Trespassing

Trip's POV

"What were you thinking, Thomas?" Gabriel chanted—it was actually funny how he scolded me. It started off as a serious yelling match, like he tried to surpass each of his yells with louder ones, then, when I showed no signs of listening he would sigh, find a book or magazine and sit on my couch reading through it—repeating what he'd bee yelling, only in a monotone.

We were at that last stage. He was flipping through an issue of HOT ROD from last month, at the same time he was...

"How did you get that champagne past Lawrence?" nothing got pass Lawrence. He was like a younger version of Alfred the butler who always stuck around for Bruce Wayne.

Gabriel detached his baby-blues from the magazine long enough to meet mine.

"I went to the cabinet above your sink. You honestly forgot you had it there?"

"Yeah?" I scratched the faint scar. I didn't remember having a bottle of French champagne stashed away in my suite's kitchen but it was weirder that Gabe knew about it. "How the hell did you know it was there?"

"Sharon brought it that day we got high." He shrugged. "That reminds me," he mumbled lowering his eyes to whatever article had his attention. "What the blazing hell were you thinking?" and he was back to that.

"Why would Sharon bring a bottle of champagne?" I mussed trying to avoid the subject—this time, I wasn't lucky.

"That doesn't matter." He flung my magazine aside—earning a scold he chose to ignore. "What were you thinking asking Ava to go on a weekend with you?"

And that was the million dollar question. What had I been thinking when those words came out? Nothing. I hadn't been thinking—at least, I hadn't been rational about it. There were two parts to my brain. One part was completely lost, desperate to be with Ava, it wouldn't think twice about taking her anywhere, do anything with her. God knew we both wanted it. Then there was the other part, the smart portion of my brain that thought things through, that knew we couldn't be together—not in this life time. I had sex with girls whom I never met on most weekends I couldn't have a relationship—not one that screamed out monogamy. And holy crap, did I long for monogamy—I wanted Ava more than anything in my life.

"Because I..." I like her, my mind offered. Saying it to Gabe would make it true—it would mean lots of things. I threw a pair of jeans into my traveling bag. "I like her." His heavy groan made me frown. "You already knew it, dick. You said I was crushing on her before I even wanted to think about it." With an irked face I sat on bed facing him. "What's wrong taking her on a weekend, anyway?" I could think of a few things that could rain down on us.

Gabriel's potent scowl ticked me off, because I knew he was right. Facing the truth was hard shit.

"You can't be with her, bro. I told you, you were crushing on her so you'd understand and stop—because I knew this would happen. You would uncover feelings for her and you'd try something—"

"I'm not trying anything." I exhaled.

"You two are going to leave New York in less than two hours—alone—you'll be by yourselves for two days. I think that's what normal couples do when they're oh-so-deeply and love." I scrunched my face at the word 'love'. Gabe shook his head rubbing his face. "You, my friend, are a complete idiot."

I was, didn't mean I was owning up to it, "Am not." I was an idiot times a million, but hey, what was done was done. I wasn't about to call up Ava and tell her we weren't going on our adventurous weekend. One week ago, I'd promised her we'd go someplace far from NY and we were going—today. I couldn't be late picking her up either, so... "What's missing in my bag...?" I mumbled.

A heavy, torture sounding sigh came from the couch where Gabriel sunk himself in.

"Ignore me, Harrington. Ignore me like you always do when you know I'm right, but this time don't come crying on my shoulder."

"I don't remember crying on anyone's shoulder." I could also state that I didn't remember crying—period. And it wasn't my macho pride talking, instead of crying my eyes out I just got really, really drunk. Sounded healthy, didn't it?

"I was speaking in a figurative way." He sought to clear.

"Shirts... I need shirts..." I continued mumbling going in and out of my closet room. "Shouldn't you be working on your assignment?" it had been almost two weeks since Gabriel got the 'order' from his Dad. He should be on Valerie like a dog on a bone. "How come I haven't heard Valerie breathe a word about the amazing Gabriel Holland?"

"Ha. Ha." He laughed dryly flipping me off—I smirked. "I still haven't gotten around to her. I'm waiting."

