I couldnt help but think, pushing a few fries around my plate with my fork, on how much everything had changed since I'd come to New York. Since my parents had died.
Trevor did most of the talking, which was alright with me. It felt so natural, not scripted like the conversations held at his parties. Trinity was unnaturally quiet, but her fingers resting upon my thigh offered enough reassurance to me.
I knit my brows, a silent invitation for Trevor to continue on with whatever he'd been saying. Admittedly, I'd barely been listening. Trevor's gray eyes trailed from my face to Trinity's lingering a moment too long before dropping back to his plate. I reached down to entwine my fingers with her. Kept my face composed.
"I've met a girl," Trevor said at last. "Only twice, on the steps of the Met."
"Really? Did she buy from you?" It was a natural question. Trevor wasnt one for emotion, but rather alterior motives. Every girl I'd ever seen him with had been more dependant on what he could sell her.
My friend shook his head slowly. "No, I dont think she's like that."
In spite of myself, I glanced over at Trinity, hoping to gauge her reaction. But she was rather engrossed in her salad, digging through the greens with her fork to the candied walnuts and grapes, drenched in vinaigrette. I thought the conversation might have been different without her there.
"I think I may ask her to dinner."
That surprised me. Here was Trevor, my best friend and partner in crime. A partying drug addict with little to no future, and less romantic aspirations.
"Well," Trinity spoke up, drawing all of our attention to her. "For your sake, let's hope she has no standards." Trevor threw a scowl in her direction, but returned to the image of apathy when he felt my green gaze heavy upon him.
"Nevermind," Trevor muttered, giving his plate a half-hearted shove away. "Let's go to the park. I'll smoke you guys up."