He looks at her, never shy to letting himself be looked at. Always wants to know what people see in him, how he comes off and if they like it. Thinks she likes it. He can be casual, but never cool — heart on his sleeve, tattoos on his skin, everything he loves in plain display, in the way he looks at her and wants her. "I wanna see your stuff though." Like her selfies and comment cringe stuff like Mi amor 😍 even though he never asked her to be his girlfriend. And that's the thing, they're not, exclusive, technically, but he's not sleeping with anyone else. Trent listens, but he does think her life is sensational, or just so much of exists in a different sphere or his own. The events she attends, the pieces she writes — which makes the cogs in his brain smoke, and he has to ask all his friends if he's got the point right, and look up what words mean. He'd never even though of himself as a non-monogamous person, because he thought that meant cheater. Or sister wives. He hadn't thought that's what casual meant too. He takes another swig of his beer, although his other hand anchors to her thigh, thumb drawing against the flesh, pensively. "I guess it just made me feel like - when it was like - that part that was, like, even if you're the only woman he's sleepin' with, men are emboldened by, like, knowin' they could, like, sleep with someone else." Trent had felt...embarrassed maybe, that she'd known, even if it weren't strictly about him, that he was only seeing her. He's not sure about the second part. "I dunno. It didn't feel like that was what I was doin'. But maybe it was?" He asks, like a question, the only answer of any value he gives is the implicit, no, they can't talk about anything else. "Are you? Sleepin' with anyone else?"