I finished packing another shirt—my stuff was officially ready to go.
"Waiting for what, exactly?"

"For tomorrows party." There was a party? All of a sudden this weekend getaway with Ava had doubled in greatness. "A party every snobby teen on the Upper East Side is going to be at—just your kind of scene to crash. Too bad you're going to miss it."

"You're offer is very tempting, but been there done that. I'm trying out new stuff now."

Gabe thrust his fingers through the blond hair.

"That's the major problem here, you're going to try her out." My muscles locked up in a hard-rock sort of way. "Just hope you don't like her too much."

"Are you done?" I lifted my bag off bed. "'Cuz I'm about to take off and I don't trust you with a bottle of champagne—" he was about to counter, I cut him off. "Not in my room." Gabe looked to the half-empty bottle; rolling his eyes he put the cork on it. "Keys?" I held out my hand.

He threw them into the hair making me act on speedy reflexes.

"I can't believe you're driving a minivan." He chuckled when I wrinkled my nose. "I have to get it back in one piece, though, so no accidents."

"Got it." I closed my bedroom door, following Gabriel and the rest of his champagne bottle downstairs. "Did you put the—"

"Yes," I think he cut me off just to get back at me. "The back of the van is empty, minus the mattress."

"It's just in case we can't find a place to stay today—" he shrugged not believing a single word tumbling from my mouth. "Or in case she gets sleepy—I don't know." I choked the last words in a clueless act. I had no plans for me and Ava to do anything with each other, that was true. Just because the back of the car we were taking had a mattress it didn't mean we were going to use it—not together anyway.

Lawrence showed up before I was successfully out the door without running into anyone. Not that I minded him.

"You're leaving Mr. Harr—I mean, Mr. Thomas?" wow, progress after seventeen years of training.

Gabe hung in the background probably trying to conceal his sparkling beverage. I smirked.

"Yes, I'm on my way out of this hell hole." Only for two days, but to me it was like Christmas had come early.

Trying to hide a smile, Lawrence cleared his throat.

"And what should I tell your parents?" like they would ask.

"That I went on a field trip." I could sign any paper by myself, being emancipated kind of rocked sometimes. Speaking of which, did I have those papers on me? I needed them to rent an hotel room. "Check," I folded them into a square again, then slipped them into my Armani wallet. "I'll see you Monday, Lawrence."

He nodded to me before sending me an unsteady look.

"I suppose you'll be going now, Mr. Holland?" Gabriel made a thing with his head—probably a nod but it was shaky. I nearly bust out a few laughs. Lawrence had been around since we were kids and he knew how Gabriel was just as bad at making trouble as I was. "And I trust you'll take a taxi?" he gestured to the green bottle decorated with golden papers.

"Huh... sure. Driving didn't even cross my mind."

"Why do I find that hard to believe, sir?" Gabriel gave a chuckle scurrying outside of the living room. "That boy will never learn." No, he probably wouldn't. He'd be like Peter Pan. "Have a safe trip, Mr. Thomas—and please don't make the front page of the paper."

"What if it's a magazine?" I joked. He tutted me. "Just kidding. I'm going to be on my best behavior."

Saying good-bye one last time, I left. A shock of blond hair came into view when I reached the gates of my house. Bottle gone.

"Did you drink it all?"

"No, tossed it into the garbage." I glared at him. "I couldn't just walk around New York with a half-empty champagne bottle, could I? If anyone saw it my parents would kill me. I have the golden boy rep to uphold, remember?" sometimes it was hard to believe he had that reputation in the first place.

I tossed my hair, "Whatever. So, are you really going to take a taxi or drive?" yeah, I knew the answer to that. "Okay, be careful."

His baby-blues went to the large side, and he made a kiddy face.

"Aw, you're worried? Now I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy—how about a hug?"

"How about a fist in your face?" he held up his hands telling me to chill.

