Becoming Us (COMPLETE)

*Twenty Three*

Sunday morning, I woke alone, in a room filled with sunlight. Reaching from the comfort of Tre's bed, I tilted my cell to check the time, shocked that it was after ten.

I stretched, enjoying the ache in my muscles. No one had ever come close to making me feel like Tre did—physically or mentally. He was the total package.

Memories of Carey, the way he'd touched me and everything he'd said last night, filled my mind. Had we really always wanted each other and just missed our chance? I shut down that train of thought. It didn't matter because I wouldn't risk my relationship with either of them.

Listening, I heard nothing beyond the closed bedroom door. Tre must be out there somewhere. Our entire plan for today was to hang out here, so I supposed that's why he'd let me sleep in.

When I threw the covers back and stood, cold air hit my skin, making me shiver. It was strange standing there, naked, in the bright room, so I grabbed my duffle bag and headed to the bathroom.

After a shower, brushing my teeth, applying some light makeup, and braiding my hair over my shoulder, I pulled on my jean shorts with the frayed edges and a baggy vintage tee I bought years ago at a thrift store. It might've only cost a dollar, but it was at least twenty dollar's worth of cute, and the design of faded flowers seemed like summer. I tucked a bit in at the front so it didn't swallow me whole, and I was ready to find Tre.

As soon as I opened the bedroom door, voices reached my ears. All I made out was the low rumble of conversation, even though I strained to hear more. Creeping down the hall toward Tre's painting room, I listened, hoping last night's intense conversation with Carey hadn't caused a problem.

"Oh, and lime juice!" Carey's words were followed by Tre's sounds of agreement.

They were discussing ingredients. I stepped into the doorway and found Carey leaning on the wall, typing on his phone, while Tre stood across the room painting. The back of the canvas faced us, but I knew it was a new project because the long, rectangular canvas reached across two easels. Tre stood in the middle, holding a brush and a pallet with several bright colors.

He looked up when I entered and grinned. "Morning, baby. You look pretty."

"Thanks." The warmth crawling up my cheeks worsened when I felt Carey's eyes on me.

"We're planning a late lunch for today, if that's okay?" he asked in a totally normal tone, as though nothing had changed between us.

"Sure." I peered at him and he winked as if to say we're cool. I studied his expression, decided he was telling the truth, and smiled. The tension that filled me at the sound of their voices fled.

Then I really looked at Carey and realized he was disgusting. Well, as disgusting as he could be with his sculpted biceps, shoulders, and part of his corded torso, hanging out the giant armholes on his tank top. "Geez, you're sweaty! What were you doing?"

He snickered and pushed his damp hair back with his fingers. "Yeah, I need to shower. I had a client this morning, so I ran to the gym."

My mouth popped open. "Like literally? You ran there?"

"That's what I said." Tre laughed.

"It's not that far." Carey shrugged like he didn't see the big deal. "Only a few miles. It was arm day for work, so I needed to get my cardio in."

I grimaced. "That sounds terrible."

Carey smirked, flashing the dimple that made him even hotter. "It's not that bad. You might not hate it if you tried."

"No, thanks!" I smiled, and a breath of laughter came from the corner where Tre had gone back to painting.

"I bet I could make you love cardio." Carey wiggled his eyebrows at me and heat rushed across my skin in a wave that was sure to leave me lobster red.