Chapter Eighteen

Wes checked his phone. One thirty. Jamie thought they’d be dead tonight, a Thursday with no important games on or anything like that, but at eleven o’clock an unexpected bachelorette party on a pub crawl burst through the door, and his chance of getting off before midnight disintegrated into thin air.

“Hey,” Jamie said, wiping down the bar. “I’m really sorry I had to keep you so late.”

Wes shrugged, doing his part and wiping off the taps now that last call had turned into Finish your drinks and pack it up, ladies.

Wes’s phone buzzed with a text, and he pulled it from his pocket. He tried to keep his reaction neutral.

“That Annie?” Jamie asked.

“Am I that obvious?” Wes countered.

“I—uh—” Jamie continued. “I know you were probably banking on taking advantage of Jeremy being out of town for the weekend.”

Actually, he’d just planned on taking advantage of the fact that Jeremy had already left this afternoon. The rest of the weekend was still in question.

“We really don’t need to do this,” Wes said. “Annie’s a smart girl. I trust her to make her own decisions.”

Jamie nodded. “So do I. And if it was anyone else, I’d stay out of it. But Annie’s my friend. I owe her a shitload of gratitude for what she did to help me and Brynn figure our crap out. So if I need to step in on her behalf, I will.”

Wes nodded in response. Guess they were really doing this. Talking about it out in the open. He didn’t think that was the way of men, at least not men he knew and certainly not himself. Besides, maybe Annie would still be awake when he got there. Tabitha was opening the shop tomorrow, so she could sleep in.

Wes sighed. “You probably think I’m a huge asshole,” he finally added.

This time Jamie shrugged, and Wes wondered if they’d ever make it further than noncommittal gestures in this so-called conversation.

“I don’t make it a habit of taking advantage of my friends or sneaking around. But this is what Annie wants right now, and I’m honoring that,” Wes said. “Just so we’re clear. I know what Jeremy thinks of my past, but it’s not like that’s a secret from Annie. She knows where I’m coming from, and she’s okay with our arrangement.”

Jamie nodded.

“Annie and Jer are more than friends to me—to us,” Jamie said, and Wes knew he meant Brynn. “They’re family. And while I respect that this is what Annie wants right now, I won’t stand by and watch if you do anything to hurt either of them.”

Wes clenched his teeth and let out a forceful breath through his nose. He really was on his own here. Wasn’t he? If this whole thing crashed and burned, Annie and Jeremy would have Jamie and Brynn to help pick up the pieces, and Wes would be, once again, flying solo.

Never mind that he’d been in town for nearly a month, that he and Annie had finally found a rhythm, even if it meant only seeing each other one-on-one once or twice a week. He still hadn’t called his father, the one person who should have his back yet never really did.

“I care about Annie,” Wes said. More than he was willing to admit out loud. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t be careful with what they were doing—with doing his best not to hurt her even if he was starting to feel things he hadn’t felt with any other woman.

Jamie stopped what he was doing and turned to face him now.

“I know she’s smart. I know she can make her own decisions. But I also know she’s got these…expectations when it comes to relationships, and maybe I worry about her wanting more than you might be willing to give.”

Jamie did have a point, but Wes’s instinct was still to go on the defensive. He did his best to hold back. Jamie was the guy who signed his paychecks, after all. It would only be another month before he got that first royalty check, and then he wouldn’t have to play it so safe anymore. And if the movie thing panned out? Well, then he wouldn’t even have to wait. He could stay or go. And the closer he got to finishing his manuscript, he wondered how welcome he really was in the place that used to be home.

“Noted,” Wes said.

The last of the patrons were filing out, including the very drunk group of women for whom Wes had already called a cab to make sure they got home safe. He and Jamie finished closing up in a thick, tense silence. Wes locked the front door and followed Jamie out the back where he set the alarm and made sure the place was secure.

“She likes you,” Jamie finally said before he hopped into his truck and Wes onto his bike.

“I like her, too.”

Jamie shook his head. “Every other guy she’s brought around—she never lit up for them like she does for you.”

Wes laughed quietly. “Because you notice these things.”

Jamie crossed his arms. “When it comes to those who matter, Hartley, I notice.”

Though he knew neither of them would say it, he wondered if Jamie noticed how he lit up when Annie was around, too.

…

Annie woke to the sound of her phone, and she couldn’t remember what she’d set an alarm for or why she’d wanted to wake up at one in the morning. Or why she was sleeping fully clothed on the couch.

