Chapter Sixteen
Neither of us is in any mood to get up when our alarms go off.
Wes groans into my hair and nuzzles closer. “Don’t wanna,” he grumbles, adorably sleepy. His hand slides down my thigh and back up to press low on my stomach to keep me in place. “Let’s just stay in bed today.”
“Don’t tempt me.” I yawn, fumbling for my phone and blearily silencing the alarm before automatically refreshing the forecast model I already have up. In the seconds it takes to load, I valiantly ignore that it’s morning and I’m going to have to deal with the consequences of my choices last night.
Eventually.
Wordlessly, I pass the phone over my shoulder to Wes.
I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disappointed that our target area is far enough away that lingering here isn’t an option.
My body definitely wants to stay tangled up with him and find out just how good the hard cock nestled against my ass would feel inside me.
Emotionally, I’m a bigger mess than a rural gas station after a hundred chasers blow through.
“Guess we’ve got places to be.” He nips my shoulder before reluctantly pulling away. “Shower to wake up?”
Unabashedly naked Wes is a sight to behold.
He preens at my perusal, stretching his arms high above his head and letting me look my fill before stalking over to my side of the bed.
Bracing one hand on the mattress, he uses the other to hook a finger into the sheets and drag them down to my waist. “One of these days,” he says, his voice still hoarse from sleep and deliciously rough as he takes in my naked breasts, “I would love to photograph you like this. Just for me.”
Despite the bolt of desire his words bring on, I can’t help a laugh, dragging myself up to rest against the pillows. “Remember one of those times you wanted to know what I was thinking about? Exactly that. You, naked, on the other end of my lens.”
His lips curve into a pleased grin while his eyes burn. “Guess it’s meant to be.”
My stomach flips. Something tells me Wes isn’t just talking about a naughty photo shoot. Or maybe I’m just imagining more behind the wicked tilt of his smile than there is.
“Whenever you want to take those photos, I’m all yours,” Wes adds, thankfully oblivious to the direction of my thoughts.
“After storm season.” I groan at the reminder of what’s waiting for me in just over three weeks. “And June weddings.”
Running a one-woman business takes so much time and energy there isn’t always much left over for anyone else, especially by the time my family is done with me. June is my busiest month, but my calendar is never really quiet outside of the weeks I spend on the plains.
It’s a huge part of why I’ve barely dated.
The few times I tried for anything serious, the guys were always understanding—at first. That quickly morphed into almost constant complaints that I didn’t make them a priority.
With Wes on the road through the end of June and then jumping right into monsoon season for the summer, our time for each other is going to be limited.
Not that he seems concerned about it.
“We’ll figure it out. Am I showering alone?”
“Yes. We need to get going,” I remind him with a playful shove. There’s nothing to be done about my worries right now. I’m just going to have to wait to see what happens when summer camp is over.
“An unfortunately valid point.” Wes saunters off to the bathroom, giving me a delicious view of his muscled ass and the tattoos running down his spine. “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll still send you your daily shower porn.”
“I think you need to work on your definition of porn!” I call after him with a shake of my head. He’s still laughing when the bathroom door closes.
Forcing myself out of bed, I grab a shirt from the top of his bag and pull it over my head before checking emails and messages. Of course there are at least ten from my mother, and four more from Eric.
Deciding my brother is the lesser evil, I tap his name first.
I don’t have room to store Wes’s car at the garage forever. Put it in your driveway. Keys on the counter.
You’re welcome.
Fix your second step. Almost broke my damn leg trying to get in your house.
Stay safe out there, okay? I don’t want to have to be the one to tell Mom if anything happens to you.
I’m glad Wes isn’t present to witness the riot of emotions that have me sucking in a breath. When he told me that Eric finished the repairs days ago, I wanted to believe his motivations were good. That he meant it last night when he said he isn’t interested in casual with me.
Under his antics, Wes possesses a sweet streak I never expected. He makes me feel cared for, cherished, in a way very few people ever have. He’s generous with his affection, and he’s definitely not bad in bed.
But he also loves photography with a single-minded obsession that can easily turn toward recklessness. I’ve witnessed it time and time again over the years. Dented bumpers. Shredded tires.
