovers were off limits. Plus having a toddler who insisted on also sleeping in my bed made things a little more difficult. Dating in general was difficult with a toddler and on those rare occasions I did go out, I lost interest fairly quick, or the sex was mediocre at best, and there was no chance for a second date. With Trey it’s different. Any other guy that I’ve kissed has never felt like this. It’s an out of body experience with him, like my nerve endings are all firing at the same time. Even the first time I met Kyle, it never felt like this.
“A chance to spend a few more hours with you… I’ll take it.” He presses his lips to mine in a chaste kiss.
I grab his hand and lead him to my bedroom. Once inside, I close the door behind us. Trey strips out of his shirt and pants, and I fight every fiber of my being to not stare while he does it. Instead, I change into a long t-shirt that kisses the top of my thighs. When I turn around, Trey has the covers folded back and he’s lying on the bed, his mountainous abs on full display.
“Shit,” he groans. “You expect me to keep my hands to myself when you’re wearing that next to me?”
“Yes. Have some self-control.” I bite back a smile. Like I’m one to talk. With Trey next to me, I’m the one who’ll need to execute some self-control. I twist the knob on the lamp, and it clicks off, shrouding the room in darkness. In a few short steps, I reach the side of the bed and crawl onto the mattress, pulling the blanket over me.
“I don’t know if that’s a word in my vocabulary, especially when you’re involved.” He wraps an arm around me, tugging me close to him, his face nuzzling the nape of my neck. “I’ll execute this self-control that you speak. But next time, I can’t make any promises.”
After a couple of minutes, Trey rolls to his other side. His hand grabs my wrist and tugs me so my arm is wrapped around his waist.
A ghost of a laugh escapes me. “You want to be little spoon?”
“Uh huh.”
“Isn’t that demasculinizing?”
“I’m comfortable with my masculinity. Plus, it feels nice.”
I cuddle into his warm back, inhaling his signature scent that I love. “This is nice, and for once, I don’t have to worry about a dick poking me in the ass.”
“Don’t worry. The night’s still young.”
A smile spreads over my lips as I drift off to sleep.
* * *
“I don’t know why he keeps turning down my advances.”
“Maybe he’s dating someone.”
“Trey Wilson doesn’t date. Maybe I’ll have to double my efforts. I have a meeting set up with him to show me some houses, but maybe I’ll be the one doing the showing.”
“Oh, you’re so bad.”
For the past ten minutes I’ve been eavesdropping on a conversation two women are having at a pub table at Porter’s. My molars grind together every single time they mention his name. I hate this, especially after last night. Even though sometime throughout the night we swapped positions, and I did wake up with his dick poking me in the ass, it was sweet. But Kyle was sweet at one time, too. We’re just friends with exclusive benefits. But how much does that actually mean? They’re just a bunch of random words strung together to make it sound like something it isn’t. He could still be poking other women in their ass.
I don’t have the mental capacity to listen to women fawn over him, throw themselves at him, and blatantly flirt with him right in front of me. I shouldn’t have let him stay over last night. This was all a big mistake, and I should never have gotten involved in the first place. I need to tell him it’s over. This is exactly how things started with Kyle. The constant phone calls and late-night meetings, which I assumed were work related but was more like Kyle getting his dick worked.
“I can’t do this with Trey anymore,” I blurt out.
“Why?” Dessa asks.
“Because every day he has girls throwing themselves at him and flirting with him. There was a girl who did that on our date and she thought I was his sister. Who knows how many times it happens when I’m not around, or how many times he’s going to say no until he finally gives in to the temptation.”
“Not every guy is like Kyle.”
“It’s better if I cut my losses now before we're in too deep.”
“If that’s what you wanna do, but I think you have it completely wrong.” Dessa pulls a bottle of beer from the cooler and passes it to a customer.
“He’s too perfect. There must be something wrong with him. He’s exactly like Kyle.” I cross and uncross my arms as anxious energy flows through me.
“They are nothing alike. Kyle is his own special breed of asshole. Plus, that’s like breaking up with a boyfriend but telling him you want to be friends. It doesn’t work.”
“But he was never my boyfriend.”
“Or was he and you just labeled it as benefits?” Her hand grips her waist and raises a questioning eyebrow.
I blow out an exasperated breath. “Truth be told, I don’t know. The red flags tell me he’s just like Kyle.”
“What red flags?”
“The constant phone calls. Not to mention the women who flock to him the instant he walks into a room.”
Dessa leans against the edge of the bar and crosses her arms over her chest. “Your flags are bullshit. I don’t think you’re giving him a fair chance.”
