Trade Me by Courtney Milan

Author:Courtney Milan [Milan, Courtney]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: courtney milan, contemporary romance, new adult romance, college romance, billionaire
Publisher: Milan, Courtney

12.

BLAKE

Friends is supposed to be a bad word, and I suppose my body thinks it is. Spending time around Tina leaves me on edge, horny and restless in a way that no amount of running—or, let’s be honest, masturbation—can cure.

Truth is, I want her and I want her bad. It’s worse now that we’ve kissed. Now that I’ve touched her almost all over, now that I know how she responds to me. Those wants feel embedded permanently in me, a tattoo of lust that resides just beneath my skin.

But—and this is going to sound weird—I actually enjoy it. It fits with the life I’ve adopted for now. I wash dishes; I stumble through my classes in a haze. I spend time with Tina, going through details of the launch.

The want gives me something to do, something to focus on. Something so that sometimes, I forget myself and I can eat without choking on my own food. The desire distracts me; I almost don’t even have to run to push everything else away.

Almost.

Want is always present, fierce and ferocious, a punch to the throat. Here, it says. Here this is. Here you are. Here is one thing you want.

I want, therefore I am.

Tina and I don’t talk about how much I want her, not for weeks.

It hits me hard one day as we’re doing homework together before my shift. I’m not sure when we started hanging out together—it’s partially because I want to spend time with her, and she spends an inordinate amount of time doing work, and partially because as we come down to the last few weeks before the launch, there are a thousand tiny details that we have to discuss.

We’re sitting in my kitchen. She’s frowning at her computer, reading through a discussion on the Cyclone intranet. And then her phone rings.

She glances down and her face tightens. It’s scary how well I know her. She shuts her eyes and pushes back in her seat.

“Your mom?” I ask.

She nods.

Her parents call regularly, and ever since that first time, she’s let me listen silently on the calls. Her mom doesn’t always need money, but when she does, Tina always sends it. And I always pay.

I can only imagine what it must have felt like for her to feel every spare dollar—and then some she couldn’t spare—slip through her hands. I would resent it, but for me, it’s temporary. For me, this is just another form of an ultra-marathon. It feels difficult. It seems interminable. But I’m doing it to myself, and that makes it bearable in a way it wouldn’t be for her. Deep down, I know it’s going to be over.

For her? There is no end. The marathon never stops. She can’t get off. She can’t rest. It just keeps going on.

This time, her mother is calling about another friend, an appeal that will be heard in a few weeks.

“Any way you can come down?” she asks Tina. “Maybe find someone you can carpool with. Then you can come to the hearing with me.

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