Chapter 7
SEVEN
WESTON
“I’m here!” Amelia’s voice is even higher than usual when she calls out quickly to Wyatt, deceptively innocent. Now that I’ve seen those tits she’s sporting, I feel pretty damn confident there’s nothing innocent about this girl.
She’s got the face of a doll, the humor of a mortician, and the tits of an angel. In short, my dream girl.
Somehow I didn’t see the nipple ring coming.
That’s a sight that’ll be hard to get out of my head anytime soon, but if anything could kill my growing boner, it’s the sound of my brother’s voice crashing this party.
Did I come here tonight to flirt? No.
Did I mean to start something that I’m not supposed to finish? Also no.
I came here to do him a favor, that’s it. But I wasn’t about to leave her feeling awkward about that snafu of an entrance. Not in my nature to make a woman uncomfortable or leave her without a smile on her face. Had to turn that around before I could get back to business as usual.
Though now that I recall the text exchange with my brother, I’m thinking he wanted an answer immediately, and I may have left my phone in my truck when I got here and headed straight over to her. It’s highly possible he’s been buzzing me the whole time I’ve been in here, wondering if the boundaries he set apply to girls who are only visiting the town, not locals. He must’ve zipped back to the garage to get the answer himself rather than wait for me.
“Give me a second!” she hollers to an answering grunt.
No matter how you paint this picture, he’s not going to see this as something virtuous, or me succeeding at the task he gave me if he opens this door and finds the two of us in here alone, still breathing heavy from the aftermath of the almost that just occurred.
“Hide,” she whispers in a hiss through her teeth, accurately interpreting that deer in the headlights look on my face as he can’t find me here .
“I’m taller than your van is long, how am I supposed to do that?” I whisper back at her in a panic.
“You are not, just get in my bed.”
“All you had to do was ask.” I can’t resist the line.
She points her narrowed eyes at me, finger inches from my nose. “You want him to find you here?”
I shake my head quickly, and her face goes from stone to something softer. “Get in the corner and shut the fuck up for once in your life.”
“Says the woman who apparently talks to herself. You’re still going to need to come clean on that to me, by the way.”
Her palm claps down over my mouth, trying to silence my hushed whispers, and I obey, falling quiet under the feel of her velvet soft skin and the flurry of images it calls to mind.
Amelia grabs a sweatshirt from next to me on the bed and quickly dons it before opening the door wide enough for her slim body to be visible to Wyatt on the other side.
“Hey, sorry to intrude. Weston’s not in there, is he?”
My stomach dips in a way that’s a lot less of a flirty let’s do this, darlin’ and a lot more stay six feet back in case of projectile vomiting .
“The blond mythological sex god also known as your brother? Yeah, we fucked all day and I just cut him loose.”
Incredulous laughter almost bursts out of me at her gall, but I can practically hear my brother’s disapproving glare. Not sure there’s a brand of humor that’s for him, but that definitely wasn’t it.
“He said he’d come by to check on a part for me.” The next line is grumbled so low I’m surprised I can even make it out. “Should’ve known better than to ask him to do something that was important.” The heavy sigh that follows weighs me down where I lay crouched down out of sight, an extra hundred pounds of disappointment on my shoulders.
“Maybe he got caught up working on his car or something?” She offers an alternative to him thinking the worst of me, because she doesn’t realize yet that Wyatt will always jump to the worst-case option when it comes to me and my responsibility.
Amelia’s so casual, so quick on her feet, I bet he has no clue she’s lying to his face. The practice it must take to master that skill, to be so smooth, so effortless as you’re pulling the wool over someone’s eyes. I’m not sure if I revere her or fear her as I watch.
There’s quiet for a moment, where I imagine my brother looking down the lot, eyeing my truck parked near the shop, the bay doors wide open, trying to spot where I might be hiding, what I might be doing that’s more important than what he asked for my help with. More likely he’s assuming I just forgot entirely.
“Anyway,” his gruff voice goes on. “Supplier’s out of one of the parts we ordered, and I just needed to double check if the substitute they offered will work. Okay if I drop under your hood for a sec?”
“Sure, I’ll pop it.”
The door latches shut and I stay hidden as she climbs into the driver’s seat, releases the hood and waits for him to finish what he’s doing. The thunk that rocks the whole van not a minute later tells me he’s got what he needed. She smiles out her window, waving at him as he drives off in his dark blue pickup. If I had the love of my life to get home to, I’d probably fly out of work every day too. The pressure on my chest turns into a knot in my stomach that’s all too similar to the food poisoning that burrito gave me, and I do my best to ignore it.
