With a scornful laugh, she said, “Oh please, Trini. It’s not like you’re jerking off.”
“I could’ve been,” he muttered.
Just like he and Gerrick could be getting busy; she doesn’t know what’s going down on the other side of a closed door. He has half a mind to throw off his feign of sleep and sit up in the pallet, ream her out about that knocking s**t.
But Gerrick’s voice is colder than anything Trin could pull off. “I didn’t invite you in,” he says. He speaks softly, as if he doesn’t want to wake Trin, even though he’s not asleep.
“It’s not your room,” Aissa replies, already bristling. She makes no effort to lower her voice. Trin suspects that she knows he’s up.
Opening his eyes into cat-like slits, Trin watches Gerrick stand, his clothes in hand. The legs of his pants dangle from his