"Fine, fine. I get it. You're saving all your love for Ava." I was seriously ten seconds away from punching him. He saw it. "I'm going to show you your car for the weekend. Come on." The fun and games were gone from his tone and expression. "I didn't park in front of your house so no one would see you leave—or at least no one that happened to be snooping around." Gabe thought things through, he didn't take a step in the wrong direction before figuring out a way to turn it around in his favor.

Hw brought us to a stop when we were one block away from my house. A silver minivan was parked, windows tainted and waiting for me to take it.

I winced, "I have to get my Porsche fixed." I kept putting it on hold because of all this stuff with my shrink and Ava.

"Yeah, you do. It's the sweetest ride ever but—" he thumbed the silver car. "You're stuck with this fine piece for the whole weekend. Enjoy." When I thought he was going to keep his mouth closed... "Don't enjoy it too much."

I groaned in the midst of sliding the side door. A nice looking mattress was stuffed to the opposite side. It was big enough for one person—two would be too tight. Good. I placed my bag in, making sure it was safe and wouldn't bump around when I made turns.

Ava told her parents she was spending the weekend over at Valerie's. Her mom had been ecstatic, according to Ava. I believed her. I never understood want went on my mother's mind, so I couldn't phantom what went on in Ava's.

The only thing I did know, was that Ava would be spending this weekend very far away from New York.

I was picking her up now, not at her house, though. Ava was leaning on the bars of Central Park, sporting a leather backpack.

"You look like a tourist who got out on the wrong stop." I called slamming the door.

I was walking around the mini—then stopped dead in my tracks. She was wearing a top very similar to the one she'd worn on her first visit to my suite. If that fucking low cut see-through didn't mess with me on all levels before... it sure did now. Okay, Tom, think about this: there aren't any showers around. Keep it cool. I never thought it would be this hard not to think about nailing a girl. Not since I was fifteen, 'cause hell, almost every weekend I was booty-called—and thank God for the days I wasn't. But I... never cared about those girls. They were mostly nameless and faceless. They were a job I had to do in order to keep my future intact. So, until this moment—until Ava, I had no memory of what it was like to be a guy thinking about sex every fifteen seconds. Or less than fifteen seconds if I didn't keep my eyes on hers.

I ruffled my hair looking all kinds of strange.

"You couldn't just come around my place, you know that." Her delicious looking chocolate eyes lifted from her iPod, she tucked it away. "What?" she furrowed her brows.

She really was innocent sometimes, wasn't she? Yep.

"Nothing, just... nice top." I scratched the scar with a thumb, making sure my gaze wasn't slipping from my control.

Ava looked down all on her own. A blush that matched the cherry lollipop from the other day crept in.

"Ah... does it make you uncomfortable?" I could lie, tell her it didn't. That I had unshakable control over my body parts—which, most time I did—but not now, not here, not around her. Around Ava I felt... I felt powerless over all I did, over everything I thought of.

And I didn't want to put her through weird moments. I did what I thought was best.

"A little," I answered, wondering if I should take a step back. She could lash out and slap me. Ava could be innocent, but she could go raving mad.

She didn't slap me, she handed me the large bag on her shoulder. I held it unsure of what she was digging around for. All of a sudden, a pretty scarf the same color of her top—green—appeared. Ava wasted no time wrapping it around her neck, making sure to tug down most of the fabric to the cleavage.

I felt myself relax some. It was better than nothing. She looked up at me, I looked to her. We weren't going to speak about the subject, I read it in her eyes. Fine by me.

Ava patted the silver van, "This doesn't look like something you'd have in your garage."

Getting my self-control back, I shook my head.

"It isn't. Gabriel got it for me—us—for the weekend." I stumbled word after word, not knowing what we were anymore. I wanted to be more than her friend, she wanted the same. That last time I was in her room... that moment when we were so close, the movie-moment, I knew she'd wanted to kiss me—that she'd wanted me to kiss her. I'd seen Ava's disappointed expression and had pulled her in for a kiss on the cheek. It killed me to do it. The other day with that lollipop... when out tongues brushed up—I had no words to describe how amazingly it had felt. Any guy would have kissed her right then, I hadn't. Because if we did...

"Thomas, hellooo? Anyone home?" her hand was waving in front of my face.

I shook my head.