This season hasn’t been any different. That dangerous and pointless hook punch.
His windows. The time he nearly drove us into that flooded road.
Lying down in the middle of the road with a tornado barreling right at us, so distracted by his need to get his shot that we nearly got clotheslined by downed wires.
Wes goes after what he wants. It’s a quality that’s made him a successful photographer, but what would it mean for us long term? I already have a family that puts their goals, their wants, ahead of mine at every turn.
All of my mother’s relationships start out with sunny skies.
I’ve seen her showered with gifts and affection time and time again.
For a month. Maybe two. And then I’ve watched her smiles turn brittle over and over again, watched her exhaust herself trying harder and harder and harder to be what those men wanted in the end.
Never once has she bothered to look for the inevitable storm lurking just over the horizon. What might come after the honeymoon phase.
When it comes down to it, I still don’t know if Wes will make me a priority when it takes effort. When I’m not in the same car, or even the same state.
Last night might have been a mistake. Not because I didn’t want or enjoy what happened between us—I did—but that might be the problem.
The deeper I let him carve himself into my heart, the more likely it will destroy me if—when—he makes impulsive and reckless decisions at the expense of our relationship.
I shove the thought aside. The emotional minefield of contemplating my future with Wes will have to wait. We’re together now, and with three more weeks until I need to return to Colorado, I don’t need to figure it all out right now with the scent of his skin still on mine.
I do need to deal with my mother.
More than half of the messages are the usual overly dramatic guilt trips. No one ever mowed the damn lawn. She’s been fined by the HOA. Again. She wants me to deal with that uppity witch—the HOA president, Sharon Campbell—and somehow magically solve her problems from five hundred miles away.
I’m still fuming when my phone lights up with another text from Eric. Call Mom. She’s freaking out. Sam and I tried to calm her down but you know how she is. She doesn’t listen to us.
I almost throw my phone.
Wes finds me glaring at it, my temper running so hot that not even the sight of him in a towel distracts me. “Um, Sloane? What happened in the last ten minutes?”
“My mother.” I don’t look up, continuing my furious texting. “I’ve never met a woman so determined to be so helpless.”
“Did both of your brothers go out of town?”
“Nope.” I pop the p with sarcastic pep. “They just made it my problem.”
Wes reaches out and gently pries the phone out of my hands. “They can wait. Go shower, eat some breakfast, and then call your brothers and tell them to deal with it.”
I shake my head and hold my hand out for my phone. “It’s not worth the fight. They’re just going to make excuses.”
“They make excuses because they know they can,” Wes says, not unkindly.
I start to protest, to insist that’s not true, but plainly it is.
Every year it’s gotten to me more and more that my brothers can’t ever seem to hold up their end after agreeing to deal with Mom while I’m gone.
I’ve wondered so many times what would happen if I just blocked their numbers for the whole six weeks.
I’ve never been able to bring myself to do it—and deep down I know why.
“Mom was eighteen when she had me. Sometimes I’m not sure who raised who.
” I force a brittle smile and wrap my arms around myself before going on.
“When my brothers came along, things were good for a few years, but their dad wasn’t very interested in a stepdaughter.
He had even less patience for my mom’s crap and took off when I was eight. ”
Wes lays his hand on my thigh, palm up. I stare at it for a long moment, the sensation on my skin weirdly disconnected from the words coming out of my mouth. It takes more effort than it should to take his hand.
“And then the only one left to take care of everyone was you,” he says quietly, his fingers tight on mine.
“Yeah. There were so many times…” I shake my head and blow out a breath, as if that could rid me of the memories.
“I didn’t want them to know how often she didn’t show up for them.
I knew what it was like to be forgotten, so I made sure they weren’t.
They were my responsibility. I guess some part of me hasn’t fully let go of that. ”
“But they weren’t your responsibility. They were your mom’s, and you were her responsibility too.
” Wes glances down at my phone in his other hand with a frown.
“I get why you wanted to protect them as kids. You shouldn’t have had to—but I get it.
They’re adults now, Sloane. They’re never going to change if you keep taking care of everything. ”