Amelia stands and walks back to me. “Sorry I distracted you from your very important task.” She gets all stuffy for a second, impersonating Wyatt, and it draws one side of my mouth up.
“Don’t be. Seeing your tits has been the highlight of my entire trip back so far, darlin’. Much better than looking under Van Gogh’s hood again.”
“Don’t let her hear that. She’s insecure about the way gravity is affecting her pipes.”
That gets a chuckle out of me, but this pattern of hers, deflecting with humor, it’s familiar in a way that means I know what’s beneath it. She chooses to laugh, to make others laugh, instead of retreat into the loneliness I recognize in her, and that earns her even more respect from me. Just furthers my need to get to peek behind her curtain and see what else makes her tick.
“Probably none of my business, darlin’, but should I be asking how you’re so good at bullshitting?”
“You’re right, Boy Scout. None of your business.” Her blueish green eyes harden into armor, determined to keep me out, watching me laying on her bed, propped on my elbows as I wait for more. After a moment, something in them warms, just a little. It’s a visible change, her irises going from steely to a state like liquid metal before she opens up.
“But you’ve done me more than your fair share of solids.”
Her hands rest on her low back once more, arms out to her sides, and I try not to get distracted by her chest popping out.
“So I’ll just say it comes with the territory of being on the move. People get nosy.”
She gives me a pointed look and I shoot an unapologetic grin at her.
“They wanna know more than I wanna share.”
One shoulder shrugs softly, and it takes some concentration to not stare at the way her tits move beneath that sweatshirt as she does, now that I can visualize them in perfect clarity, but her words have me captivated right now.
“Had to get good at keeping people out. It’s a lot easier if they don’t realize you’re doing it.”
How matter of fact she is on the subject could be depressing if I let it, but I’m a fellow disciple of the Make the Most Outta Life handbook she seems to have taken a few pages out of.
I opt for applying that life philosophy right about now.
“Wanna get shitfaced?”
“Are you trying to get me drunk and into my own bed?” she asks playfully.
“Aw, I won’t make the first move when a woman is drunk,” I tell her.
“When will you make it?” The flint in her voice rolls down my spine, urging me to move in.
Suck in a breath through my teeth because with the knowledge of how insanely perfect her tits are, that look on her face that’s begging for trouble, and this energy that pulses between us I haven’t been able to tune out since that first night I met her, this isn’t the answer I wanna give her.
“’Fraid I’m not going to make one.”
Disappointment drips down her face, pulls into this little pout of a frown that shouldn’t look so good, and I can’t let that stay there. It’d be a crime to ruin a perfect face like hers with something as needless as unhappiness.
“Not because I don’t want to.”
Her face screws up in confusion, but she waits for more.
“It’s complicated.”
“Oh God, tell me you don’t have a partner. Did I flash a taken man?”
Amelia’s palms clap to her face, covering her eyes and forehead as she spins around to give me her back, and actually this might be the first time I’ve gotten a good look at her ass, with no shirt in the way of my view. It’s pulled up with the motion of her arms right now, and that might make me an ass for noticing when she’s clearly distressed, but I can’t help but take in that perfect little round bottom that would look so damn good sliding down on me, reverse cowgirl—shit, my libido is going to get me in trouble again.
My brother might be right about me.
I can’t even have a conversation with this girl without planning all the ways I want to wreck her body.
Amelia continues muttering to herself, “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” pulling me out of my dirty thoughts and onto her spiral. Do I have a partner?
“No, God, no,” I assure her. “I don’t do relationships. I’m not that guy.”
“Thank fuck,” she breathes out, turning on one foot just as quickly to face me once more.
Not the usual reaction. Usually I get a pout, with soft eyes that say I can change him . Should I be hurt that she doesn’t want more?
“Not that you don’t deserve someone,” she hurries to clarify.
Not that you don’t deserve someone.
If my eyes could sting, they would. No one’s ever put it like that. Considered it might be something I want . Something I’ve longed for. Something I’ve never found, and all but given up on.
But this girl. This borderline stranger chose those words for me over any others.
She hurries to continue, “I’m just not a commitment girl myself.”
I believe those words about as much as I’d believe them about myself, but sure, I’ll play along.
