20. Wes
Chapter twenty
Wes
I scrub a hand down my face and check the time on my phone yet again, then glance toward Hadley’s room. We still have ten minutes before we have to leave for the photo shoot, but that doesn’t make me any less anxious.
Hadley and I still haven’t talked about our kiss a few nights ago.
I’ve tried to bring it up, but every time I start to, she makes an excuse and leaves the room.
She’s also been home less often. I feel as though she’s avoiding me.
No, I know she is. I haven’t pushed the subject, but tonight when we get home, I’m going to flat-out ask her what’s going on.
I’m tired of walking on eggshells. We’re two adults who kissed.
We should be able to talk about it and move on.
Part of me is afraid she’ll tell me the kiss was only fine for her or she didn’t feel anything, but part of me just wants to know something, anything.
I want her, and I think she wants me, but maybe I’m imagining it.
Maybe it’s all in my head. Maybe she’s just a great actress.
Although I don’t think you can act your way through the reactions she had during our kiss. But what the hell do I know?
“Ready to go?” she asks, heading into the living room in a pair of cut-off shorts and a light purple tank top that accentuates her curves, her blonde hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun.
The engagement ring is the only jewelry she’s got on, and I love seeing her wearing my ring. It takes everything in me not to pounce on her. Kiss her again. But we haven’t talked about kissing beyond what is required for the photoshoot.
“Weston?” she prompts.
I nod, getting to my feet and shoving my phone into my pocket. I gesture for her to go ahead of me and force myself not to stare at her ass as she walks or notice the way her hips sway.
Talk about something, Wes. Don’t make this awkward.
“Remember how I told you I did the DNA thing earlier this year?” I ask as we make our way out of the apartment and down to my Jeep in the parking garage.
“I got notified of a match right before our date. I emailed the woman, but wasn’t sure if I’d hear anything from her. She responded this morning.”
“That’s awesome,” she says, buckling her seat belt. “What’d she say?” She pauses. “That is, if you want to tell me. You don’t have to.”
“She told me my biological grandfather was her great uncle. Her grandfather’s brother,” I tell her as I guide the car out of the parking spot.
“Donna—that’s my cousin’s name—and her family live in Missouri.
She’s married with three kids. She’s lived there her whole life, and so did her parents.
She said she might have a few pictures of my grandfather if I want them.
Said she’d only done the DNA thing because her kids bought her the kit as a gift, and she was curious.
Said she was shocked to find out her great uncle had a family.
She left it up to me if I wanted to connect more. ”
“Are you going to?”
I peek over at her as I wait for the light to change so I can turn out of the complex. “I think so. At least see where things go. I don’t plan to hop on a plane anytime soon and meet her.”
Hadley barks out a laugh.
“What?” I ask.
“I’d hope not. Who knows who these people really are.”
“I gave a fake name. I used my mom’s maiden name as my last name. I was … nervous about how it would work with me being who I am.” I wince. “I realize how vain that sounds.”
“Not vain at all. It makes sense you want to protect yourself. There are some pretty weird people out there.”
I nod, my mind whirling. I’ve always wished I had more family, and now I do, even if I don’t know them well. And the only way I’ll get to know her and her family is if I email her. I focus on the road and take the ramp for the highway.
“Are you ready for this?” I ask twenty minutes later as I take the exit for our destination, a warehouse in the Packing District of Orlando.
Not sketchy at all.
Nope.
But also, packing for what?
I find the names of all the districts here so odd and inconsistent.
A few of them are combinations of the main roads around them, but then you’ve got the Packing District or the Milk District, though that does make sense because there’s a milk plant nearby.
Who the heck decided on how to name them?
As if the tourists aren’t confused enough.
I’ve lived here for a few years now, and I still don’t always know which streets someone means when they mention an area’s name.
Not that I get out much, especially during the season when I’m traveling.
“I think so,” Hadley says, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“John said it should be a couple of hours of photos plus an hour or two for hair and makeup.”