"Sorry, I got sidetracked. Did you say something important?" I would want to know whatever she said even if it was the lamest thing on Earth—to me, every word she spoke was important.

"I asked who Gabriel was." Oh.

"He's my best friend, though sometimes I wonder why." She smiled brightly, I returned it full force. "He was the one who helped with the portfolio-plan." He and his stash.

"You never mentioned him before."

"I didn't really think it mattered." Honestly, Gabriel was the last person I thought of when I was with her. "He was studying abroad for three months. He only got back a few weeks ago." I slid the side door—her eyes popped a bit. Oh yeah, the mattress. Understandable she'd freak. "That's for precaution."

She tucked a hair, "Precaution for what...?" her voice lolled softly.

"In case you get tired and want to sleep—or if we don't get a hotel tonight. You sleep there and I sleep in the front." I explained quickly, never missing a beat, afraid she would spun on her heel, leaving.

Her mouth did an O shape.

"Okay," she nodded. I stuffed her backpack next to my own luggage. "Wait." I froze looking over my shoulder. "Don't we have to be eighteen to rent a room?"

"Yeah, but since I'm emancipated that's not a problem." I closed the sliding door, then opened the passenger's door so she'd climb in.

She held my stare evenly before getting on. When I was on the driver's seat, Ava was all ready to go. I checked the mirrors, the review and tucked my seatbelt—

"I didn't know you were emancipated." She stated.

No, I guess I'd never mentioned, like I had never mentioned Gabriel. I had a reason for it, the reason being that around Ava I felt... normal. Like I had another life, one that didn't utterly sucked. Gabriel and emancipation papers belonged to a life I wish I could trade—no offense to Gabe, he was a great friend.

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me." I said sounding utterly cliché.

"I guess that's okay." I looked over to her, she was staring at me. "As long as your deep dark secret isn't being a terrorist or something."

A tiny smile made it to my face.

"Nope, not a terrorist."

Ava's POV

I was leaving New York—we were exiting New York. OMG. Wow, I was so happy I was starting to sound like Marcy. I shifted around in my seat catching a peek of Thomas. He was wearing a gray T-shirt, the way it clung to him made me want to drool. As he stirred I could see his muscles tensing, shifting. It made me... I wasn't sure. It was a strange sensation I'd never felt before. It was scary, exciting—but nice.

I leaned my head on the window. Since the trip started we'd been quiet. It wasn't an awkward silence, just comfortable. But there was something in the air—I couldn't put my finger on it... it was putting both of us on edge. This atmosphere, this waiting for something astronomic to happen had been going on since last week, since we shared that cursed lollipop. Now, more than ever, I couldn't stop thinking of the person that was Thomas Harrington. He was everywhere I looked, like a ghost haunting me constantly—a shadow lingering, reminding me of what I wanted and couldn't have. It was as terrible as it was a blessing. To see Thomas everywhere, all the time? It was a joy. But I couldn't be with him the way I wanted...

I sighed, low, under my breath. My head was in a knot. Not only because I couldn't be just a girl and Thomas just a boy, I was upset because he insisted on paying everything for the weekend. I felt bad for the fact, I'd told him that when he discussed our plans. But... it got me nowhere.

There are so many things I don't know. As I thought this, my eyes slid to his face, his cleanly cut features. He was... breathtaking. Every time I saw him it stole my breath, I wanted to sit and look at him all day long. I wouldn't get bored. Either that, or photograph him. I didn't think he was a fan of that last one.

"Something interesting on my face?" definitely, I thought in a daze, every single thing about your face is interesting.

I wouldn't say that. Trip didn't need an ego booster as far as I knew him. A thought hit me all of a sudden, among the things I didn't know...

"Why do people call you 'Trip'?" I'd never asked. It seemed logical to do so, it was a peculiar nickname.

Thomas rubbed the side of his neck. Was that a cute little blush on his face?

"Do I really need to answer that one?"

"Yes, yes, you do. Especially now that I know you don't want to." I giggled when he sent me a dirty look. "What? Road trip bonding."

