Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2) (19 page)

He tilts his head to the side, the tight curls of his hair begging my fingers to take a stroll down memory lane. “Hey you? That’s all I get?”

Rising on my tiptoes, I give him a quick hug. “Better?” I ask, lowering back on my heels.

“For now,” he winks.

For ever, douchebag
.

“How you been?” he asks, leaning against the bar, effectively dismissing Steve from the conversation.

“Busy. Work, School, you know.”

And church. So. Much. Church.

“I saw your interview,” he says with a smile that causes me to clear my throat.

Normally, I’d wonder why it’s all the jerks, like him, that are so handsome. But, thanks to my time at CU, I know that’s not necessarily true. There are plenty of handsome, kind men who have
no
plan to get into a girl’s panties any time soon. They might want to, sure, because they’re human, but they’re not
planning
it.

A plan always runs through Trent’s eyes, and now is no exception.

“You did?” I ask, kicking myself for even engaging in his particular conversation.

He nods. “You looked great. Sounded great. Those public speaking classes in high school paid off, huh?”

“I guess.”

“You look a lot like your dad.”

“Not really,” I spit out, huffing.

Trent puts his hands up. “Don’t shoot the messenger. I mean, you’ve got your mom’s hair and stuff, but your face is a lot like his. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, Kennedy. You know I think you’re gorgeous.” He extends his hand and runs a few of his fingertips down my face.

And I feel completely violated.

Six months ago, a touch like that would have been commonplace. Both from me to guy friends or boyfriends, and from them to me. Now, though, after several months in
Jesus Bootcamp
, and lecture after lecture on respecting the opposite sex and myself, I find his physical advance horrifyingly invasive. The worst of it? I can’t say anything. I can’t say anything because I’m in “Rome”, as it were, and this is how they behave. It’s how
I
behaved before going to Carter University. I didn’t see anything wrong with it then, so why should I now? What’s changed?

Everything.

Taking a breath to try to regain some sort of equilibrium, I place my hand over Trent
’
s as it sits
,
warm, on my face. I give it a small squeeze, closing my eyes to fully feel it, before drawing his hand away from me, and back down to his side.

“Trent,” I whisper, clearing my throat again.

“What?” he whispers back.

“
What?
” I ask indignantly with a chuckle. “What? Trent, we broke up almost
two years
ago and have hardly talked since. What’s with all the
gorgeous
and hand touching the face and … all of that?”

He licks his lips and puts his hands in his pockets.

Where they better stay.

“When I saw you on the news …”

Here we go.

“I realized something.”

“Yeah?” I cross my arms in front of me. “What was that? That you had a renewed drive to conquer my virginity, perhaps?”

I arch my eyebrow and wait for whatever he’s surely prepared as a response. I still f
i
nd it necessary to remind him of the main reason we broke up. He was a disrespectful ass.

Trent chuckles the cocky chuckle he’s had forever. The dismissive, snotty chuckle of someone who throws money around like a fix-all. “Wow. For a good Christian girl, you are awfully judgmental, don’t you think
?
Guess that means you fit right in with the rest of them, after all.
”

I ignore the truth in his statement because I know he didn’t craft it that way. He just pieced together
buzzwords
in an effort to get to me.

“
What happened to you? You used to be such a nice Jewish boy
.” I grin
, throwing a minor stereotype right back at him
. “You didn’t respect me, so I broke up with you. And, your little
Christian girl
quip does little to show me you’ve changed.”

“You’re right,” he says quickly. “I’m sorry.”

Say what?

“What?” I stare at him, intentionally contorting my face to look extra-confused.

Trent reaches for my hand, and I let him take it. He leads me to the stairs that go to the second floor.

“Ha! I’m
not
going upstairs with you.” I anchor my feet to the floor.

And, by the way, where is Mollie?

“I just want to talk to you in private for
a
minute.”

I shake my head. “Not upstairs you don’t. Trent, I’m not going up there.” I move my hand to tug it away from his, but he only tightens it around mine. My heart races and I shoot my eyes toward him, trying not to let the fear show.

“Come outside, then.” His voice and face show nothing dangerous, but being led through the house with his hand tightly around my wrist does little to ca
lm
my nerves.

I know this is just how he is, how everyone around me is. Less words, more physical communication, but tonight, here, fresh off a few months at CU, it scares me.

And that pisses me off.

Three-quarters of a semester on The Hill has made me scared of the social normalcies of my former life. My
normal
life. But, which feeling is right? I’m smart enough to know that just because someone grows up one way, doesn’t mean that way is okay or acceptable.

On our way through the kitchen, we pass by Mollie, who is in an intense conversation with a guy wearing a
Harvard
sweatshirt.

“Bet you Harvard wouldn’t
suck
so bad,” the guy says, gesturing to her t-shirt, “if you’d have gotten in.”

Mollie chuckles. “I did get in, but all the money stuffed in the pockets of the admissions board turned me off.” She spots me out of the corner of her eye and whips around. “Where are you going?” she asks, eyeing Trent suspiciously.

“To talk in private.” I use my free hand to put air quotes around the last word.

“Stay near a window,” she says, arching her eyebrow before turning back to her academic rival.

