18. Wes
Chapter eighteen
Wes
“Ready?” I ask Hadley when the waiter returns with my card and receipt.
“Yes.” She jumps to her feet.
I frown. What’s that about? Did she not have fun? Is she not enjoying tonight?
“You’re in a hurry.”
She doesn’t answer, simply picks up her clutch, grabs the bag containing our desserts, and heads toward the door. Guess that’s my answer. I rush to catch up with her, putting my hand on the small of her back.
Fuck, I enjoy touching her.
Max greets us at the door and snaps a few more pictures. I hope he got to eat too, and on the team’s dime. It’s the least they could do. He asks us what we had for dinner, and I tell him about the selfies I plan to share on my social media account.
“Sounds great,” he says as we make our way out to where our car is waiting for us. “I’ll work on editing this content and get it posted tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
“Have a good night,” Hadley says with a wave.
“You too.” He turns and hurries across the parking lot.
“Where to, sir?” the driver asks when Hadley and I are settled in the backseat.
I glance over at her as she’s stifling a yawn. Maybe she isn’t in a rush to go home because she’s not having fun, but rather because she’s tired. That makes me feel better.
“Home, please. Unless you want to do something else?” I address my question to Hadley.
She shakes her head, holding up the dessert. “Nope. We’ve got chocolate cake and a salted caramel brownie, so I’m good to go home.”
Home.
I like the way the word sounds coming from her. Never has it sounded so sweet. I want her to think of my condo as her home too. Maybe one day.
I lean back against the seat, relaxing as someone else navigates the road. Not going to lie, it was nice not to have to drive tonight.
“So, I heard from John today,” I tell Hadley when we’re back at my place.
“About the PJ company?”
“Yeah.” I fiddle with the keys in my hand, then finally set them down on the kitchen counter. “They want to do the photo shoot at the end of the week.” Hadley hums, and I press on. “There’s a problem, though.”
“What’s that?” She tilts her head, studying me.
“They want to photograph us unwrapping presents in front of a Christmas tree, wearing their pajamas.”
“Oh-kay? We already talked about that.”
“And kissing …”
The two words hang in the air between us as the silence stretches into uncomfortable territory. I knew this was a bad idea. I should have told John the truth, that this was all fake, because this is when it’s going to fall apart. I just know it.
“Okay.”
My mouth gapes open. “Okay?”
“It’s just a kiss, Weston Oliver. I’ve kissed plenty of guys.”
I grind my teeth, shoving the idea of Hadley kissing other guys out of my head. “Not my middle name, Hadley Jane.”
She taps a finger against her lips, and all I can do is track the movement, wondering what it’ll be like kissing her.
“Damn it. I should have told you I’d kiss you if you told me your middle name.”
I grin. “Too late.”
I’m glad she’s lightening the mood because damn, did it get hot in here. I shift on my feet, pulling at the back of my neck.
“The only problem is we’ve never kissed before. I can guarantee you someone will know it’s our first time if we wait for the photo shoot.”
She raises her brows at me. “I guess we’ll have to remedy that, won’t we?”
Am I finally going to get to kiss Hadley Jane, the woman who has starred in more of my fantasies than I care to admit, not once but twice? At least. Because I’m sure the photographer will want to shoot the pictures a couple of times. I’ll make sure of it if I have to.
“I guess we will.” I turn away from her and head over to the cabinet, grab a glass, and pour myself a drink. I need a minute to calm the fuck down because holy shit, my wish of kissing her is finally going to come true.
I feel rather than hear her come up behind me as I finish my water and set the empty glass down. I spin around to face her and suck in a breath when I realize how close she is.
We watch each other for a few seconds, neither of us moving, then she puts a tentative hand out and slides it up my chest and throat until she’s cupping my cheek. I can’t stop the full-body shiver that courses through me when she touches my skin.
“Shit, your hand is cold,” I rasp, trying to play things casual when I am anything but calm, my heart feeling as though it’s going to pound out of my chest.
Her thumb strokes my cheek, and I am mesmerized by her eyes, which appear even darker green this close.
I grip her waist gently, watching her face for signs she’s not on board with it.
Her eyes flutter closed for a second. “Like tearing off a Band-Aid.”
I start to chuckle, but am interrupted by her lips grazing over mine in the softest, lightest kiss ever.
She moves away far too quickly, and before I can question if what I’m doing is a good idea, I yank her closer to me.
Her hand that was on my cheek falls to my chest, and I slant my lips over hers in a searing kiss.
She lets out a whimper, fisting my shirt and pulling me closer.
Mentally, I’m doing a celebration dance that she’s as affected by this kiss as I am. She grinds against me, and my cock is instantly rock hard.
I groan, and she uses that as an opening to lick into my mouth. I get lost in her. In her sweet moans and whimpers. In the feeling of her heat pressed against my cock. I want to touch her, taste her all over, rip off her clothing, and lay her bare on my bed.
But I can’t.
One more kiss, and I pull away, both of us panting.
“Wes,” she rasps, and it’s the most beautiful word I think I have ever heard.
I’m gone.
Done for.
I want to hear her say my name like that again and again for the rest of my life because I will never get tired of it.