“If I had crossed the line with somebody else’s…whatever, I would’ve had to shank myself. Girl code and all that.”
“No need to shank anyone tonight.”
I soothe her with my usual humorous thread through every word. It dies out though when I try to expand on my sorry excuse for an explanation.
“It’s complicated because of…family dynamics.” I choose the words carefully, but she still nods like she gets it. “Not because I don’t want you.”
“Your brother.”
“What are you, a detective? That why you’re so obsessed with true crime? It would explain that dark sense of humor of yours.”
She scoffs, shuffling her feet and rolling her eyes. “Your brother’s clearly got something going on where you’re concerned.”
Sharp. Winds me for just a second, actually. Most don’t seem to think twice about the comments Wyatt makes about me.
My tongue runs across my lower lip as I consider how to respond. How much is too much to tell someone you just met, especially when said person is relying on that same brother’s business to get back to her normal life.
“We’ve…had some differences over the years. He doesn’t appreciate the way I run my life, especially not where women are concerned. Wyatt made it pretty clear when I came back that I’m not to start anything with any of the local girls and I’m not here to stir shit up with him.”
I know Amelia sees the depth behind my words, but bless her for keeping it light. “I’m not a local girl,” she says with a devilish quirk of her lips.
“Somehow I don’t think he’d see it that way.”
She sits down next to me on the bed and places a small hand on my knee, right overtop the dried paint on my pants, not seeming to care about the mess there, despite the pristine environment in her own van.
“I know I don’t know either of you for shit, but can I just say something?”
“Anything, darlin’.” It’s barely more than an exhale, she’s got me captivated with those eyes, that sweet face, and everything sinister it’s hiding. “Whatever you’ve got to say, hit me.”
“Sometimes the people who’ve known us the longest are the people who can’t drop their own opinions about us that hold us back. We all grow with time, and sometimes it’s hard for them to see who we are and not who we were. At some point, you’re going to have to move forward and live your life the way that’s right for you, with or without his permission. It’s not his life, Weston. It’s yours. And you seem perfectly capable of living it to me.”
Was that delivery supposed to punch me in the chest? So soft-spoken, so earnest, she slid right past those guards I usually keep up and socked me in something vital. I’m still reassessing my insides, trying to gauge if they’re all there when she opens that sweet mouth again.
“Oh, and for his sake, I hope he catches up and realizes what kind of man he has for a brother when you do.”
She’s too kind. Genuinely too kind. I reject it.
“How can you say that? You don’t even know me.”
Amelia pulls her hand back and uses it to run through her chin-length hair. “Maybe I don’t know how you take your coffee, or how old you were when you lost your virginity, or why you left town, but I know that in just a few encounters you’ve proven yourself to be one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.”
My mouth opens to shoot her down, but she stares me down and keeps talking, making sure I’m hearing her every word.
“You pulled over and tried to help me when no one else ever has. Most people call the cops on me when they see my van. Then, when you couldn’t fix it yourself, you called in not one, but two favors to get me taken care of, and personally escorted me to somewhere safe to stay yourself.
“I’ve seen you several times since then too, Weston. And you might have this whole front on for others, but I notice the way you’re always keeping everyone around you laughing, whether it was making me feel comfortable on an abandoned highway, or your niece when she was crying for her dad, and I’d be willing to bet you even do it with the other locals you come across while you’re painting your way across town.
“You put everyone around you first, you make it your job to lighten their loads, and you brighten up every room you walk into. That’s what I know about you after just a few days, Boy Scout. And you can’t even say you did it all to get in my pants, because you admitted you’re not going to. So, yeah, your sourpuss brother should be fucking proud to have you around. I would be.”
I’d kiss her if I could. Lean right in and capture her mouth with mine, nibble on her lower lip before my tongue swooped in and made her melt, the way she just did for me. No one’s ever made me feel seen so simply, so wholly. I want to repay the favor the only way I know how.
Without thought, I lean forward, body gravitating toward hers like we’re opposing poles, drawn together in a way that isn’t a choice, it’s a need.
Her eyes widen the tiniest amount, brows raising, lips parting just enough to bring me back down to reality.
I use the momentum of the motion to stand, pretend that’s all I was doing anyway, like I’m not having to force myself away from her against every instinct, and I brush a hand through my loose hair with a chuckle that I hope she doesn’t hear the nervousness in.
“How about those beers?” I ask. “I know where there’s a stash.”
Tilt my head toward the garage with a smirk that should cover all the rest that’s raging inside me right now.
