Wesley #2
“They want me to do more love songs and wear more trendy looks, but that doesn’t mean I’ll do it.
They said it’s my choice.” She stood, her chair jerking across the uneven ground and the table nearly tipping on its side.
“Can we drop it? I haven’t seen you in months.
If I wanted to talk about work, I’d call Lydia. ”
“You really believe that, don’t you? That they give a damn about your opinion?” I don’t know why it made me so mad all of the sudden, pushing the topic. She made it look so easy to brush people off when I couldn’t.
“I’m heading back to the hotel. If you can promise to fucking drop it, you can come with me before the rain picks up again.”
She didn’t give me a chance to answer as she headed down the street, letting the conversation hang like a dissonant unresolved chord aching to be finished. I trailed behind her. She stopped at a corner store to collect an assortment of grapes, cured meats, and cheeses with thick rinds.
I grabbed the most expensive bottle of red wine I could find and placed it on the counter with the rest of our haul. Her eyes snagged on it.
“What?” I was slightly embarrassed but felt like I couldn’t remove the bottle, especially as the worker scanned it and added it to the till. So what? I drank now. No need to make a big deal of it. It would help get me out of my head, relax, and enjoy this visit.
“Nothing.” She sorted through coins and bills, handing over the euros and thanking the cashier in French.
The heavens cracked open releasing a torrent of rain. We drove to the hotel, but even getting in and out of the car left us soaked to the bone, fabric plastered against skin. During the ride, we uncorked the wine and shared it as the heater blasted us.
Inside her suite, Avery raced to her bedroom, and I heard the splat of wet fabric on the wood floor. She hadn’t bothered to close the door.
“Hey, do you have anything I can borrow?” I asked, peeling off my shirt and turning to face the opposite wall.
“Sweats okay?”
“If they fit.”
“Of course they’ll fit. We’re practically the same size.” Footsteps came up behind me. “Here.” She prodded my spine with a finger. I turned to take the clothes from her, but she was just in jeans and a basic blue cotton bra.
“Fuck. Avery, you could have at least put on a shirt first.” I looked up to the ceiling, searching for patterns or literally anything to distract me. I was hot all over. From the wine. From the sight of her in front of me in a way I’d imagined a thousand times.
“And let you bitch about catching a cold from making you wait. No thank you.” She huffed, rolling her eyes. “Don’t make it weird. We’re performers. Seeing naked people comes with the territory, and it’s not like I’m even naked. You’ve seen me in a swimsuit dozens of times.”
“You really don’t get it. Do you?” I groaned.
“What? That you have some deep feelings for your platonic wife?”
“Is that really all this is to you? Tell me you really believe that.”
“You were just helping me out. It was about the money.” She went to grab the bottle, avoiding my gaze. “I’m getting a drink. Do you want a drink? This wine is great,” she babbled.
I stepped into her path, catching her wrist as her fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle. Her pulse raced under my touch. Facing her, I was met with her flaming cheeks. Her damp hair had soaked the straps of her bra, a few stray rivulets of water rolling down her goose bump pricked skin.
“You really think it was just about the money?” I asked, my voice low.
Her chest heaved as she searched my face. “Why else would you do it?”
“Maybe you should ask yourself why neither of us asked for a divorce. I was there at the reading of the will. Nowhere did it say you had to stay married.”
“You’re not being fair, Wes.” She jerked free from my grip and headed to the gold bar cart against the wall.
Glasses clinked as she focused on selecting the right one.
“You were in a relationship just one week ago. You won’t tell me what happened no matter how many times I ask, and then you show up without warning. Now you’re telling me you like me—”
“ Love you.” It wasn’t supposed to be like this. But I needed her to know. I couldn’t let her keep thinking all I did was like her. I was done avoiding it. Dancing around it when we both know it’s true.
She was the only person I ever loved. The only person I could ever imagine loving.
“And you expect me to believe it?” Avery gestured with the hand holding the bottle, tipping it at angle so wine spilled onto the floor. The deep color made it look like a pool of fresh blood. “You could have said something.”
“You didn’t want anyone to know about the wedding.
We kissed, and it fucking rocked my world.
Then the next day, it was like nothing had happened.
We went on an entire fucking tour—and nothing.
Every chance I got, I was right there with you.
I thought it was obvious,” I told her, each word coming out faster than the last. “Some days, I think we’re inevitable and others…
Well, sometimes I think I’ll go to my grave wanting you. ”
“What a waste,” she said, looking up as if she suddenly decided to pray.
“Yeah, you’re right. I wasted so many kisses on people who didn’t deserve them when they all belonged to you.”
Glass rattled as she set the wine on the bar cart. Thunder cracked and the lights flickered. When they turned back on, she was directly in front of me.
“Then stop making me wait, Gaflin.” Slowly, she reached for me, fingers feather light on the ridge of my collarbone. “From how I see it, you’re fresh out of excuses. Kis—”
Before she could finish, my mouth crashed into hers. Her palm slid up to my neck and dug into my hair. It wasn’t soft or tender. It was a fucking exorcism. The torture of so many years not being together, expelling in a frenzied burst.
Every sensation was brilliantly acute, like walking into the blinding midday sun after being in a dark building. I’d grown used to darkness and was stepping into the light.
Her nails dragged against my scalp and her legs hitched around my waist. I palmed her ass through her jeans.
I wanted to tear them off, feel all of her pressed against me.
I pulled at her plush bottom lip with my teeth, earning a low needy sound from deep in her throat.
The wine was rich and velvety as it lingered on her tongue.
Wine . I was assaulted by the familiar flavor, and my stomach lurched. My pulse started to race and it took me a moment to feel the panic rising, consuming the ecstasy and turning it rancid.
I stumbled, setting her down.
“Wes?” She asked, questioning hazel eyes darting over my face.
“I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t do this. Not like this,” I said in gasps.
She scrambled away. “Was it something I did? I’m sorry. I’m not good at this.”
“It’s not you. I promise, it’s not you.” I told her, grabbing her waist, daring to touch her, using her as my sole tether to reality. “Jesus. You’re perfect. I don’t want to do this drunk. Fuck. I don’t want to do this too fast.”
When it happened with us, it wasn’t supposed to be an escape. I was supposed to be sober so I could crystalize each moment, every inch of her skin. I was a mess, but it was starting to seem like that’s all I’d ever be. That was it. But if I was sober, it would be fine.
“Okay.” She stepped back, biting her lip. “Sleep next to me tonight?”
I nodded, trailing her to the bedroom with its four-poster bed and cloud-like blankets. We laid facing each other, the tips of our noses brushing each time we shifted.
“I need to go slow,” I whispered. For all my grand declarations, I couldn’t follow through. It shouldn’t matter because it was her touching me, but my body kept score of other memories I was desperate to erase.
Her fingers found mine over the covers, the pad of her thumb brushing gently over my knuckles.
“Slow is good. Why skip the good parts? We’re in no rush.
Be romantic with me. Be gentle. I don’t want us to break each other’s hearts.
” Her words brushed over my cheeks in a caress.
“If you want to know why I didn’t do anything after Vegas, it’s because I’ve lost so much.
I don’t know if I’d survive losing you.”
“Never. Not even after Avery Sloane and Wesley Hart are just names on old CDs, too scratched up to listen to.”