“I need to do what’s right for me and right now I can’t deal with all that,” I motion my hand over the bar to where the two women are seated, “and sift through whatever feelings I may have. Abby is my number one priority and with that comes dealing with Kyle. I can’t do all of it.”
She leans in a narrowing her gaze at me. “You have a man who wants to take care of you, who wants to serve the entire world on a silver platter for you, and you keep shoving him away. Do you realize that there will come a time when he doesn’t come back.”
“He’s not the right guy for me. He shouldn’t make me feel like this.” I blow out a breath.
“Happy? Because that’s all I see.” Dessa rests a hand on her waist and pops her hip.
“No. I mean, he does.” I pause to collect my thoughts. “He makes me feel like I’m a different person. Like I’m doing things completely out of character. For one, I don’t stalk guys at assisted living facilities because I have it in my head they’re sucking face with a nurse. Second, I don’t have sleepovers and introduce them to my daughter.”
Dessa pulls out a couple of beers from the cooler, twists the caps off, and passes them to a customer. “He’s pushing you outside your comfort zone. You do those things because you care. Genuinely care. That’s why you’re so upset right now.”
I rest my forearms on the edge of the bar and slam my head down. This isn’t supposed to be my life. Simple. Uncomplicated. That’s all I want. Not dwelling over my feelings. I lift my head. “I can’t. I need to focus on Abby and creating a better life for her. After a few more years of saving, I’ll be able to move us out of our crappy apartment. That’s where my attention needs to be. Not on… Trey.”
Dessa rolls her eyes. “You know you don’t have to pick. You can have both. In fact, you deserve both.”
Her words dance around in my head. As much as I want to believe them, it’s never been like that for me. I never get both. It’s always one or the other. When I have a daughter to think about, she’ll always take priority. “But what happens when he leaves, and I’m forced to start all over again by myself with nothing?”
“You’re the strongest woman I know. Whatever happens, you’ll survive because that’s what you do. The way I see it, you’re not giving him a chance because it’s easier to say no than facing your fears.”
I hate that she’s right. Also, I hate that I feel this way. Mostly, I hate that Kyle did this to me. “It’s for the best.”
“If that’s your excuse.” Dessa shrugs.
“It’s not an excuse. It’s my life.” I pull out my phone and send a text message to Trey asking him to meet me at my house later to talk. It’s time I put an end to all our benefits. After I hit send, I shove my phone into my pocket, and it immediately vibrates with an incoming message. I know it’s from Trey, but I can’t work up the courage to read it at the moment.
I busy myself with prepping the garnishes. As soon as I twist off the lid to the pickle jar, my stomach flips. Instantly, I freeze. After a couple of seconds, my stomach settles. I pull out a pickle from the jar, run the knife down its length, and I gag.
“Are these pickles bad or something?” I sniff the opening of the jar. Bile jumps up my throat and I swallow it down.
Dessa peers over my shoulder and sniffs. “They smell fine to me. What’s the expiration date on the jar say?” She spins the jar to find the printed date.
“When my sister was pregnant, she'd get nauseous from olives. Everything from how they smelled, how they looked. If they were anywhere near her, she’d gag. It was the strangest thing,” Lach says nonchalantly while continuing to fill the toothpick holders.
My eyes widen to the size of the cardboard coasters as my heart jumps to my throat. When I was pregnant with Abby, the pungent vinegar smell from pickle juice would have me running to the nearest toilet.
“Rylee? Are you okay? You look a little flushed,” Dessa asks.
I race past her, practically shoving her out of the way until I find the nearest garbage can. With both hands white knuckling the rim, I bend over and empty the contents of my stomach.
I rise and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “I think…I think I might be pregnant.”
“With Trey’s baby?” Dessa asks.
“Oh, shit’s about to get real,” Lach says at the same time.
I nod my head. How am I supposed to push him out of my life when we could be having a child together? Let alone having a child with someone who doesn’t want kids. Bile creeps up my throat again and I shove my face back into the garbage can.
“Take the rest of the day off. We’ll tell Jake you’re under the weather. Which technically, with all the vomit, isn’t a lie. Go buy yourself a pregnancy test to find out for sure.” Dessa rubs small circles over my shoulder blades.
Standing to my full height, I wipe my mouth. “Yeah. I guess I should find out before I jump to conclusions.” Even though I know my conclusions are right. If I thought shit was hard now, it’s about to get ten times harder.
