Trevor

Trevor

Asweet smell wakes me up the next morning. I blink my eyes, looking around to find myself alone in my room. It smells like something is baking. My mind runs with possibilities before it lands on the most reasonable scenario. Sage. She must be downstairs making something.

I shake my head as I push out of bed. I fucked up last night. It was one thing to break rule number three and let her crash with me for a little while until her apartment is put back together. It’s another to break rule number four and number one on top of that. She’s trouble, and the fact that my rules keep seeming to fall by the wayside anytime she’s around isn’t good for anyone.

I have no doubt she’s downstairs right now, trying to play it cool while also simultaneously hoping this is the start of something. As much as it may surprise people, I actually don’t like hurting people. I don’t enjoy having to let women down, explaining to them that they’ll never get more than I offer because I just don’t have anything else to give. These women want my heart, but the thing is, I don’t have it, haven’t for years. It’s still with her and not even a walking wet dream like Sage could change that.

As I open my door and make my way down the stairs, I mentally prepare myself for the tears, maybe even for some shit to get thrown. Sage doesn’t strike me as a crier, more of a throw a toaster at your head kind of woman.

When I round the corner, I expect her to be done up in that ‘I just woke up this way’ but you know she got up a good twenty minutes earlier to do her hair and makeup in a natural way. Instead, I find her in an oversized Metallica T-shirt that more resembles a shapeless dress, her hair up in a greasy looking messy bun, and her face free of any traces of makeup, the dark circles under her eyes attesting to that.

She’s nodding her head to some heavy metal song as she pulls a pan out of the oven, setting it onto the stovetop before turning to face me. I anticipate the doe-eyed smile to come into play because obviously she didn’t realize I was awake yet. Maybe she was trying to surprise me with food in bed or something?

Instead though, she gives me a casual head nod as she reaches for a bowl of what looks like icing. I blink several times, a little confused why she hasn’t said anything to me yet. What is she doing? I’ve had more than my fair share of women try to ‘play it cool.’ It’s all the same song and dance. In the end, they all are after one thing. Only Sage isn’t showing the usual tells. She’s not making the same moves. Honestly, I’m not even sure what game we’re playing at this point. There has to be a game, right?

Her eyes come up to me as she wrinkles her nose in what looks like confusion.

“What?”

I stare at her for a few seconds before I shake my head.

“What are you doing?”

She looks down at the bowl before looking back at me.

“Uh, making breakfast? I do it every morning, believe it or not.”

“And there just so happens to be enough for me?” I ask dubiously. She can’t think I’m this naïve.

Sage sets the bowl down, leaning against the counter as she tilts her head to the side, her eyebrows dipping as she seems to almost bite back a smile.

“What? If you think you’re getting a single one of my pumpkin cinnamon rolls, think again. The very least you could do is say please.” She laughs in a way that doesn’t sound very amused.

“Wait, what? Fuck this, Sage. What are you playing at?”

She looks from side to side as she shakes her head.

“Dude, I don’t know what you’re going on about, but it’s too early for this shit.”

Grabbing the bowl in front of her, she turns to face what I now know are cinnamon rolls before she begins icing them.

“So you didn’t wake up early to bake for me? Try to, I don’t know, win me over or something?”

A choked laugh escapes her as she looks over her shoulder at me.

“Michaels, I know we haven’t known each other for long, but does any of that sound like something I would ever do?”

I frown at that. “No, you seem like the type of woman who would make something delicious and eat every bite right in front of me, just so I couldn’t have any.”

Turning to lean against the counter, she raises a cinnamon roll to her mouth before taking a bite, giving me a teasing wink as she does.

“Not a bad idea,” she says over her mouthful of food in the most unladylike fashion possible. God, my mother would have a heart attack if I ever brought a woman like her home. One look at those tattoos, and she’d be in an ambulance. One smart-ass remark and my father would probably be right beside Mom.

Feeling like a tool, I run a hand through my hair as I look over at her.

“So, last night?” I hedge hesitantly.

Sage rolls her eyes as she shakes her head.

“I told you, we fucked. It was fun, but you definitely don’t have to worry about me going all gooey heart eyed for you or anything.”

“Why’s that?” I ask, purely out of curiosity.

She presses her tongue to the side of her cheek as she softly shakes her head.

“Besides the fact that you’re head over heels for a woman you can never have?” she asks.

I nod as I do my best to ignore the pang that spreads across my chest at her words. They suck, but they’re true.

“You’re not my type, not really at least. I’m definitely not looking for anything more than some fucking around, but if I was, you wouldn’t be my first choice,” she says with a small shrug as if her statement is no longer offensive because of that.

“Who is?” I ask, not knowing why I give a shit. It’s not like she’s my type. Far from it. I’ve always been drawn more to softer women, delicate, definitely not as abrasive and snarky as her.

Sage waivers for a moment like she’s running through a roster in her head before she grabs another cinnamon roll.

“Jackson.”

“Donatello?” I ask dubiously, not able to hide my disgust.

She nods as she takes a bite.

“Why haven’t you hooked up with him then?” I ask when she doesn’t say anything.

“I will,” she says with a nod as she swallows and walks over to the sink to wash her hands.

I don’t like that. I don’t know why, but it doesn’t sit well with me. Before I even know what I’m doing, I’m making my way around the kitchen island, caging her in against the sink as her ass presses against my already hardening dick.

“He couldn’t handle you,” I say in a low voice in her ear.

“No?” she questions, keeping her eyes forward as she does.

I reach down and grip her hips with my hands to keep her in place. My lips run over the shell of her ear before biting down.

“Nope. Not like I can,” I say as one of my hands moves from her shirt to her thigh, slowly snaking underneath her shirt.

“Are you trying to proposition me, Michaels?”

“Maybe. Is it working?”

“Maybe.” She laughs as my hand cups her bare pussy. Fucking hell. If I’d have known she wasn’t wearing panties, things would have gone a little different from the start this morning.

My other hand releases her hip, running up to her chin before tilting her head up to look at me. The minute those bright purple eyes land on me, my pulse thuds in anticipation of having her again.

“I don’t want you to think this is more than it is,” I say.

She smiles up at me but not in a sweet way, more like an exhausted way.

“Trevor, it’s like you’ve never had casual sex before, I swear.”

“Oh trust me, I have. But it’s different. You’re Erica’s friend, you’re staying at my house, and you’re my coach’s daughter.”

“Don’t forget I’m over ten years younger. Quite the forbidden little fruit you got here,” she smirks.

“Fucking smart-ass,” I say as I crush my lips to hers.