Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
WILDER
HEIGHTS HOTTIES
Weston
good vibes today for my girl
Ronnie
Pregnancy test?
Weston
no
Wyatt
dumbass
Weston
today’s her job interview with her favorite podcast
Me
*good vibes gif*
Wyatt
*fingers crossed emoji*
Ronnie
I think that was the sweetest thing you’ve ever said Grady Sr
Wyatt
stop calling me that
Wyatt Grady has left the chat
Ronnie Kovar has added Wyatt Grady to the chat
Weston
think you’re stuck here, bro
Ronnie
Till death, Grady Jr
Wyatt
don’t tempt me
I could call in a favor
Where’d everyone go
It was a joke
Come back
Closing in on six weeks in the Heights now, and more than a week since my dick learned what perfection feels like.
Her claw marks in my thighs have barely faded—the taste of her might be permanently embedded on my tongue—yet the woman’s not been back in my bed since she left a Lexi-sized hole in my door after she came down.
Patience is a virtue both my ma and nonna taught me. Can’t rush a perfect pasta sauce, and you can’t rush winning over a woman as headstrong as Alexis Weiss.
She might have worn a turtleneck to work for six ninety-something degree days straight to hide the marks I left on her from everyone else, but there’s no way she missed those when it was just her and her gorgeous reflection.
The echoes of that night are still reverberating for Lexi, the same as they are for me.
I’m as sure of that as the fact Charlie’s going to burn the next crepes he makes, or that my hot-headed manager is going to shoot down the next dish I present for the menu (a modern take on my nonna’s spaghetti).
Facts of life, all of them.
It’s just a matter of when she admits to us both that she needs more than one night from me.
Now that I got a mode of transportation—a motorcycle Weston restored, a Kawasaki Ninja 650, to be exact—it’s a lot easier to get to Lexi’s little cottage in town to collect herbs a couple times a week.
What used to be a fifteen minute walk (because she’s never offered me a ride in her little blue Nissan even once) is now just a two minute ride on my bike, unless I catch a red light at the one stop light between here and there, then it’s more like three.
I ordered a backpack online that took days and days to get here (which makes me miss the one-hour delivery I was used to back home, even if I’m finding plenty to love about the rest of this town), but it’s perfect for collecting eggs from Rory and herbs from Lexi’s and transporting them back to the diner.
Hoping to get here early enough today to even see the lady of the house, considering she’s done a damn good job avoiding me outside of work since she turned my face into a Slip’N Slide and sucked my soul out of the tip of my cock.
Shit, it twitches just thinking about that night last week, but a motorcycle is a really inconvenient place for a hard-on, so I tuck my soldier into my waistband as I step off the bike and hope he takes it easy on me.
I was worried the bike wouldn’t be sturdy enough to carry my weight, but Weston assured me this thing could even carry two people and I would be fine. So far it’s holding up.
Crossing her yard by way of the flat, gray stones that make a path to the garden surrounding her home, I follow it back to the section she made just for me.
The herb garden. Bees float through the entire garden area, bouncing flower to flower, doing their thing to cross pollinate and make the world a better place.
More useful than most of the crew I used to hang out with once upon a time, that’s for sure.
She must have one hell of a green thumb to keep the garden beds looking this good. Each section is bordered by small stones, stacked high to form a little fence around each area of her wonderland.
A pollinator section, a butterfly garden, and then the one in front of her house is mostly fancy-looking flowers that I suspect are extremely tricky to grow, but hers are flourishing, even in the late June heat.
If she isn’t showing off with this collection, I might’ve been onto something by calling her a witch the other night. More than just her mouth and pussy are supernatural.
Speaking of, the woman herself flits through the window nearest me, colorful silk robe trailing in her path behind her as she mists a whole different plant collection that I’ve never seen before.
Sure, I’ve collected herbs here a few times, but one, it’s usually dark by the time I get here after my shift, and two, I’m not a stalker, even if I do have some unusual tendencies after my upbringing and what I’ve been through.
But if she’s just gonna stand there, watering some plants, misting others, and talking to them as she goes, I’m not gonna not watch.
In just the undershirt I always have on beneath my chef jacket and my black work pants, were she to look out her window, she’d recognize my stature and all this ink before she saw my short, dark hair, or took in the hardened features that make my face look a lot older than twenty-seven.
