Chapter Two #3
Across the parking lot, Matt finally admits defeat. Wes gets to his feet with ease, bends to grab his discarded T-shirt, and uses it to mop sweat off his chest. “See something you like, Sloane?”
“Not even a little.” Pointedly turning my attention back to Tracy and ignoring him, I ask if she’s figured out her plan for the contest yet.
Instead of answering, she gives me a long, indecipherable look, a slight slant to her brows.
“What? Do I have something on my face?” I scrub my fingers over my mouth, hoping the chocolate I ate on the drive hasn’t left evidence I’ve been walking around oblivious to.
Tracy shakes her head, glances at her fiancé once more, and then finally answers my question when the guys disappear around the side of the building.
“I think I’m going for structure. Turquoise skies are always my favorite.
Maybe a tornado and rainbow combo, if Mother Nature decides to cooperate, but you know how hard those shots are. ”
“What’s so hard about having less than a second to line up a shot, make sure it’s in focus, and hope like hell there isn’t a raindrop on the lens?” I joke. “Cakewalk.”
Tracy huffs out a laugh. “What’ve you got in mind?”
I shrug. “I haven’t decided, exactly. More vibes than anything right now.”
“Sloane Michaels doesn’t have a plan? Is the sky falling?” Wes makes space for himself between us, thankfully with his shirt back on. He props his elbow on my shoulder, the scent of sweat and dust and hot asphalt pouring off him.
I shove him away with a muttered “Gross” not quite under my breath.
He doesn’t care, his expression lit up with mischief right before he exchanges a smug look with Matt.
That’s never a good sign. Especially when I glance behind them and notice the two assholes from earlier heading around the side of the building.
“Very funny. Sure you don’t want to catch a ride with your new besties?”
Wes shakes his head, his expression settling into uncharacteristic seriousness when his eyes catch mine. “You couldn’t pay me to get in a car with those guys.”
“Then what were you…”
I trail off when a massive SUV emerges from the side of the building. On the back of the extremely dusty bumper, someone—my money is on tall, dark, and smug standing next to me wearing a frat boy grin—has scrawled Honk for dick.
Tracy and I explode into laughter while Matt lets out a quiet chuckle at what I can only presume is his part in Wes’s handiwork.
“What was that look about?” Tracy asks in a voice too low to be overheard before nudging her shoulder into mine. “You have something to do with why Wes went after them?”
I’m not about to pretend he did this for me. He saw an opening to start shit and took it. That’s nothing new. “Of course not. He’s a five-year-old in a grown man’s body.”
Tracy makes a noncommittal noise, but before I can question it, someone shouts that it’s time to go. Phones whip out, radar apps are checked, and maps are consulted while we all hustle toward our cars. I quickly hand Tracy her snacks before she rushes away with a shouted, “Text me!”
Wes is parked next to me. Of course he is.
I make a point of walking a full circle around my car like it’s a rental I’m inspecting for preexisting damage. “You write anything on my car and I’m slashing those,” I threaten, pointing at his brand-new beefy tires with my entirely harmless keys.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
He’s right—it’s an empty threat, but empty threats are a key part of our interactions. “Fine. I’ll go to every gas station and buy out the entire supply of those Nerds Gummy Clusters you’re addicted to. Just the blue ones.”
“You wouldn’t.” Aghast with exaggerated horror, he folds both hands over his heart. “Everyone knows the red ones are subpar.”
“Try me.” It comes out far more serious than I intend.
Wes steps closer, his chest nearly touching mine.
I don’t back down. Not even when he’s so close I can see the flecks of color in his storm-cloud eyes as he leans in.
There’s a level of seriousness that can only be mockery in his voice when he says, “One of these days, I’m going to figure out who turned you into the fun police. We need to have a very long talk.”
“Good luck having that conversation with my mother,” I fire back.
The second some emotion I don’t want to examine too closely flickers across his expression, I know I’ve made a mistake.
I quickly change the subject. “Let’s just get out and chase, all right?
We both have the contest to focus on. I don’t have time to play games with you this year. ”
“You know what I think?” Wes closes the little remaining distance between us, leaning down so we’re eye to eye. His glint with challenge. “I think you look forward to playing games with me. Admit it. I made your night better last week at that wedding in Houston.”
“It’s a miracle you fit that ego of yours in your shiny new car.”
“Sounds an awful lot like a yes.”
I roll my eyes and absolutely don’t think about the fact that he’s so close I can smell his soap. “Stay out of my way, Wes. I mean it. There are too many new people out here for you to be fucking around.”
“But fucking around is what I do best.” He hooks his thumbs into his belt loops and rocks back. “You should try it sometime. Might help you relax.”
Typical Wes. When outright mockery doesn’t work, he switches tactics and tries to get under my skin another way.
And yet, for some stupid reason, the image of him dancing at that wedding flashes through my mind.
I shove it away and take a wide step around him, determined not to waste any more time on pointless verbal ping-pong.
“If you need the number to an STD clinic, a couple of my old clients are nurses,” I call over my shoulder before closing my car door. In the rearview, I watch him laugh the dig off before getting into his own car and pulling out behind me.