Chapter Twelve #3
I can’t decide if I want him to or not.
He does open the diner door for me, sweeping his hand toward the brightly lit interior. “Let’s get you that milkshake.” He waits for me to walk through the open door and then adds, “We should mention milkshakes to Mae next time we’re down her way. I bet she’d make a killing.”
The mention of the donut shop owner makes my stomach rumble pitifully, as good a distraction as any. “Great, now I want donuts again.”
“I’m sure we’ll head back south eventually.” The we slips out easily, as if it’s not a question that we’re going to finish out the season together. At least the part I can stay for.
I sink into an empty booth and ignore the growing puzzle that is the man across from me. “That whole saying about diamonds being a girl’s best friend? Nah. Give me tornadoes and donuts.”
Amusement lights up his gray eyes. Or maybe that’s just the reflection of the fluorescent lights buzzing above our heads. “Tornadoes and donuts make terrible jewelry.”
“Don’t let Mae hear you say that. You know she loves her tornado earrings.” I sigh, glancing down at my phone screen and the three hundred unread emails I’ve been ignoring all day. It’s as good a way as any to stop obsessing over Wes. “I need to deal with some things, if you don’t mind.”
“Your mom again?” he asks, a dark note entering his voice. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but your brothers seem pretty useless.”
“You don’t have brothers, do you?”
A flicker of emotion I can’t follow dances across his face, there and gone in an instant. “No,” Wes says with lightness that sounds forced. “Only child.” His megawatt grin returns as he leans back into the booth. “My parents had me and decided I was it.”
The cocky tone to go along with his smirk is trademark Wild Wes, but as the waitress appears to take our order—chocolate shake and fries for me, strawberry shake and fries for Wes—there’s that same sense I’ve gotten anytime he’s mentioned his family that something is off.
I brush the thought aside. It’s one o’clock in the morning, and neither of us slept more than a few hours last night. Adrenaline and caffeine only keep you going for so long. We’re both exhausted. It’s not really a surprise we lapse into silence.
The weight of Wes’s stare prickles along the back of my neck. I look up to find him watching me, an odd expression on his face. His eyes flick to the server when she drops off our shakes and then snap right back to me.
“What?” I ask, self-consciously running a hand over my ragged braid. “Do I have something in my hair?”
“No.” When I lift one of my eyebrows in question, he sighs. “I like you like this. That’s all.”
A startled laugh bursts out of me. “Exhausted and cranky does it for you?” I tease while silently telling myself not to read too much into the soft way he said I like you.
“I’ve seen you cranky.” Wes shrugs, unwraps his straw, and starts to fiddle with the paper wrapper. “In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve always been so self-contained. You’re different lately. With me.”
I’m about to make a quip that kissing is definitely different for us, but whether it’s the late hour or his intimate tone, I suddenly don’t feel like brushing him off with a joke.
“Different how?”
At first I don’t think Wes is going to answer. Not with how determinedly he’s staring at the straw wrapper as he packs it into a smaller and smaller ball, but finally, so quietly I can barely hear him over the whir of the fans, he says, “Soft.”
Soft is an adjective I’ve actively tried to avoid. Soft is my mother, molding herself into whatever qualities she thinks will benefit her the most. Soft is vulnerable, the last thing a woman alone and fifty miles from anything wants to be.
I don’t know what to say, so I dip a couple more fries in my shake and shove them in my mouth. By the time I swallow, I still don’t have anything better than a shrug, so I go with honesty. “Soft can be a liability.”
Wes’s brows shoot up to his hairline. “That’s a new one.”
“You’re a man. It’s different.”
“Okay, yes, in some ways, it is different,” he admits. “But it’s not that different.”
My laughter is more of a scoff as I dip another fry.
I don’t care if I’m getting weird looks from the trucker at the counter.
The mix of salty and sweet is just what I’m craving after a long day.
“That first day? Those guys whose car you wrote Honk for dick on? They called me fresh meat. And I may have fibbed about the guys at the Mexican place—they had opinions on my leggings. Both times, they only stopped because you were there. There’s a bunch of guys out here who think it’s perfectly fine to make a woman uncomfortable—until she belongs to another man. ”
“I’m sorry you have to listen to that shit. Any guy who thinks you don’t belong out here has his head up his ass.” Heat flashes like distant lightning in Wes’s gaze, and his voice turns gruff. “Wasn’t aware you belonged to me, though.”
I swallow hard, shoving aside the memory of the way he said mine before he kissed me that first time. “I don’t.”