Chapter 8 #2
“There’s a lot to unpack there, but let’s start with who is Ruth Roy?” I hate myself for being interested in his life, but I can’t help it. I tuck a leg underneath my butt and lean forward.
Also, this helps explain the pie artwork in the bedroom.
“She’s a nasty eighty-year-old woman who has had it in for me ever since the first year I entered the pie competition and squeaked out a first-place win. She got second and has hated me ever since.” His face darkens. “I also haven’t beaten her since.”
What the fuck is happening here? I’m not sure what to do. Commiserate? Encourage?
“Can we eat it?” I wave to the steaming apple pie on the stovetop and kind of hate myself for sounding so eager.
“Of course we can eat the pie.” Wes grins and reaches up to pull out two plates. I can’t help but watch how his shoulder muscles shift through his sweatshirt as he moves around the kitchen. He pushes up his sleeves, revealing sinewy forearms with those tattoo sleeves. “Whipped cream?”
“For the pie?”
“Yes, for the pie.” I can see the asshole grin from the side of his face. “What else would it be for?”
“I don’t know. And yes.” I attempt to infuse absolute casualness into my tone, not let on that for some fucking reason my mind went sexual when he suggested whipped cream. Not that I’ve ever used food with sex.
By the time he turns to me with the slices of pie on plates, I’m still eye fucking him. Wes smirks and slides a plate in front of me.
This whole situation is so weird.
First of all, I’m married. To a scumbag asshole. But I’m not available for dating or fucking or whatever.
Second of all, this is the man who had me zip-tied to a kitchen chair yesterday.
Third of all, I have no interest at all in another man. In fact, I’ll hopefully never date again.
Fucking Shane. Just thinking of him makes me mad. Actually, what would really make him mad is me having slept at this hot hacker dude’s cabin and sitting down to have coffee and homemade pie with him.
Wes settles across from me, and I take another gulp of my delicious coffee. Oh. Oh no.
“Wait, you didn’t drug the coffee, did you?” I’ve already chugged half the mug. Fuck!
“No, but wouldn’t that have been a good question five minutes ago before you took your first sip?”
“I guess, but—” I narrow my eyes at him. “Is that what that look was for?”
“Yeah. I was wondering when you were going to make sure the coffee was safe to drink. Not that last night’s hot chocolate wasn’t safe, but, well, you know what I mean.”
“Stop drugging me, and I won’t have to be so on guard.”
“You should always be on guard,” Wes says, a serious look on his face.
I’m an idiot. How many times will I let this man drug me? I should’ve questioned the coffee. And the hot chocolate last night.
“How about the apple pie?” I pull the plate closer, and my mouth waters at the smell of it.
“I would never drug one of my apple pies.”
“Hmm.” I scrunch my nose. “So you’d drug other pies?”
He shrugs but doesn’t answer. Weird.
“Eat,” he nods to the pie.
“Fine. Wait. Why is there a whipped cream heart?” It’s actually pretty impressive, not some messy shape, but a very precise heart on top of a picture-perfect slice of apple pie.
“Because it’s Valentine’s Day.”
“It is? Huh. Okay.” I snort out a short chuckle, and he grins at me. I’m annoyed that my first thought was that’s sweet. I’m starting Valentine’s Day with apple pie that’s homemade by a gorgeous masked kidnapper? Could be worse, I guess.
I scoop up a soft, warm spoonful of pie with some whipped cream and shove it in my mouth and oh. My god.
Wes crosses his arms and leans back, not biting into his pie, his eyes examining my face intensely. The thick sugary filling coats my tongue and explodes onto my taste buds. It’s hot, but I don’t even care. This man can sure as hell bake a pie.
“Do you like it?” Wes watches me eagerly.
“It’s amazing.” A sigh involuntarily escapes my throat, and he smiles broadly.
“Enough to beat Ruth?”
“Fuck that old lady. Of course.”
“Exactly! Fuck Ruth.” He grins even wider at me.
Then Wes drops his spoon, leaning forward on the table onto his forearms, giving me a chance to really examine the ivy and rose tattoos I noticed yesterday.
They disappear into his sweatshirt and reappear on his neck.
The other side of his neck is bare. I wonder if he has anything on his chest?
Something is off about this guy. I have a good nose for sniffing out humans who are used to breaking the law or doing shady shit.
Maybe it’s the past decade of being in my family’s criminal world without actually being a part of it.
I witnessed a lot over the years, and Wes is definitely one of those guys.
Therefore, I should be terrified of him.
I should cut ties and run from this place, as associating myself with Wes goes against my entire plan to start a new, legal life somewhere far away.
But he doesn’t scare me.
The Ruth-inspired scowl drops from his face, and he replaces it with a pleasant smile.
Something might be off about him, but he’s probably the perfect person to help me find Shane. Normal people don’t do the kind of work Wes does.
“So, Wesley, will you help me find Shane?”
“Wesley?”
“Isn’t that your name?”
“Yeah, but it’s been a long time since anyone called me that.”
“Can I?”
Wes assesses me for a few seconds. He tilts his head and runs a hand along his jaw, the sound rough against the stubble, more pronounced than it was yesterday.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah I can call you Wesley or yeah you’ll help me find Shane?”
“Both.”
I take a sharp breath. Thank god. What was I going to do if he said no?
“Thank you so much.”
“No problem. I can’t promise I’ll find him, but I’m pretty good at this kind of thing.”
I stare at Wes. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him more about what he does. But maybe I don’t really want to know. Maybe I should just work with this guy to find Shane, and then I’ll be able to get that clean slate.
“So what happens next? Do I, like, Venmo you money?”
“Nah, you can pay me after. For now, I need a few days to do some research on your husb—I mean, your soon-to-be ex-husband. Then I’ll get in touch about meeting up to discuss my findings.”
“Are you sure?”
Wes nods. “More non-drugged coffee?” He reaches for my almost empty mug.
“No, I need to go.” I shove half the slice of pie into my mouth and stand. I really don’t want to walk away from what looks like a mouth-watering crust, but I’ve remembered—again—that I’m in the middle of the woods eating pie with a stranger. “Honey Bunny is probably freaking out.”
“Right, of course. We don’t want to freak out your bunny,” he says with a completely serious look on his face. “Want a to-go cup?”
I blink at him. “You might be a psychopath.”
“That’s offensive.” He furrows his brow and—god help me—actually looks hurt.
“I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to offend you.” I honestly just apologized to this unhinged, beautiful man for calling him a psychopath. What is happening?
“Apology accepted.” Wes winks at me and heads to the kitchen, opening a cabinet and pulling out an expensive, reusable coffee cup. Who gives one of those to someone they just met?
I need to finalize this divorce and get the hell out of here. Get away from my old life and start over. I want to be in a place where no one knows me. No more criminal husbands or brothers. No peeking into the underbelly of humanity.
No one like my father or Shane or even my brother.
Definitely no one like Wesley.