Chapter 30
THIRTY
JAMIE
I drop my suitcase in the hall, lock the front door, and stagger into the living room feeling like a man who’s spent a whole year abroad instead of one measly week on the west coast. But damn, it’s good to be home.
And the apartment smells fantastic, like Wes’s aftershave and.
..pine cleaner? Did someone clean the place while I was away?
Holy crap, someone did. The floors are gleaming, the kitchen counters are spotless and there isn’t a speck of dust on any surface. I suddenly feel like one of the three bears that got played by Goldilocks—“Someone’s been cleaning my house…”
“Wes?” I call out warily.
“Bedroom,” comes my boyfriend’s muffled response.
No, not my boyfriend. My...fiancé? Wow. Still feels surreal to think it.
He appears a moment later, wearing sweatpants that ride deliciously low on his hips.
I admire his bare chest, his multitude of tattoos, his sleek, golden skin.
He’s gorgeous. And he looks like he’s gained some of the weight back.
I hadn’t noticed last night because I was too busy mauling him, but his pecs and biceps are noticeably more sculpted than they’d been a few months ago.
“How was the flight?” He shrugs into a T-shirt, covering his spectacular chest, then walks over to give me a kiss.
I reach up to rub the nape of my neck. “Boring. And I fell asleep in a weird position, so now my neck is killing me.”
Wes tugs my coat off and tosses it on one of the kitchen stools. For once I don’t bug him about using the coat tree in the hall. I’m too happy to see him. “Go take a hot shower,” he orders. “I’ll fix you something to eat, and then I’ll rub your neck…” He winks. “Among other things.”
“That…” I say, yanking him close, “sounds—” I brush my lips over his, and we both shiver. “—awesome.”
Grinning, he smacks my ass and nudges me toward the hall.
I walk to our bedroom and strip, then duck into the shower to wash away the stale coffee smell that’s lingered with me since I left the airport.
I wonder what Wes is making to eat. I love that man, I really do, but cooking is not his forte.
He can’t even fry up an egg without burning it.
Sure enough, an acrid odor assaults my nose when I walk out ten minutes later. A sheepish Wes greets me at the stove.
“Tried to make grilled cheese,” he mutters.
I stare at the mangled, blackened carcass of bread and cheese congealing in my best cast-iron pan. Then I burst out laughing. “It’s fine, babe. I’m not hungry, anyway. Let’s just skip to the neck rubbing part.” I kiss his cheek and turn off the stove burner. “But you get an E for effort.”
He brightens. “Nice. And did you see I cleaned? Spent all day sprucing up the place for you.”
“Seriously?”
He gives me a smartass grin. “Okay, no. I spent two and a half hours watching tape with the team. But that’s why I hired a nice woman named Evenka to show up once a week and do the cleaning and laundry.
Blake swears she has magic cleaning powers.
” He grabs my shoulder. “Can we keep her? Please?” He asks the same way as a boy who’s brought home a puppy.
I have the usual urge to say no based on the expense. So I picture his dead grandfather and take a deep breath. “Sure.”
“Yesss.” He takes my hand and drags me to the couch. “Banshee?” he suggests.
“Heck yeah.”
Wes grabs the remote, which he tosses at me. Then he runs to the kitchen for two sodas, probably because I’m not supposed to have alcohol yet. But I don’t even complain, because I’m just so happy to be here.
When he sits down, we come together like two magnets realigning. His head on my chest, my arm slung around him, our legs tangled. I’m just about to start the episode when Wes laughs. “Would you believe I got an email from the travel department about a bill for the broken bed?”
“Already?”
“It gets better. Below that is an email from the PR department with a link to a gossip blog. Not only do they have a shot of us kissing in the lobby. They have a shot of the broken bed.”
“What?” I yelp.
He grabs my hand and kisses it. “Yeah. They must have paid off a hotel staffer for that little nugget. But it’s just a picture of furniture, Canning.
I care more that they want to charge me eight hundred bucks.
So I wrote an email to both travel and PR telling them to bill Blake because his fat ass broke it.
And you’ll never guess what they said.” He snickers.
“The clubhouse will pay for it because they don’t want the hotel to have a record of a third dude in that room.
You and I are fine by the PR department.
But gossip of a threesome is more than they can handle. ”
“Oh my fucking God,” I say as Wes laughs. “You’re tempted, right? I can hear your gears turning. You want to recruit Blake to make fake incriminating pictures.”
“You know me too well. And why stop at three? I’ll get Eriksson and Forsberg lit on scotch and stage an orgy. I’m thinking...naked pillow fight.”