"I'm sure," he shook his head before sighing. "When I was eight I started playing lacrosse," he played lacrosse? There really were a lot of things I didn't know. "I wasn't the best player at the beginning—I mean, I played well, caught the ball with the net-stick and threw it just as well. But there were times when we tripped other players." Thomas muttered with a shrug. "I always caught their movements a minute too late... so I tripped many, many times. Gabriel was the one who started calling me 'Trip' the rest followed. Most people don't even know why they call me that—they just do." Like me, until now.

I wondered what Thomas looked like as a kid. I tried to ignore the pang in my chest... had he gotten hurt many times? Did he hurt a ton? It didn't matter now, it had been a long time ago.

"When did you stop getting tripped?"

A sardonic smirk played atop his lips.

"When I hit a growth sprout over the summer. Then, I learned how to tackle." His eyebrows arched, the smirk turned wolfish—everything about the expression he was wearing screamed mischief.

And I laughed. I laughed because I could picture Thomas standing out on the field, planning to get his revenge. He spied a glance over at me.

"What about you?"

"What about me?" I managed, sobering up leaning forward to readjust my sitting position.

"Don't you have a nickname?" I pursed my lips. "You do!"

"No—well, yeah. But it's something my dad calls me." Something that once upon a time meant I'd been a good girl, that I behaved well and he was happy with me—nowadays, he only called that to annoy my mom. That's what I thought. I still couldn't believe he hadn't said a thing about be working for a world wide brand. "It's stupid and I don't like it." As I finished, I could tell how much I sounded like a five-year old refusing to eat her veggies.

"So? I didn't like telling you I used to get tripped by every single teammate and adversary—still, I did. Which means you have to spill the beans." He snickered slyly. "Road trip bonding." I glared. "You were the one who brought it up." He had me there... "It can't be that bad."

I mumbled to the side. I gritted my teeth for a little while.

"Munchkin," I muttered looking out the window for a heartbeat. "That's what my dad calls me—sometimes." I nibbled my lip. "I don't want to talk about my dad." Or about anyone in my family tree.

"Okay..." Thomas drew out. "I don't want to talk about your dad, either. Or your mother. Or parents for that matter—in fact..." he sped up a little, he liked driving fast—I didn't need to ask him that. The cars he owned gave him away. "Car rule number one, no talking about family." My lips perked up. "Rule number two, every question made inside the car has to have an answer." He side-glanced me. "Sounds good?"

"Sounds perfect."

"I'm all about perfection, Rosy." I jumped almost hitting my head on the car's roof.

"How... how..." he started laughing softly, but it was getting louder by the minute. "How..." I repeated dumbstruck. "Thomas!" I hissed knowing my body was probably a volcano.

He shook his head, hazel hair being wiped to the side letting him drive safely—with no hair in his eyes—he heaved what appeared to be a final laugh mixed with a sigh.

"Oh, Ava, you should have seen your face... it was... it..." he was biting the inside of his lips so he wouldn't burst into charming laughter like before. Ah, great. He was laughing because of the face I'd made but I still found his laugh charming.

"How did you find out?" I'd never told him about my middle name being Rosalie. How had he found out? He never saw my ID, no teacher ever called out my full name— "My portfolio." Realization hit home. "You saw it." I'd forgotten about that. Damn.

"I did, Rosy."

"Seriously? Stop." Thomas was teasing me, he was, but there wasn't... there wasn't any malicious intent—he didn't want to make me feel bad, or make me sad. It didn't... bother me much. "You're an idiot."

"But I like 'Rosy' it's way better than 'munchkin'." I didn't give him what he wanted, my agreement. "You're being stubborn about this, you like the nickname I gave you better than the other one." Thomas' fingers beat on the wheel. "Alright," that meant we were moving on from nicknames. Good. "What kind of music are you in to?"

I wasn't into any music genre in particular.

"I like a little bit of everything."

"Really?" I nodded. "That's good, 'cause all we have in this car is radio." He tapped a button in the car's console—first came static, nothing was being picked up. Thomas put it on search mode, and moments later it stopped.