“Fuck me up, Grady,” she says with a dangerous look of her own.
One six-pack in and we’ve laughed about everything from the resurgence of mullets and wondering if rat tails are next, to the ridiculousness of the societal expectations for humankind as a whole. The surface level, the dark, we’ve dipped down past the polite and into the layers of deep conversation normally reserved for only your closest counterparts, or fights with strangers on the internet.
Something I’m realizing that makes us kindred is that neither of us has anyone to call close. And that might be what makes tonight such an easy escape for both of us.
Or maybe that’s just the beer. Amazingly, she’s kept up with me on the alcohol intake, despite our substantial size difference.
The intense attraction between us—instantaneous and immediate, like the striking of a match that only burns hotter the longer it goes unchecked, the closer it gets to your fingers, the more intense the flame—it’s not just the physical draw that sucks me into her gravity.
The more she shares—whether it’s as silly as her views on Crocs being considered acceptable footwear (only post 2020, when the cultural landscape shifted toward embracing the comfortable, in her words), or on deeper topics, like her heartfelt (if tipsy) spiel on the bleak, hopeless state of the world if the division of humanity continues—the more I find myself glued to her, needing to hear whatever comes next.
I wait for the boredom, that itch under my skin to chase the next hit of intrigue, but it doesn’t come.
Not by nightfall, not by midnight, not by three a.m., when the rain is tapping on the roof above our heads. I’m not sure what spell she’s got me under, but I don’t want out of it.
I hope sunrise doesn’t break it.
Eventually, she’s given me the short version of her time on the road. How she’s been living the van life since she dropped out of college freshman year. The way she’s spent at least two weeks in forty-six different states so far, and her plans to finish out the contiguous US this year (just Rhode Island and Maine left). Her method of staying interested in life on the road, by making a Pinterest board called “Shit to Do” she adds places to go and things to see. Once she’s done them, they go to a board titled “Been There, Seen That.”
We scroll through both boards, sharing stories of our individual adventures, picture by picture. I find a number of my own bucket list items on her “Been There, Seen That” board, and I interrogate her relentlessly on the national parks of the west, like Glacier National Park, Mount Rainier, and Yellowstone, where I’ve yet to go.
On her “Shit to Do,” I share tidbits of my travels on several stops she has flagged for her future quests.
“It’s just not worth it. Overrated,” I tell her, pointing to images of fire poi from Mallory Square in Key West.
“You’re just saying that because you couldn’t get any of them to sleep with you.” She laughs into the soft, earth-toned comforter, face first on the bed, just like I am.
“Guilty,” I grin wickedly at her. “But only because all the fire dancers I saw that night were married, and that’s a line I won’t cross.”
“Eh, that’s fine,” she says with a dismissing wave of her hand. “I’ve seen enough of Florida anyway. Spent the last half a year traveling all over the state. I’m ready for some new scenery for a while. Something that isn’t flat and covered in swamp.”
I’m shocked to hear her favorite stop so far was a ski town out west. I’ll admit, the pictures of it on her Pinterest might have grabbed my eye. Amelia said she would’ve loved to have stayed, but it was too rich for her blood for anything more than a quick stop. “You heard of it?” she asks me.
“What’s it called?”
“Rocky Heights.”
“Like Smoky Heights, but in the Rockies?”
“Yeah.”
I laugh. “That feels a little derivative, don’t you think?”
She giggles without holding back. Not sure if it’s the alcohol, or the same warm comfort I feel deep in my gut after hours of intimate conversation, but I’m loving the ease I’m seeing out of her. “I dunno, it’s a pretty old town. A lot of history there. For all you know, they were named first. And it was pretty charming too. You guys might have some competition on your hands.”
I get back to the pictures on her phone. “You’ve got the synchronous fireflies on here?” I ask her, hovering my thumb over the stunning image on her Pinterest board that looks like it’s an illustration from a fairy tale, not an actual photograph. Likely taken just miles from where we both are right now, in the heart of the Smoky Mountains.
“Yes!” Her face lights up with more than just the buzz, eyes aglow. “What is it, April now? When do those start?”
“Usually late May or early June,” I tell her. “But you can always come back, right?”
Something I’ve become more and more sure of throughout the night—like there was any question about it until now—is this girl doesn’t stay in one area long enough to grow any moss on that rolling stone of hers.