I give his ass a pinch. “Meanwhile I’m trying to keep my job working with children. But no big.”
“Aw.” He leans back and kisses my chin. “I’m just teasing.”
“Uh-huh.” I push Play on our show, but I’m still smiling. Life with Wes is never dull. Even when we’re old and gray with saggy asses, he’ll still be funny and he’ll still be mine.
We drink our sodas and watch our show. It’s seven o’clock, and there are probably a dozen things we should be catching up on—calls, emails, bills. But we ignore all of it because we’re home alone, and we’re together, and that’s the only thing either of us care about right now.
Wes smells so good. Like citrus shampoo and home.
He runs his fingers through my hair, and when he laughs at the screen, the sound vibrates inside my own chest. Flattening my hand, I run a palm down his neck and onto the broad muscle of his shoulder.
He feels so good I have to give it a squeeze.
I trace the ink climbing out of his T-shirt sleeve.
Then I reach around and tug his shirt up to his pecs so I can lay a hand on the taut skin of his belly.
The show keeps on playing, but I’ve lost track. He feels alive and so solid against me that I have to lean forward and kiss the back of his neck. “Mmm,” I say. It’s great to be home.
As I continue to nibble on his neck, Wes sighs and goes boneless against me. “I’m supposed to be giving you a neck rub,” he reminds me.
“I’m all better.” I move my ministrations to the side, sucking gently on the skin under his ear.
“Fuck,” he rumbles. “Feels good.” He rolls over all at once, and one second later we’re lip-locked.
The warm huff of his breath on my face is everything I need.
I slant my face to make our connection more perfect, and he opens for me.
Our tongues tangle, and he presses closer, forcing a knee between mine.
And everything is right with the world.
Wes’s hand wanders down my side, then under my shirt. His palm slides over my ribs, and I wish I weren’t wearing a shirt at all because I want his skin on mine. But I don’t want to stop kissing him, so that’s just gonna have to wait.
“Love you so much,” he pants between kisses.
I make an unintelligible growl of agreement, then take a breath and manage to string together some actual words. “Let’s take it into the bedroom.”
He groans in response, and presses his hips against mine. And, schwing! We both want the same thing. But now our kisses grow even deeper. I’m too busy climbing into Wes’s mouth to get up and do anything about the happy ache in my balls.
So we’re just lying there, pawing each other and making out when the intercom beeps.
Wes groans, but we carry on.
But it beeps again. And Wes pulls back reluctantly. We both know that whoever has buzzed for us is probably on the way upstairs now. “Think Blake lost his key?” I ask, my voice husky.
He snorts. “Probably.”
“If he comes in here, we’re never getting rid of him.”
Wes sighs and rearranges himself in his sweatpants. “Maybe it’s just a delivery or something?” He says it with hope in his voice, but of course we didn’t order anything.
I recline on the sofa and take a swig of my drink while he answers the buzzer.
“Okay, thanks,” Wes says. “Send ’er up.”
“Who’s her?” I ask in alarm.
“Katie Hewitt. My teammate’s wife. Apparently she’s bringing us a lasagna.”
“A…really?”
“That’s what the doorman said. He’s like, ‘This smells really good, Mr. Wesley’.”
“But why?”
Wes shrugs. “I guess we’re about to find out?”
I run my hands through what is probably sex hair.
Someone raps on the door, and Wes yanks it open. “Hey, wow. Evening Katie. Hey, Hewitt. Thought you two would be enjoying the night off.”
Wes is marched backward by a woman with thick, glossy hair and a big lasagna pan. “Happy engagement!” she yells, then whirls around at her husband with a look of betrayal. “Ben! You were supposed to shout it with me!”
“Forgot,” Hewitt mumbles.
I swallow a laugh, but it slips out when Katie sidesteps Wes and trots into our kitchen like she owns it. I hear the sound of my oven door opening and closing.
I stand up to greet our guests, and Katie runs over and takes my face in two hands.
Her nails are very red and shiny. Like shellacked talons.
“Congratulations on the engagement! I’m so happy for you guys!
I know you were away for a week, so I figured you two didn’t have time to stock up on groceries, so my first engagement present to you is food. ” She beams, then gives me a hug.
God, this woman has a scary amount of energy. “Thank you,” I say, genuinely touched. “We really appreciate—wait, your first present?” How many gifts does this chick plan on getting us?
Hewitt must have read my mind, because he sighs and says, “Dude, you’ll be getting weekly deliveries up until the wedding. Deal with it.”
Wes laughs. “Aw, that’s not necessary,” he tells Katie, who waves it off with a manicured hand.
“I like shopping,” she says firmly.