She squinted at the phone until her eyes adjusted and realized it wasn’t an alarm but a text response from Wes.

Sorry our night got ruined. Maybe tomorrow after you get off work? Or…I guess tomorrow is today, huh?

Shit. She’d meant to wait up, even pulled out her favorite book, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, to keep her awake. This was supposed to be their night. The night, actually. Because despite the fun they’d had since that fateful wedding weekend, they hadn’t actually gone the distance. The whole nine yards. And now that Annie was awake and thinking about it, she really wanted Wes to hit a home run.

Oh, screw the freaking euphemisms. She wanted sex. With Wes Hartley. Tonight. It wasn’t just that they’d discussed it the other day in the shop. Annie had a plan. A seduction plan. And now all she had was bed head and her heart beating a mile a minute.

The text was time stamped a minute ago. Double shit. Had he just texted as he left the bar, or was he already home?

I’M UP! she texted back, hoping the all caps would somehow make his notification louder.

She was up and pacing the room now, and when he didn’t text back immediately, she groaned. In fact, it was a full seven seconds before his reply came through.

Good. Because I was starting to feel like an ass sitting out here on your front step.

Her heart leaped, even though she thought it was just that other part of her that didn’t want to call off tonight’s festivities.

Huh. She wasn’t expecting that.

She raced to her door and then to the main door of the walk-up. And there he was. Beer-stained T-shirt under his leather jacket. Five o’clock shadow that begged to rub across her jaw. And blue eyes that searched hers for something.

“What?” she asked, as if his expectant gaze warranted a response.

He shook his head like he was shaking off a thought.

“I’m just—I’m really glad you’re still up,” he said.

She laughed. “I wasn’t. I even missed the initial text but not the reminder. That’s what woke me.”

His brows knit together.

“I just wanted to see you,” he said. “But I should let you get some rest.”

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him without warning. He sighed against her, then ran his hands up her back, pulling her closer, like he couldn’t get enough of what was right in front of him.

“I don’t want to rest,” she said, breathless against his lips. “Unless you do.”

He backed her through the open door and then up the stairs and into her apartment.

They kept moving until they hit her couch, and then they toppled over the arm of it together.

“Don’t. Want. To rest,” he said, his voice strained with need.

She wrestled his jacket free and then his beer-dampened shirt.

“Tough day at the office?” she asked. But then there he was, kneeling above her in just his low-slung jeans, all lean muscle and ragged breaths and those eyes—still searching. What was he trying to find?

She unbuttoned his jeans, and he stopped her, his hands on top of hers.

“Are you sure you want this, Annie?”

Her brow furrowed. He could have just been asking about the moment, about the immediate future. But something made her think it was more. She wouldn’t ask. Because either way, her answer was the same. But she wasn’t so sure what his would be.

Although his hands still rested on hers, he didn’t try to stop her again when she answered by lowering his zipper, then pulling his jeans and boxers over his hips. Good God, this man was a sight. And damn puberty for not letting their paths cross a decade ago. Because maybe if she and Wes had connected as teens, they’d have what Jamie and Brynn have now.

She groaned softly, inwardly scolding herself for stupid what ifs that could never have been. Three years back then was huge. Three years now? Maybe Wes was done maturing physically, but he was the first to admit he was emotionally stunted.

Stop thinking. Just do what you’ve been dying to do with this guy for weeks.

Except they were on her couch, and it’s not like she had a condom in her back pocket.

“I don’t suppose you brought anything with you?” she asked, and he shook his head.

“I wanted this to be on your terms,” he said. “Kind of alleviates the temptation if I’m not constantly prepared.”

Huh. She wondered if he learned this from experience, from being too prepared too often. She didn’t want to know.

“Then—we’re going to have to switch locations.”

He sat up, his eyes darting to the coffee table, and he picked up her book.

“Still your favorite, huh?” he asked.

“Still?”

He nodded. “Confession. I saw it on the bookshelf in your house when we were in high school. Your brother mentioned it being your favorite, so I borrowed it and read it that night. Returned it the next day so you wouldn’t know it was gone.”

She took the book from him and leafed through its pages, eyes wide with recognition.

“You read this book? My book?”

He nodded again. “I mean, I’d seen the movie. Who hadn’t? But I wanted to see if what our teachers at school always said was true.”

“What’s that?”

“That the book is usually better than the movie.”