* * *
I lay out the three different pregnancy tests I picked up at the drugstore on my way home. Best two out of three should give me my answer. I twist off the cap to my water bottle and chug half of it. I have an hour before I need to pick up Abby from the bus stop and in less than five minutes, I’ll know if my life is changing once again.
Reaching over, I grab the first stick, shove it between my legs, and do my thing. When I’m finished with the first one, I make quick work to pee the other two while my bladder is still full because I don’t think I can chug another bottle of water.
Once I’m finished, I flush, wash my hands, and wait. They say a watched pot never boils, well in my case, a watched pregnancy test never changes. In two long strides, I’m on the other side of the cramped bathroom. I spin around and repeat the process to the other side, needing something to do to rid myself of this nervous energy. I stop in front of the sink and lift the hem of my shirt over my stomach. With the pad of my finger, I run it along one of the stretch marks on my belly from my pregnancy with Abby. It makes sense why my pants have been a little more snug than normal, but I thought maybe it was from all the dinners with Trey. I splay my hand over my belly. Am I ready to do everything again? I’ve always wanted more kids. I just wish it was under different circumstances.
My apartment is only two bedrooms so I guess the baby will stay in my room for a while first and then he or she will have to share a room with Abby. But what am I going to do about work? Being a single mom and sole provider, I’ll need to return to work as soon as possible. I know Jake will do whatever he can to work with whatever schedule I need. Whatever happens, I’ll make it work. That’s what I do. That’s all I can do. But first I should find out If I’m actually pregnant before I conjure up an entire life plan.
With my eyes closed, I grip the edge of the vanity, needing something to keep me grounded in case I pass out. Slowly, I lift my eyelids. Staring back at me are three tests that all say the same thing. I blow out a slow breath before opening a drawer and sliding the tests inside.
I go next door to ask Marcie for a huge favor. Since she can’t let it stay a huge favor, and I don’t blame her, I give her a brief rundown of my current situation and how I need her to watch Abby for a couple hours while I talk to Trey. Luckily, she agrees.
I’ve paced my entire apartment about five times and only fifteen minutes have passed. I check my watch for the tenth time. Trey will be here any second now. My heart jumps out of my chest when a knock sounds on my door. I race to it and press my clammy palms against the cool wood and peer through the peephole. Trey’s smiling face greets me on the other side.
I twist the knob and pull. When Trey’s gaze meets mine, my stomach flip flops, all without the added help of pickle juice. I step to the side to give him enough room to pass through.
“I brought dinner. It’s a taco pizza because I know it’s your favorite.”
At least it’s not a bacon cheeseburger pizza like last time. It would be hard to explain the sudden urge to vomit. Or maybe not. It would really get the point across. As he passes me, he drops a kiss on my forehead. The gesture is sweet, and more than what I deserve for the amount of heartbreak I’m about to deliver.
He sets the pizza on the counter. “Where’s Abby?”
“She’s with Marcie.” I wring my hands together, avoiding eye contact. “I need to talk to you.”
“Oh, shit,” he mutters. “The expression on your face tells me it’s not a let’s talk about favorite sexual positions kind of talk.”
I huff out a laugh. Even in moments like this he can make me laugh. “No. Not that kind of talk, but something else”
“So, what is it?” In two steps, he’s standing in front of me. His hand running up and down my biceps in comfort. “Are you ending this exclusive friends with benefits?”
I shake my head. If he keeps going with all the possible worst-case scenarios, he’ll eventually get there.
He lifts my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his. “Then what is it? Are you dying?”
I shake my head again, pressing my lips together. Moisture collects in the corners, blurring my vision.
“There’s only one other thing I can think of that warrants the ‘we need to talk’. Are you pregnant?”
My gaze drops to the floor.
“Wait. Are you serious? Are you pregnant?”
I lift my head and nod. A giant knot forms in my throat, not allowing me to form words. He drops his arms and I stroll past him to retrieve the pregnancy tests from the bathroom. When I return to the kitchen, I fan them out on the counter.
“Look, I know this is completely unexpected. Hell, I wasn’t ever expecting this to happen, but here we are. Just so you know, I don’t expect anything from you. I know this isn’t something you ever wanted.” I swallow. Hard. “I’m happy to do this on my own.” A tear wells up in the corner of my eye and I fight to keep it from falling. I don’t want him to see me vulnerable.
Slowly, he turns to meet my gaze. His expression is blank. I don’t know if he hates me. Resents me. Or never wants to see me again. I wait it out for him to say something, but it never comes. Instead, he storms past me, yanks open the door, and slams it closed behind him.