“So the rest of the day?”
“Seems like it.”
Is this conversation weird? It feels weird to me. And I hate it. I wish we could go back to the way things were. Even if it was banter. Not this weird awkwardness between us.
We lapse into silence for the remainder of the drive, and eventually, I pull into a parking space in front of a warehouse. We’re surrounded by rows and rows of white warehouses, a few with signs outside them and some with the garage doors rolled up.
“This is interesting,” Hadley says, taking off her seat belt.
“Yeah.” I run a hand through my hair, watching a guy walk out of a bay that has a sign in front of it touting a tint shop.
A couple of doors down, if you could call them that, two guys are unloading what appears to be boxes of tile or flooring based on the name on the side of the truck. At least there’s people around.
“This feels like something out of a horror movie.”
“Agreed.” I open the door and climb out.
She meets me in front of the Jeep, and I put a hand on the small of her back and guide her over to the warehouse marked Twelve A, the location John gave me.
I pull the door open and gawk at what greets us.
Half of the warehouse is set up like a living room, all ready for Christmas.
A decorated tree sits in one corner next to what I imagine is a fake fireplace, because no way there’s a real fireplace here, directly across from a couch.
“Hi,” a young woman greets us. She consults the tablet in her hand before saying, “You must be Weston and Hadley. I’m the photographer’s assistant.”
“We are. Nice to meet you,” I tell her.
“Hadley, if you follow me, I’ll bring you to where we’ve set up hair and makeup.
” She turns to me. “If you want to take a seat and hang out until we’re ready for you.
” She points at the worn tan couch tucked into the corner of the front of the warehouse.
“Happy to grab either of you a water or coffee or tea. Whatever you want.”
“I’m good,” Hadley says.
“Same,” I say.
Before I can go take a seat, Hadley surprises me by leaning up on her tiptoes and kissing me on the cheek. “Be right back, honey.”
She winks, and I hope like hell my mouth isn’t gaping open because we’re supposed to be engaged, engaged and in love. I should not be shocked by her giving me a little kiss. I quickly school my face.
“I’ll be waiting,” I tell her.
Forty minutes later, the assistant walks over to me.
I’ve been chilling on the couch scrolling on my phone, searching for a place to take Hadley if I can work up the courage to ask her out.
On a real date. Not one for social media content.
Although I did have a good time on our fake date, and I got to kiss her afterward.
Regardless, I want to ask her out on a date, one that’s just for the two of us.
“Ready for me?” I ask, locking my phone.
“We are. The stylist asked if you wanted him to do anything with your hair when he’s done with Hadley.” She gives me a once-over.
“Nah, it’s fine the way it is.” I run a hand through it.
“Right. If you want to come this way, we need to put some makeup on you.” I cringe. “I promise it won’t be noticeable on camera, but if we don’t, you’ll look like a ghost in the pictures.”
I rock back on my heels, shoving my hands in my pockets. “Okay.” Not my first choice, but I trust that she knows what she’s talking about and that the makeup person knows what they’re doing.
She leads me to the back of the warehouse, where a makeshift hair and makeup area has been set up. Damn, this place is larger than I thought.
I take a seat, and the makeup artist works her magic. It’s awkward as hell; I don’t know how women do it. Luckily, it’s over in a few minutes.
The assistant appears again, a pair of folded-up pajamas in her hand. “You can get changed. Your fiancée is already getting ready.” She points toward some black curtains that section off part of the warehouse.
“Thanks.”
“We’ll be waiting for you over there.” She points over her shoulder, and I see a guy with a camera and a few other people holding various bits of equipment. She walks away, leaving me to get changed.
Hadley steps out of the makeshift dressing room at that moment, and fuck me, I’m convinced she could make a paper bag look sexy.
Not that the pajamas aren’t cute, they are, but she is drop-dead gorgeous.
Her blonde hair has been styled into gentle curls, and she’s got makeup on.