The song wasn't new, I think, at least it sounded older—I didn't know why, but older music and new one seemed so different to me. Maybe because of how they were recorded—

"And now it seems I'm falling, falling for her—" that jostled me. It wasn't even the words—though, they helped—they were from the song, he was singing along... in a slight British accent— "I don't really know her, I only know her name, but when she crawls under your skin—you're never quite the same..." his voice quieted those words just as the singer did, not in perfect sync, but to me it sounded magnificent. "She's got something you just can't trust, something mysterious...!" he drew out the last word, and while he did it, he looked to me shaking his fingers in a spooky gesture, he was smiling—a real smile. I couldn't help but match his uplifting mood. I laughed, quietly, not wanting to miss the bits he sang out. "She seems to have an invisible touch, it takes control and soon it tears you apart—" I knew his eyes should be stuck to the highway ahead like flies on sugar, I knew that, yet... I trusted him. Somehow, I knew Trip could fool around a little and still keep us from crashing. After a while of repeating the sentences the accent began to slip, leaving the unique husky, deep timber that was only his. "...she'll mess up your life you want her just the same..." he whispered that bit. My stomach curled up making the smile on my face flatter not for long, because Thomas' quietness didn't last as he finished singing the song to the very end.

I was still laughing when he turned down the radio.

"What was that?"

"I like that song, actually, I like that band. Genesis, ever heard of them?" I had to shake my head at that one. "They're a band from the seventies. I like them, though."

"It was a nice song." I let him know, sheepishly. "But I meant the accent, I didn't know you did accents."

"Anyone can do it." He shrugged off.

Well, I couldn't. So, in my book, he was being modest.

"Can you do others?" I asked, the curiosity being channeled to my eyes. He shook his head shortly.

After a little while—maybe twenty-or-so minutes—something I'd been rattling in my brain came out of my mouth.

"How do you do it?"

Trip's voice was low, soft as the song quietly playing in the background. "Do what?"

"Make me laugh every time I'm around you." Around him, controlling my emotions was hard, and because of that I knew I was staring at him with pure dazzle.

"The same way you always make me smile." Sometimes I swear, he was so... sweet. The soft gaze reminded me of a silent, translucent river.

It was mid-spring and it was chilly. The car windows were closed, still felt it. It swirled inside the car making goosebumps show along my arms—maybe I should've worn a sweater. I sighed. I could just ask Thomas to turn up the heat, the only problem was, he didn't seem bothered by the coldness rattling my bones. He was normal, the remains of a smile on his face.

It wasn't long before he caught me looking. His sapphire eyes, sharp as a falcon, dove for the little bumps showing all over my arms. A frown crossed his smooth forehead.

"You're cold, Ava." I nodded though he wasn't asking. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"You're not cold." Understanding appeared to cross his pupils a heartbeat later. A long arm reached into the back where the space was immense. This time, his eyes weren't leaving the road, though. Trip was focused. "What's this?"

I felt as dumb as he thought I was when he perked a honey eyebrow—then a chuckle made my insides turn into a jumbled mess.

"My jacket," he settled it on top of me the best as he could without deviating his eyes too much. "Cover yourself with it, pretend it's a nice, fluffy blanket."

It wasn't a nice fluffy blanket. It was a million times better. It belonged to Thomas. His warmth lingered, trapped in the jacket fabric, his smell was abundant—it was like Thomas was the one covering me with his body. This was much better than any stupid blanky.

"Mmmh," I mumbled, getting all cozy with the fashionable trench coat—I'd seen him with this piece before. I looked good wearing it. Thomas could make sweat pants and an oversized T-shirt look good, so... "How long to Boston...?" my eyes were feeling droopy, which wasn't a big surprise, since last night I almost hadn't slept thinking about today.

"We're almost half-way. Two more hours, maybe less." His voice became a whisper, he was still saying something and I wanted to cling to awareness, hear what he was telling me.

It was something about a mattress... oh, right. There was one in the back. It would be way more comfy than sleeping all pulled up onto a car seat. It was too far, though. And... Thomas was here. I wanted to see him before—I yawned—before I... I went to sleep...