Crossing into the chilly wind on the back patio, Trent shuts the door behind us and makes a motion with his hand toward a couple of kids, who look like they’re still in high school, who are smoking near the door. Magically, they comply
with
his unspoken request and move further back in to the shadows near the garage.

“What?” I ask, wrapping my arms around m
yself
, rubbing my hands over m
yself
for warmth.

Wordlessly, Trent takes off his coat and drapes it around my shoulders. It’s big, and warm, and that’s enough for me to ignore that it smells the way his pillows do. Like his shampoo. After we broke up, I had to stop buying his dad’s company’s products because they always smelled like the last time I was in his bedroom. The time he almost didn’t take
no
for an answer.

“I’m sorry,” he says, bouncing a little on his toes as the breeze grazes his skin.

“For?” I shake my head, looking around for an answer.

“For how I treated you when we broke up.”

“When I dumped you,” I add quickly.

He sighs. “Yes, when you dumped me. For being an asshole.”

“Trent, you already apologized. Like ten
thousand
times.” A chill runs down my spine, causing me to shiver involuntarily.

Taking one step toward me, Trent rubs his hands over my arms in an attempt to warm me. “Let this be the ten-thousand-and-first apology then. I’m sorry Kennedy. You were always too good for me, and how we ended things just proved that.”

Looking up at him, I twist my lips. “I was too good for
you
?”

He nods, and his eyes are as serious as I’ve ever seen them. “You’re a good girl. Smart, kind, funny as hell. You deserved better than I gave you. I was just a stupid kid.”

“We’re all stupid kids,” I say in more of a whisper than I intended.

Get out of this.

I take one step back, but Trent pulls me in closer, still unable to take
no
for an answer. When his lips press against my forehead, my heart races more. I’m scared. Fears of this going to
o
far, of the rules I’m breaking, and of ignoring how I feel overtake me.

“Please stop,” I ask soft but firm in my delivery.

Immediately, his hands leave my body and he takes three steps back.

“Thank you,” I say,
handing him his coat and tightening my sweater
around me.

“I’ve changed, Kennedy.” Trent stuffs his hands in his pockets again, and lowers his head.

So have I, Trent.

So have I.

I offer him a smile. “I can see that,” I try, encouragingly. “You’re going to make some girl real happy someday.” Turning on my heels, I reach for the door where, thankfully, I can see Mollie has been watching our interaction from ten feet away. For quite some time, given the stern look on her face as she eyes Trent.

Trent follows me, placing his hand on my lower back.

Please stop putting your hands all over me.

He doesn’t hear my silent prayer. Instead, he leans forward and positions his lips an inch away from my ear. “One of these days you’re going to give me a second chance, Kennedy.”

I turn my face toward him, so he can see my grin. “You’re awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

He grins back, and slides his hand briefly over my butt before reaching past me and opening the door.

Reentering the party, I immediately make my way to Mollie. “I’m leaving. Are you coming?” It’s not really a question since we never leave a party without each other.

“Yes. Assholes are lame,” she bemoans as loudly as possible.

A few minutes later, once we’re back on the road and I’m thankful that the interior of my car appears pee-free, I let out a frustrated growl.

“So,” Mollie feigns disinterest, “did you have a nice chat with Trent
?
”

I puff my cheeks like I’m going to throw up. “He was trying to be all sweet and swoony and he just came off like the ass he’s always been.”

“And I’m sure it seems dialed up since you’ve changed so much, even if he’s remained the same.”

“What?” I whip my head toward her. “I’ve
changed so much
?”

Mollie shrugs. “Calm down. I mean … like … in this context. Come on, Kennedy. Sure you’re lip is still pierced and you let your hair do that messy wavy bedroom-looking thing you do, but look at what you’re wearing. You’ve worn less to church before. I’ve seen it. Sundresses, much?”

“It’s thirty degrees, Mollie.”

She waves her hand. “I’m not saying it’s bad. I’m just … saying.”

“Saying what? That my clothes are different?”

“And you immediately clammed up when we walked into Trent’s. You seemed insecure sort of, and you were staring at everyone. I get you were nervous that they’d be staring at you, but you seemed like you were looking at a circus side show.”

It’s amazing how a few months can change things so drastically. In September, it was my CU friends who were in line next to the Bearded Lady. Tonight, it’s my high school friends. Revealing clothing, underage drinking, and undiscussed drug use. What was once taken for granted in my everyday life now sits unsettled in my stomach.

I just want to go home. And, horrifyingly, back to CU to finish out the semester.

“Just don’t change
too
much, okay?” Mollie begs cheerfully. “I need my snarky best friend to make fun of everyone with me, okay?”

I force a grin. “Of course. Who else can I talk to about what the
hell
Tara is always doing with her damn hair?”

In a chorus of giggles, Mollie and I make our way back to my house talking about who’s gained weight, lost weight, and seemingly changed genders or sexuality. Mostly, conversations I never have with my CU friends.

Still, I’m missing them now. Badly. Especially Matt, who wouldn’t dream of putting his hands all over me and dragging me around like Trent did tonight. All except that one time he threw me over his shoulder and raced me to his dorm. The thought puts a contented smile on my face.

“Nice face,” Mollie calls me out. “Did Trent’s lips really feel that good on your forehead?”

I flip her the middle finger and turn down my driveway, longing for the security my CU friends offer me.

Mollie aside, I don’t want to be one of these people anymore.