“Consensus?” she asked, her heart beating too wildly for just their shared love of a book.

He looked down for a second, then met her gaze again with a guilty-looking grin. “It’s what made me want to write,” he admitted. “Which means I was maybe trying to impress you with the whole Emerald City thing,” he said.

Annie swallowed. “And now? Are you still trying to impress me?”

He shrugged. “Is it working?”

She kissed him. “Yeah. I’d say it is.”

The kiss felt different than just a few minutes ago. Did Wes feel that, too? It was like his admission had just closed a ten-year gap, and she wasn’t sure what that meant. But it meant—something.

He cupped her cheek in his palm. “If I’m going to be completely honest, I don’t think my impression will last if I don’t take a quick shower.” He looked down at his naked body. “I’m a mess, and I don’t want to be a mess for you.”

Ha. A mess. Not from where she stood. Still, who was she to deny him?

“Yeah, sure,” she said, needing a few moments to think anyway. “Towels are in the cabinet next to the sink. See you in a few?”

He smiled. “Don’t fall asleep.”

She crossed her heart and held up the book, then headed into her room while Wes stepped through the door across the hall and closed it behind him. She opened her small, top dresser drawer, the one meant for jewelry and loose change and, in her case, condoms. She pulled a couple from the pack—just to be safe, or maybe it was wishful thinking—and backed up to her bed, flopping down on her back.

What he’d said to her that night in the Blissful Nights hotel—it wasn’t off the cuff. He’d read her book, shared her love of it. Hell, he’d become a writer because of it. This changed everything, didn’t it?

She pretended to fan herself with the small foil packets. She thought this night seemed born out of a physical need. Initially she’d planned on answering her door in nothing but the emerald green bra and panty set she was wearing. But she’d fallen asleep, and in the confusion of waking up, all plans of seduction were lost to making sure he didn’t leave.

She hungered for Wes just the same now, but there was something insatiable in her need. Annie peeked under the collar of her T-shirt. She was still wearing the sexy undergarments.

Her legs swung back and forth off the foot of the bed as she tried not to think about what it would mean if she finally opened the gates of Mordor. If he Slytherined her Hufflepuff.

She laughed, but suddenly their funny euphemisms weren’t as funny as they were before. Because this would mean something. And while this wasn’t part of the plan—this attaching meaning to what was happening between them—she wanted him just the same.

No. Annie had wanted men before. She needed Wes.

“You are a little slow on the uptake, Denning,” she said to herself in the mirror above her dresser. A beautiful man was in her shower. And maybe he needed her, too.

She stripped down to nothing but the demi-cup bra and lacy, boy-cut briefs. She gave the girls one quick adjustment, gathered all her gusto, and strode across the hall. She knocked softly on the door, her nerve wavering, but Wes answered immediately.

“Yeah?”

Ugh. He didn’t say Come in. Did that mean she had to try to yell through the door over the shower water? Or did that mean he knew she wanted to come in and was inviting her to do so? If she hemmed and hawed another few seconds, would he doubt he even heard a knock at all and then be startled if she actually walked in?

She blew out a breath and whispered, “Get yourself together, Annabeth Louise Denning.” Then she rolled her eyes at the thought of how proud her mother would be that she was talking to herself as if she was her mother.

That was it, the final straw. When Mom started entering her thoughts… Well, there was only one way to erase that.

She burst through the door and slid on a patch of wet tile before hip checking the counter with a thud.

“Shit!” she yelled, hunching over and rubbing the skin that would be purple in a matter of hours.

Wes threw back the shower curtain.

“Are you okay?” he asked, nothing but sincerity in his tone as she stood—though doubled over—with her palm on the throbbing wound.

“I’m fine,” she said, straightening. “This is me doing sexy seductress. You like?”

He stood there, curtain open and his slick, toned body in full view. She might not have the skills in the seduction department, but based on what she saw in front of her, Wes liked something he saw.

“I can’t think of anything I like more,” he said, water dripping off his lips—water Annie was desperate to taste.

His eyes had that playful glint she loved, all the hesitation from before having melted away. She held up the condoms and fanned them in her fingers, a tentative smile playing at her lips. Annie realized she needed Wes to be sure about this as much as he had questioned her feelings back on the couch.

“Two?” he asked.

She shrugged. “We don’t have to use both. Or either, really. It’s your call. But I want you to know I want this. I want you like this.”

