6. Casey #2
“Um, excuse me.” I’m sure I’m interrupting something William is saying, but I don’t care. “I see someone I need to speak with. Good to meet you both. It was great seeing you, Ashton.”
Ashton glances out the window where my gaze had been stuck, then smirks knowingly. “Sure thing. See you around.”
I don’t like that smirk one bit. There’s no way he could have known about Trina and me a year ago when it was happening. We haven’t seen each other in longer than that, and I doubt he even knows her. But his smirky implication that I’m out for a piece of ass grates on my nerves.
Though…aren’t I? If she wanted to start up something physical, I mean. That’s all it would be.
No, I tell myself. She’s a friend, and she’s outside alone. Mom always told me never to leave a lady by herself at a function. It’s good manners, that’s all.
Yet, try as I might, I can’t slow my steps down as I make my way quickly through the lodge and outside into the dry, summer air.
There are other people out here, many of them admiring the view of the Rockies in the distance. I admit, it’s a gorgeous landscape. Especially now, at sunset, with the clouds painted in neon oranges and pinks. The mountains are purplish. They slice majestic, jagged lines through the sky.
Trina doesn’t notice me, so I take an extra second to watch her as her hair shines with the last reflected light of the day.
She’s wearing a form-fitting black dress with capped sleeves and a boat neckline.
Her hair is twisted up in a clip, leaving the long column of her neck exposed.
It’s strange seeing her out of her characteristic flowing skirts and T-shirts, but she’s no less gorgeous than she always is.
And as I take a few steps toward her, I have the exhilarating sense that I’m either walking toward my doom or right into one of the best things that could ever happen to me. There will be no in between, and somehow, I can’t wait to find out which it’s going to be.
She still doesn’t glance at me when I stand right next to her, turning my attention outward to try to see what it is she’s seeing. But she shifts slightly closer to me. I take that as a good sign.
“Nice night,” I say stupidly.
“Yeah,” she breathes, still gazing out into the distance. “It’s really beautiful here.”
“It is,” I agree.
She sips her wine and I do the same with my own drink, not exactly sure what to say and unwilling to break the silence, for some reason. She’s working through something, I think, and I suddenly feel bad for interrupting.
“Penny for your thoughts?” I ask after a while. The sun has almost made its descent behind the mountains, and it’s growing cooler.
She huffs and shakes her head as if she’s laughing at herself. “I was just thinking I wish I were a writer, so I’d have a way to describe that sunset.”
I down the last of my bourbon and put the glass on a nearby table. “You’re surrounded by words every day. I’m sure you could find some way to write it.”
Trina raises a skeptical eyebrow, finally looking at me. Her eyes are deep and full of wonder, and her chest rises and falls slowly, rhythmically. “I’m not a writer.”
“No one is until they start writing.”
Rolling her eyes, she turns her body so she’s facing the mountains again. “It wouldn’t be any good.”
I lightly tap her with my elbow. “That’s what you have an editor for,” I joke.
The look she gives me is almost one I’d expect from an annoyed preteen. “Oh my god.”
I take it a step further. “You could probably land a deal pretty easily with all your connections.” When she giggles brightly, I can’t help but feel I’ve been rewarded.
She shoves me lightly. “I just wanted to describe a sunset, you weirdo.”
The chuckle that escapes me is light and airy, almost like the clouds over the mountains in front of us. It’s a feeling I haven’t had for a long time—like I could float away, or even simply release some heaviness for a time.
“And I’m saying you could,” I say between laughter as she continues to give me little pushes. “They’re just words.”
She stops to give me an incredulous look. “You’re an editor.”
“So what?” I spread my arms out from my sides. We’re starting to attract sidelong glances from others on the patio, though I can see a few people grinning at our antics.
“Words matter!” she insists loudly, but she must notice people looking at us too, because she comes closer to me and lowers her voice. “If they didn’t, then why are any of us here?”
“That sounds like an existential question more than a literary one,” I quip, which earns me another eye roll. The moment having passed, I grow more serious. “Of course words matter. But I can’t edit a blank page. Write it down, fix it later.”
“How very Steinbeckian of you,” she says drily.
“Wasn’t that Hemingway?”
