Стейси Кестуик - Wet

I nodded, but kept a careful watch on her. Underestimating her would be a mistake. So would pushing her too far. We were locked in a fierce game of tug-of-war with West as the prize, but the bitch didn’t seem to realize she’d already lost.

Aubrey didn’t look at me as she swept from the room, but she paused in the doorway, her eyes sly. “Enjoy him while you have him. It won’t last. It never does. And then he’ll come back to me, like always.”

I started forward, but he stopped me, blocking me to keep me from advancing. Smart man. My hazy plan of bitch-slapping the smile off her face probably wasn’t my brightest.

“I’ll handle this,” he said when he bent down and caught my mutinous gaze.

If looks could kill, I would’ve already handled it.

Raising his eyebrows, West squeezed my hand. “Give me five minutes.”

I huffed in disbelief, tearing my face away, and crossed my arms over my chest.

Sighing, he turned back to where Aubrey was lounging against his doorframe, studying her perfect fucking manicure. Lowering his head, he caught her arm as he strode out the door and down the hall, cursing under his breath. Their footsteps echoed as they moved farther away.

Left behind, alone, I sat on his bed and looked at my hands absently, unsure what to think. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed his nightstand drawer wasn’t shut all the way, and as I went to close it, something familiar caught my attention. Yanking it all the way open, I stared down at a glossy stack of photos.

Aubrey. Her boudoir session.

West: Where’d you go?

Me: Now you want to know? Three hours later? That must have been some talk you had with Aubrey.

West: I was gone less than ten minutes. I thought you’d gone back outside with Hailey, but you were just gone.

Me: How long did it take you to figure that out?

West: Not long.

Me: So why are you just now texting me?

West: You left. Was I supposed to come find you?

Me: I wanted you to *want* to come find me.

West: I do want to come find you.

Me: No, I wanted you to come find me then, not now.

West: You don’t want me to come over now?

Me: No, now I’m pissed.

West: Why?

Me: I don’t want to talk now.

West: But I thought you wanted me to come find you.

Me: I did.

West: But not now?

Me. Nope.

West: Ok.

I stared at my phone for another hour. He didn’t text again. Didn’t reach out the rest of the night. But the next morning, there was a paper airplane and a box with a single glazed doughnut and I’m sorry written in chocolate on it waiting on the front porch.

I wanted to talk now.

Well, after I ate the doughnut.

Swallowing my pride and a cup of coffee, I headed over to his house. He was waiting for me on the hammock, reading a tattered book with a fish on the cover. I paused, taking a moment to just look at him. Was there anything hotter than a guy reading — shirtless?

No. No, there wasn’t.

Walking closer, I nudged his feet where they were crossed at the ankles. “Hey.”

He lowered the book, watching me with wary eyes. “Have you had coffee yet?”

I grinned. I loved that he knew it wasn’t smart to approach me before I’d had caffeine. I held up one finger.

“Just one? You’re lucky I’m prepared.” Reaching down beside him, he retrieved a thermos I hadn’t noticed on the ground and handed it to me.

I started to lift it to my lips and then hesitated. He drank his black.

“It’s the way you like it.”

Unexpected tears pricked my eyes. Sometimes, it was the little things that mattered most.

“Don’t just stand there. Drink it. For my safety, if nothing else.”

I mock glared at him, but followed orders, the laughter chasing away the sappiness. The coffee was perfect, strong and sweet.

Shoving his legs to the side so I could climb on next to him, I kicked off my flip flops and settled my feet across his chest, wiggling my toes to get his attention.

He peered at me over the top of the book, raising his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry about last night. The texts. I just got scared you weren’t telling me the truth.”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

Raising the thermos to my mouth, I took a long, slow swallow, thinking about his words. Technically, I didn’t think he had. But omitting things? The walls of the bathroom at the Wreck came to mind. The meetings with Aubrey about the gala. And the pictures in his nightstand. I don’t know that he’d ever lied, but he wasn’t as honest as he could be either.

I shook my head, wondering what else I might not know.

“What’s that face for?”

Choosing my words carefully, I focused on my hands when I answered. “I’m not sure not lying and being truthful are the same things.”

He marked his place in the book with a postcard and dropped it to the ground. Scooping one of my feet into his strong hands, he dug his thumbs into the arch, making it hard to concentrate on the conversation.

“What are you talking about?” He met my eyes, confusion written across his features. He didn’t look like a man trying to hide a secret.

I didn’t want to admit I’d snooped in his drawers. Or creeped on Aubrey’s Facebook wall. Stalker, much?

“She just caught me by surprise yesterday is all.” I forced myself to keep the accusation out of my voice.

“Yeah, sorry ’bout that. I thought she would’ve left by then.”

So you weren’t planning on telling me, I mused, irritated. I didn’t want to sound like a clingy girlfriend. Even though he’d kind of claimed me at the barbecue, we’d still never officially had a talk. Had never discussed being exclusive.

I wanted to ask, get it all out in the open, but, at the same time, I was scared of his answer. I didn’t want to hear him say he was just looking for a good time and that it was nothing serious to him when it was becoming everything to me.

Gritting my teeth, I tried to withdraw my foot, but he wouldn’t let me, holding on tighter and massaging the tendon on the back of my heel. Damn him, his fingers felt good too. Lying there, sipping coffee, having him pressed against me while he rubbed my feet. It was hard to stay upset when I wasn’t even sure we were a couple, if he had even done anything wrong. Yeah, I had fallen in love with him, but that was my problem, not his.

The moment stretched. He was relaxed beside me, his body harboring no tension to make me think he was lying. I started to feel foolish for my paranoia. His hands switched to my other foot, giving it the same thorough treatment as the first one.

“What are your plans this week?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Lifeguarding until Thursday and a photo shoot on Friday. I’ll probably spend most of Saturday packing before the flight Sunday.”

The hands around my feet squeezed. “Your trip to Grand Cayman is next weekend? I thought it was two weeks away. Fuck .”

“Problem?”

“Yeah, I just booked a big tournament out of Charleston for Thursday through Saturday. I wouldn’t have done it if I realized you were about to leave for three weeks.”

I made a face. “Can you get out of it?”

“Not easily. It’s a new client for me, one who does a lot of business around here in the summer, and he could turn into a great repeat customer if the weekend goes well. I could see if one of the other companies can do it instead, I guess—”