It’s subtle, but it makes her green eyes pop.
I whistle, and she blushes, running a hand down the front of her green and red plaid top that matches the shorts she’s wearing.
“I like it,” I tell her, leaning down and dropping a kiss on her cheek. She stiffens. “Relax, fiancée,” I whisper into her ear.
I take one more look at her before disappearing behind the curtain to change my clothes. Once I’m in my pajamas, I take Hadley’s hand and lead her over to where the photographer and his assistants are waiting for us.
He has me pose by myself in front of the Christmas tree for a few pictures, some of them where I’m leaning against a hockey stick that appeared out of nowhere. Why we didn’t do this while Hadley was getting her hair and makeup done is beyond me.
After he’s satisfied with what feels like a hundred photos of just me posing in different ways, he beckons Hadley over.
We spend the next hour posing in front of the decorated Christmas tree and on the couch before we’re asked to change into another set of matching pajamas and do it all over again.
My face starts to hurt from all the smiling.
“Now, I want you two sitting in front of the fireplace.”
The photographer points to where he wants us and waits while we take our spots. One of the assistants hands Hadley a box with the words Slumberly Apparel written on the top. The light is adjusted, and someone fixes Hadley’s hair.
“Hold the box like this.” The photographer demonstrates how he wants Hadley to hold it, so the company’s name is facing the camera. “And you.” He points at me. “Lean closer, and rest your hand on her thigh.”
I do as he says and can’t help but notice the way Hadley’s eyes widen when I touch her.
“Perfect. Now, on three, lean closer and kiss,” the photographer says before beginning to count.
I barely hear the word three before Hadley’s lips are a whisper against mine. It takes all of me not to move my hand and pull her closer the way I want to. Flashes go off, and then we’re pulling apart.
I turn to find the photographer frowning down at his camera. “That was good but not perfect …”
He has us stand up and try a few different poses, and every time Hadley and I kiss, it feels as though a fuse has been lit inside my body. The kisses are short and sweet, but every one of them makes me want more.
“One more shot,” the photographer says as his assistants place all the “opened” gifts around us. “Kiss her with passion.” He winks at me before adjusting his camera and lifting it to his face.
I glance at Hadley, silently asking if she’s comfortable with what we’re being asked to do. She steps closer to me.
I don’t think, I just act, cupping her chin with my hand, leaning down, and kissing her. I swear a full-body shiver racks through her, then she fists the front of my shirt and kisses me back. Everything around us fades, and it’s just her and me and this kiss.
“That’s a wrap,” the photographer says, clearing his throat after a few seconds. “Thank you.”
I give Hadley one more peck on the lips before tearing myself away with a quiet groan. She peers up at me, her face flushed, pupils blown, lips swollen from our kiss.
“If you want to follow me, you can go get changed,” the assistant says, and I force myself to turn away from Hadley and head toward the changing area.
“Thank you for your time today,” the assistant says, coming over to us with two bags when we’re back in our street clothes.
“These are for you. I put both sets of pajamas in here as well as a few other items from one of our other lines.” She holds out the bags, and I take them.
“We’ll be in touch with your agent once we have pictures for you to approve. ”
“Sounds good. Thank you.”
“Bye,” Hadley says, the first word she’s uttered since our passionate kiss.
We head out the door and get into my Jeep. When we’re buckled in with the air conditioning going, I blow out a breath, unsure of how to proceed. Was she as affected by our kiss as I was?
“I’m exhausted,” she says, breaking the silence.
“Same. Want to order delivery and watch a movie?”
“Yes, please.”
I back out of the parking spot and make my way toward home.
Food first, and then I’m broaching the topic of our kisses because I need to know where they leave us. If she feels the same way as I do—that I don’t want this to be fake between us anymore.
Hell, I never wanted it to be fake, but I took what I could get. Now that I have a good idea that she feels the same way about me as I do about her, it’s time to change our relationship. Move the proverbial puck over the blue line and toward the net.