But I don’t get the satisfaction of a look, or recognition blooming through her eyes as her cheeks color and her scowl deepens, those nostrils flaring and her skin starting to vibrate from my nearness. She looks forward, determinedly not even glancing in my direction.
The guys were right. She keeps a tight grasp on that shit list of hers, but even she can’t pretend like there isn’t something magnetic between us. Like her cells don’t respond to my presence, the way mine do to hers. Energy lights up when we’re close, and that doesn’t happen on fucking accident.
Her head might not have caught up to the inevitable yet, but her body knows.
If I were a betting man, I’d put money on her giving in by next week. Come this time next month, she’ll have no qualms hopping on for a ride whenever she gets the urge.
It might take a bit longer for her to admit there’s anything more than lust behind it, but I don’t have to be a fortune teller to know what’s coming for us both.
Stooping down to the vibrant selection of herbs, I snip what I need, tipping the rosemary, pruning the tarragon, and harvesting the oregano to encourage new growth the way Lexi showed me.
By the time my backpack is bursting, Lexi is still wandering her plant collection indoors, stroking the leaves of a giant fucker in the corner, and maybe telling it a story, the way her lips are still moving.
I’m not leaving this up to fate.
Wilder Amante carves his own.
Knocking on the mullioned window above the herb bushes, I can’t help but smirk when she jumps about a foot in the air. Her arm with the watering can swings high in an arc and sprays everything in the vicinity in slow-motion.
Hand to her perfect chest, she turns around and seethes when she finds my face there, staring right back at her.
Waving, I point to the door and make my way to it, not giving her the chance to turn me away.
When the thick wooden door swings inward, revealing my favorite part about living in the Heights, she’s got one hell of a murderous look on her face, and fuck do I love it when she gets worked up.
“I’m not teaching you how to pinch back the basil again,” she insists, yanking on the panels of her bright silken robe to keep it secured in my presence, like it might just fall off if I were to cross over the threshold.
She’s not wrong, but I still find it interesting.
“Can you teach me how you like your nipples pinched?” I ask her, grin in place.
“Oh my God!” It’s not quite a huff, not quite a squeal, and it’s full of exasperation.
Cazzo, she’s a masterpiece when she’s all fiery like this.
Lexi moves to slam the door in my face, but I’m too big and too quick for that to work. Body blocking the path, the door just bounces off of me as I step in.
“I’m not fucking you,” she says through clenched teeth.
“Not this morning,” I correct.
Her shoulders move closer to her ears, fists clenching where they’re crossed in front of her.
“What do you want?”
“Aside from you?”
Because getting a rise out of her is my favorite game I’ve ever played, I stop talking to make her respond.
“Yes.” The word barely grits out through pursed lips.
“Can I hit your bathroom? Came here on a full tank.” Put a hand to my abdomen, mostly so she’s forced to look there and remember what’s beneath my shirt, how much fun she had getting up close and personal with all of me.
“You seriously can’t hold it the two minute drive?”
“You’re going to make me risk it?”
“Fine, but you have to clean up the water you made me spill.”
I follow her into what my nonna would call a sitting room, though in Lexi’s it seems like no one but plants gets the option to have a seat, and steer clear of the fat droplets of water that have decorated at least half the floor.
Thrusting a roll of paper towels at me, Lexi maintains that look of irritation, even as I drop to my knees and begin wiping up the spill.
“So you’re a plant mom?”
“Don’t try to make small talk.”
“Should I make you scream instead?”
She snorts before retorting, “Looking at you is enough to make me scream.”
“The sight of me on my knees is really doing it for you, huh?” I wink up at her and grin as her foot actually stomps in front of me.
“Pee and get out. I need to get ready.”
“What are you doing with your day off, Boss?”
“Some me time.” Her tone offers nothing additional.
Following the direction she flung her arm in, I find my way to her bathroom and make use of the facilities, just so I’m not a liar.
It’s when I’m washing my hands in her bowl sink, the gilded oval mirror on the darkly wallpapered surface behind it reflecting one hell of a knowing smirk back at me, that I notice.
On the counter next to the sink and a bottle of something simply labeled “toy cleaner” is an entire selection of delightful little friends.
At least three I can vividly picture what they’re for—one is going to have me stretching the limits of my creative thought until I can get an answer—plus a plug.