His chest rose and fell. He combed his fingers through his soaked hair, pushing it back as it fell over his forehead.

“Show me what you want, Annie. Like that night in the hotel room. Show me.”

He stood there, bare and exposed and offering to give her what she wanted. All she had to do was articulate it. Or point him in the right direction.

She stepped toward him, careful on the wet tile this time, and lifted his hand to her breast. Her nipple pebbled beneath the lace of the bra, and he dipped his thumb inside the demi-cup to rub the sensitive skin.

She gasped, then reached past him to drop the two foil packets in the soap dish.

“Use your mouth,” she said. “Please.” She still wasn’t used to having a say. Not that any guy had ever taken advantage of her. It was just—with everyone else there had been a rhythm. A routine. But Wes seemed to take pleasure in her pleasure more than anything else, and she still wasn’t sure what to do with that.

He unclasped her bra, spreading it open so it hung off her shoulders, exposing her breasts with two hard, sensitive peaks. He dipped his head and flicked his tongue against the right and then the left.

Annie’s knees buckled.

“Whoa there,” he said, catching her around the waist. “Maybe we should take this elsewhere?”

She shook her head. Sure, it was probably safer for both of them if they continued this in her bed, but Annie didn’t think she’d last long enough to get there at this point. She wanted his hands on her, his lips, his teeth—she wanted every part of him to tease every part of her. And then she wanted him to slide between her legs and make her come.

But she couldn’t formulate the words. Because they were words she’d never said to anyone else. She’d never known she wanted what Wes was offering until he asked.

“The water’s warm,” he said. “Do you want to come in?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, her strained voice unrecognizable to her own ears. There was something animal in her tone, something Wes Hartley was about to unleash.

He held her arm as she stepped over the lip of the tub, bra still dangling off her arms and panties still on. She didn’t care. The water felt good against her skin, heat mixed with heat. He pulled the curtain closed and let the steam envelop them.

“What’s next?” he asked, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

“Mouth and hands,” she said.

He lowered his head back to her breasts, and she grabbed one of his hands and placed it at the seam of her panties, hoping he’d take the wheel from there.

His mouth went to work on one breast. She wasn’t even sure if it was left or right because her brain was scrambled already. She couldn’t be certain, but she thought there was a finger teasing the inside seam of her underwear, sliding along the place where leg met pelvis.

When he reached the bottom, went as far south as he could, that’s when he snuck beneath the fabric and entered her with one slick push.

For the love— There went her knees again.

Somehow she righted herself, managing not to slip down to the base of the tub, and Wes continued to slide in and out, his movements slow and controlled just like that night at the wedding when she guided his hand where she wanted him to go—where she needed him to go.

She grabbed the base of his shaft and stroked the hard flesh from root to tip. He groaned, his finger exiting her so he could tug at the wet lace. She helped him, shimmying out of the briefs while managing to keep one firm hand on him. She shook off the bra, throwing it outside the curtain.

Once she was finally free, she urged him back toward the spout. He maneuvered them into the corner so no one got impaled, and she lifted a foot onto the small porcelain ledge and pressed her swollen center against his erection.

“I don’t think I have any more foreplay in me,” she said, a note of disappointment in her tone. “I can’t—I just need—”

She didn’t have to say another word. He was reaching past her, grabbing one of the condoms and tearing it free from the package. She’d no sooner uttered her inarticulate plea when he’d rolled it down his length, lifted her thigh to get the right angle, and entered.

He sank deep, filling her completely, and she cried out.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked, his voice deep and laced with concern.

She shook her head. How did she say what couldn’t be said? He was the master with words. She only read them. How did she tell him he was doing everything right, that she hadn’t known what right was until he’d touched her? How did she tell him that he’d entered deeper than she knew he would, filling the depths of her too-long protected heart? How did she tell him she was falling in love when she wouldn’t even hold his hand in public?

Annie was shit with words and timing and choosing a guy who could promise happily ever after.

How did she say anything when words couldn’t do justice to the burning ache in her belly as he moved inside her, slowly building toward a release she knew would come, but not the way she’d anticipated?

“It’s perfect,” she managed to whisper before he was kissing her so hard and deep, those wet lips as delicious as she’d anticipated.

Because in this moment he was—perfect. They were perfect. Did he feel it, too, or would he let his stubborn belief keep him from admitting that maybe, just maybe, she could make him happy?

She could show him what happiness was, but how could she make him claim it?

The answer was simple. She couldn’t.