Chapter Four #3
The uncomfortable twist in my belly at the sight of all that shattered glass and Wes’s blood lingers. I’m not sure I’ve really managed to push it aside three hours later when we pull into my driveway in Colorado Springs just after midnight.
My house isn’t anything special. The front steps are sagging in places, and the roof probably needs to be replaced sooner rather than later, but I was so happy when I found something I could afford that I figured I’d get to it eventually. Eventually has turned into five years. Oops.
“It may not be up to your standards,” I tell Wes when he gets out of his car parked behind mine in the short driveway. I know from his social media that his condo is one of those gleaming, modern palaces in a high-rise that probably has a doorman. “But I’m tired and don’t want to hear it.”
He mutters something too low for me to catch, then reaches through a blown-out window into his back seat. Out comes a massive camera bag and a smaller black duffel he slings over one shoulder after brushing off more glass.
“Watch the second step,” I call back, pointing to the half-rotten board I keep meaning to replace.
From my spot on the porch—I’m taller than Wes for once—I catch the full breadth of his annoyance when he stares up into my face, the porch light illuminating the hard line of his jaw.
“You’re going to end up with a broken leg if you don’t get this fixed.
” He skips the step entirely, one long leg stretching up before he effortlessly joins me on the porch.
“That’s rich coming from you. You could have died today.”
Another one of those maddening shrugs. “I didn’t.”
“This time,” I snap, shoving my key into the lock and twisting hard. The last thing I need is for the lock to stick and Wes to crawl up my ass about that too, but thankfully it decides to cooperate.
My place isn’t huge. Living room, kitchen, bathroom, and what the real estate listing optimistically called two bedrooms. Only one of those rooms has space for an adult-size bed.
The other is my office. At some point I’ll finish off the basement to give myself more space, but for now it works just fine.
It’s not like I have even so much as a plant to share it with.
What I do have is a handful of my favorite storm images I’ve shot over the years printed on large metal canvases sprinkled around the house.
Wes walks right up to the one closest to the door, an elephant trunk tornado half twisted over a road, and lightly traces the shape of it with his index finger.
“I remember this one.” He throws a sheepish grin over his shoulder.
“My shots didn’t come out this well.” His attention drifts to the next image, mammatus clouds and a double rainbow over a brilliant green field. “Gorgeous colors.”
The praise sits uncomfortably in my stomach.
I know I’m good when it comes to weddings—I wouldn’t be booked out more than a year in advance if I wasn’t—but having Wes in my house is strange enough without him complimenting my storm work.
“Yeah, that lab does a good job with color,” I reply.
“It’s late. Maybe you can play art critic another time? ”
He lets out a snort of laughter, but turns away from the prints on the wall and gestures to the couch. “This me?”
I eye my couch dubiously. “Maybe we should see if one of the hotels in town has a room. You’re too tall for life.”
“Nah.” Wes drops his duffel on the floor. The camera bag he sets down more gently on the ottoman with a jaw-cracking yawn. “I sleep in my car all the time. This is fine. I’d rather get to the shop first thing so we can get back out there.”
“I’ll get ahold of my brother in the morning. I’m sure he can fit you in for the right price.”
Wes leans back into the couch and folds his arms behind his head in a move that not only shows off the flex of his biceps but the wide expanse of his chest. He doesn’t belong on my secondhand couch with its mismatched Costco throw blankets looking like that.
At least he changed his shirt at some point so it’s no longer covered in blood smears.
“Price gouging to help the family business, are we?” Wes takes off his hat and lets it fall to the side. His dark hair is just long enough for him to shove his fingers through.
Despite my efforts to not notice anything about Wes tonight, I sure am noticing a whole lot.
His easy manner isn’t faked. It’s more matter-of-fact, as though being taken advantage of financially is nothing new for him.
And while the bitchy demon on my shoulder insists he can more than afford it, my more reasonable side winces at how often it must happen for him to react this way.
And what the hell has Wes been doing sleeping in his car?
“It’s my brother’s garage. I have nothing to do with it,” I feel the need to explain.
My cheeks inexplicably heat when Wes’s attention once again settles firmly on me.
“I’d text Eric now but he’s been asleep for hours.
The garage opens at nine on Saturdays. I’ll set an alarm and try to get to him before he gets busy.
There’s not much in the house, but help yourself to anything in the pantry if you’re up before me. ”
Wes nods. “You mind if I grab a shower?”
The last thing my misplaced attraction needs is for him to be naked in my house on the other side of a flimsy wall from my bedroom, but we’re both covered in sweat and dust, never mind the flecks of dried blood along his hairline.
“Of course.” I gesture down the hall and hope he doesn’t notice the squeak in my voice. “First door on the right.”
Wes pushes to his feet, taking his time with a long stretch. He’s so damn tall his fingertips graze the ceiling, not that my attention goes anywhere other than the sliver of tan skin exposed by his shirt riding up.
“You could always join me,” he drawls, mischief sparking to life as his lips curl. “I know how much you hate wasting time. Much more efficient to shower together.”
I’ve never denied that Wes is attractive. He’s built like he chops wood for a living instead of running around the wilderness with his camera, and the combo of dark hair and tattoos is a weakness of mine.
But he’s also a swirling vortex of chaos. My life is chaotic enough.
I force myself to laugh in his face. It doesn’t have the intended effect.
Wes’s smirk only grows, but at least he doesn’t press the issue. “I’ll be quick.”
After grabbing a toiletry bag and some clean clothes, he slides by me. I stand there, rooted to the spot far longer than I want to admit, before I march myself off to the tiny linen closet to grab clean sheets for the couch.
It’s just one night. My brother will replace the windows tomorrow, and we’ll start the drive southeast in separate cars. I can survive less than twenty-four hours of Wes in my house.