green throw rug that complemented the dark tile floor of the condominium. “Her name was Cynthia Livingston.”
Lauren gulped, as her tongue grew thick and fat in her mouth. “Oh God, I knew it.”
He looked up, wide-eyed. “Knew what?”
“There had to have been another woman. That’s why you must have left me. I mean it was—”
“She wasn’t the other woman,” Trent interrupted. “Not like you think.”
Lauren’s face quickly reddened. She blurted out her thoughts. “Don’t lie to me. Everyone said… Spen said… Shit! I knew you were a player!” She slammed her wine glass on the coffee table.
He raised his right hand, hoping to ease her a little. “Try to calm down.”
“Try to calm down?”
“I don’t want you to jump to conclusions.” He raised his right hand again, desperate to stop her from overreacting. “Please listen to me. Please.”
“If this is about what I think it’s about—,”
“It isn’t.” Trent’s firm voice sliced through the air. In an effort to help make his point, he scooted down the sofa. “It’s about a mistake. A huge one.”
She snorted. “Aren’t they all?”
By then, Lauren had stopped listening to him. She tightened her face and closed herself off to whatever words he had coming next. Everything about her body showed the tension: her hunched shoulders, her arched position against the decorative pillow, and the small scowl on her lips.
“Lauren, I fucked up once. But I don’t want to fuck up again. Let me explain the rest.”
She didn’t say anything right away, and as he waited, he watched heavy breaths enter and exit her body. The awkward silence enveloped them like a thick blizzard. Finally, when Lauren could stand it no longer, she spoke.
“Keep talking.”
He let the breath trapped inside him leave his body. “I made a lot of mistakes when I was younger.”
She rolled her eyes. “Me too.”
“Everyone screws up when they are in college, and I did a lot. I dated many girls. A lot.”
“I know you did.” She kept her voice even. “That’s all I used to hear about when it came to you — how much of a player you were.”
“And that’s it — that’s the precise problem. ‘Reckless’ should have been my middle name.” Trent twisted his body. Feet planted on the floor, he buried his head in one hand. When he raised his head again to look at her, his eyes had widened, and the color had drained away from his tan face. “When I was at Amherst, I met a couple of girls who lived in the dorm across the quad from the one where I lived.”
Lauren’s mouth flattened into a hard line. He took her expression as a sign of disgust, and her silence as a sign that he should continue.
“I met Cynthia Livingston that spring.” He rubbed his eyes again and forced himself to keep on talking. “The spring before you and I got together for real. Before senior year.” Another deep, guttural exhale left his chest. “She showed up at an off campus party one night and we...”
“You slept with her.”
Trent leaned back in against the sofa. “Yes,” he muttered. “We slept together a few times.”
Lauren picked up her wine glass. She peered down at the filmy wine left inside it, and swallowed what remained in one gulp. His story didn’t shock her at all, and she remained in control of her emotions. Long ago, she’d suspected something akin to what he’d just told her. “So let me guess the next part.”
“Please don’t.”
Her eyes met his, and the way he gazed at her made her grow even more wary of his admonition. “Okay. Finish.”
Trent broke her stare, glanced over at his wine glass and wondered if the Crawfords stocked anything harder in the condominium. At this rate, he could use a few good shots of vodka. “It wasn’t anything memorable. It was—” He broke off again and struggled with the words. “I guess she was a nice girl.”
“Was?”
“Yes. Was.” Now he looked over at the grey and red woven afghan draped
Lauren gulped, as her tongue grew thick and fat in her mouth. “Oh God, I knew it.”
He looked up, wide-eyed. “Knew what?”
“There had to have been another woman. That’s why you must have left me. I mean it was—”
“She wasn’t the other woman,” Trent interrupted. “Not like you think.”
Lauren’s face quickly reddened. She blurted out her thoughts. “Don’t lie to me. Everyone said… Spen said… Shit! I knew you were a player!” She slammed her wine glass on the coffee table.
He raised his right hand, hoping to ease her a little. “Try to calm down.”
“Try to calm down?”
“I don’t want you to jump to conclusions.” He raised his right hand again, desperate to stop her from overreacting. “Please listen to me. Please.”
“If this is about what I think it’s about—,”
“It isn’t.” Trent’s firm voice sliced through the air. In an effort to help make his point, he scooted down the sofa. “It’s about a mistake. A huge one.”
She snorted. “Aren’t they all?”
By then, Lauren had stopped listening to him. She tightened her face and closed herself off to whatever words he had coming next. Everything about her body showed the tension: her hunched shoulders, her arched position against the decorative pillow, and the small scowl on her lips.
“Lauren, I fucked up once. But I don’t want to fuck up again. Let me explain the rest.”
She didn’t say anything right away, and as he waited, he watched heavy breaths enter and exit her body. The awkward silence enveloped them like a thick blizzard. Finally, when Lauren could stand it no longer, she spoke.
“Keep talking.”
He let the breath trapped inside him leave his body. “I made a lot of mistakes when I was younger.”
She rolled her eyes. “Me too.”
“Everyone screws up when they are in college, and I did a lot. I dated many girls. A lot.”
“I know you did.” She kept her voice even. “That’s all I used to hear about when it came to you — how much of a player you were.”
“And that’s it — that’s the precise problem. ‘Reckless’ should have been my middle name.” Trent twisted his body. Feet planted on the floor, he buried his head in one hand. When he raised his head again to look at her, his eyes had widened, and the color had drained away from his tan face. “When I was at Amherst, I met a couple of girls who lived in the dorm across the quad from the one where I lived.”
Lauren’s mouth flattened into a hard line. He took her expression as a sign of disgust, and her silence as a sign that he should continue.
“I met Cynthia Livingston that spring.” He rubbed his eyes again and forced himself to keep on talking. “The spring before you and I got together for real. Before senior year.” Another deep, guttural exhale left his chest. “She showed up at an off campus party one night and we...”
“You slept with her.”
Trent leaned back in against the sofa. “Yes,” he muttered. “We slept together a few times.”
Lauren picked up her wine glass. She peered down at the filmy wine left inside it, and swallowed what remained in one gulp. His story didn’t shock her at all, and she remained in control of her emotions. Long ago, she’d suspected something akin to what he’d just told her. “So let me guess the next part.”
“Please don’t.”
Her eyes met his, and the way he gazed at her made her grow even more wary of his admonition. “Okay. Finish.”
Trent broke her stare, glanced over at his wine glass and wondered if the Crawfords stocked anything harder in the condominium. At this rate, he could use a few good shots of vodka. “It wasn’t anything memorable. It was—” He broke off again and struggled with the words. “I guess she was a nice girl.”
“Was?”
“Yes. Was.” Now he looked over at the grey and red woven afghan draped
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