She tilts her head back and forth, considering. “Maybe. Depends where I go after this, I guess. The whole engine dying thing has kind of changed my travel plans. I’d love to check off Maine and Rhode Island this summer, so I might have to shoot up there next.”
I whip out my phone to look up the ticket system for the synchronous fireflies. “Bad news is the lottery is almost impossible to win.”
“Were you banking on winning the jackpot so you didn’t have to turn to Only Fans if you ever want to retire from painting?”
“First of all, we both know I could make a killing if I chose to go that route and offer up the goods,” I say, head tilted toward her. “But I like to keep viewing rights exclusive. One-night only, one at a time.” The grin that splits my face sends her laughing into the mattress again.
“But I was talking about the lottery to see the synchronous fireflies. It’s super hard to get a parking ticket. Most people try for years before they get it, and some never get the chance to go.”
Her face falls, and I hate myself for doing that to it, so I quickly backtrack.
“But maybe we can both enter it this year and double our chances. You know, if you can make it back here before they’re gone for the season.”
She nods, but it’s not with the same gusto she had before, and I reach out to tuck some of her hair back behind an ear, keep it out of the way of my view of that face. Her perfect little nose, soft cheeks and eyes, with those cheekbones and jawline that give her a fierceness that suits her perfectly.
“Fuck the fireflies,” I tell her seriously. “We’ll find some better shit you can do this year. Maybe there’s a synchronous lobster dance in Maine or something you can catch.”
That giggle that I’m pretty sure only comes out when she’s drunk is back, and I bite down on a smile at being the one to put it there.
Amelia pushes up onto all fours, then rocks back into a sitting position, and her gaze turns heavy as it drags over my features, taking her time getting her fill.
Her sweatshirt is long gone, back to just that little tee with nothing underneath. My eyes aren’t doing so good at following my directions, ’cause they keep roaming down, wandering back to her chest, wondering if her nipples are as excited to see me as I’d be to see them again.
I sit up, mirroring her, and she puffs out a little breath. I’d take a second to be impressed I can sit straight up on this bed and not hit my head on the roof of the van if I wasn’t so preoccupied by that look in her eyes. The molten heat pouring out of them.
“Amelia?” Her name is question enough. She knows what I’m asking.
“Weston.” It’s not a question. It’s what she wants.
“You’re drunk,” I remind her gently.
“So are you,” she bats right back. “But you should know, for the record, I wouldn’t have stopped you earlier. And I wasn’t drunk then.”
“For the record, my offer from before is still on the table. When you’re sober, that is. You wanna see the rest, it’s only fair.”
“But you’re not going to fuck me?” Her voice drips with the tease of her words, and my cock strains against the tight material of my boxer briefs at that word, from those plush lips.
“You got any toys around?” I ask, instead of answering her.
She sucks her lower lip into her mouth and nods, eyes soft on mine.
“Where?”
Amelia rolls off of the bed and lands on the floor with a thunk. She crouches down beneath the bed for a moment and returns, a little mint plastic clamshell in hand. Almost the same hue I’ll be using on the walls of the pizza place when I get to them on the schedule.
She climbs back up onto the mattress and places the case next to her on the light comforter, watching me with a kind of focus I could revel in, if I was free to do as I please where she’s concerned.
But after talking all night, I know now that she, too, prefers one-night stands, for reasons of her own. If there could be some fun between us, it’s gonna have to be at the end of her stay here, when no attachment could be formed, and no older brother could condemn me for it.
So I’ll be strong for both of us until then.
But if she’s up for one hell of a mind-bending night before she’s gone… I’ll give her something to remember. Shit, I’ve got weeks to plan it out.
“Before you leave town, Amelia,” I promise her.
Her throat bobs with a swallow I need to feel for myself, but now isn’t the time.
“Your last night here, it belongs to me, darlin’.”
That delicate mouth parts, her breath hitching as she moves her head in a small nod, lying back down, eyes never leaving mine.
Standing, I lean forward, into her personal space, and grab the plastic case. My lips find her ear, and I hear her suck in a sharp breath from the proximity, the electricity sparking between us at such a close range.
My hand finds hers, and I place the toy in her grasp.
“For tonight, use this on yourself and think of me while you do,” I whisper into her ear.
And then, with all the strength I possess, I leave, stepping into the early morning light of the sunrise, and heading back to my temporary home, where nothing but my hand—and thoughts of a beautiful girl with short dark hair, perfect tits, and multiple piercings—is waiting for me.