She shakes her head vehemently. “Hemingway was, ‘The only kind of writing is rewriting.’ If anything, ‘You can’t edit a blank page’ is attributed to Picoult. But Steinbeck’s method was famously to get everything down on paper quickly and worry about it later.”
When Trina pulls references out of her brain like this, she starts waving her arms in these large gestures that punctuate her sentences and accentuate her passion for the subject. Not for the first time, I’m struck by how enthusiastic she is and by how much she keeps inside that mind of hers.
“What?” A little bunch forms between her brows as she smiles a little uncomfortably.
Shit. Every thought must have been written all over my face.
I clear my throat. “Nothing. Impressed by your knowledge is all.”
Trina hums, unconvinced, but I’m saved by a tap on my shoulder. I turn to see a young waiter with an apologetic look on his face.
“Sorry, sir. Ma’am. I’m just letting everyone know that it’s last call for cocktail hour. You are welcome to stay, of course, but the event is ending in about thirty minutes, and the lodge will open to the public again at that time. Can I get either of you another drink?”
Shaking her head, Trina waves her half-full wine glass in front of her. I also tell him no, and he makes his way to another group lingering on the now-dark patio.
“I’m not even going to finish this.” Trina places her glass on the table. “I mostly wanted something to hold so I didn’t look stupid. I think I’ll head back up to my room.”
“Can I walk you?” The words are out of my mouth before I can think better of them. I press my lips firmly together as if that could stop more from escaping.
She eyes me carefully, her face giving nothing away until she smirks. “I suppose I do need protection from all the riffraff in this place.”
“Exactly.” I smile. “You can never be too careful around book people. It’s a dangerous crowd.”
Ticking up an eyebrow, she says, “They’re not as safe as you might think.”
It’s a loaded statement, and I can’t help but think she’s talking about me, but she tips her head toward the door and starts making her way inside. I’m helpless but to follow.
The elevator is packed with people, probably both attendees and professionals alike if everyone’s attire and level of sobriety is any indication.
The aspiring authors who come to this thing are notorious for letting loose on the first day since anyone who could ruin their career is at a separate event.
Everyone will get down to business tomorrow.
Trina and I stand near enough to each other that I can smell her strawberry shampoo. As surreptitiously as I can, I breathe in deeply. I always did love that smell.
I’m grateful that, when the elevator reaches the third floor, we’re the only ones to get off. We’re spit out into an empty hallway that we walk silently down until we get to room 307.
“Well, this is me.” She makes no move to open the door. Instead, she gazes up at me with wide eyes, her lips parted slightly.
I could kiss her right now, I realize. And I want to. I can almost taste the berry flavor of the lip gloss she always applies over that red lipstick to make her mouth shine. That image is followed by one where those red lips are parted and I’m feeding her—
No. That absolutely cannot happen. We’ve been down this road before, and it would be futile to hope for a different outcome this time.
But she leans forward slightly, her breasts almost touching my chest. One deep breath would break the boundary between us.
She wants me to kiss her, that much is clear.
Knowing it is a heady feeling, that I have some power here over her.
And while I want nothing more than to show her everything powerful I can do to her—with her—it’s not a good idea.
“We shouldn’t,” I whisper, but I don’t move away.
She blinks. “You’re right.” But she doesn’t move away either. A corner of that red mouth lifts in a smirk. “Never stopped us before.”
“You’re trouble.” It’s indulgent, not an indictment. I push a little farther into her space when I say it.
“You’re an enigma,” she returns.
“I can keep a secret.” Once again, my mouth is working faster than my brain, but Trina sighs and tilts her head upward.
The elevator dings down the hall. Trina’s eyes go wide. I take a quick step back just as a loud group spills into the hallway. They make a sharp turn toward the other wing of the building, but the moment is over.
“Well, I believe in signs. And that was definitely a sign,” Trina jokes, but it falls flat.
I run a hand over my hair. “Right. Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. We’re two consenting adults. But…” She gestures toward her door. “I’m going to take a cold shower and call it a night.”
A low, self-deprecating laugh tumbles out of me. “I should…uh…probably do the same.”
She slips her key card out of her handbag and presses it against the lock. “See you around, Casey.”
“Yeah,” I say, taking a step backward toward the elevator.
But her hazel eyes stay trained on me until the last second before her door snicks shut.