Chapter 12
Ivy
The early morning sun shines through the blinds, and I blink up at the ceiling.
I check the time and see it’s still pretty early, so I know Wes and Lilah are probably still asleep.
I raise my arms to stretch them over my head and yawn just as last night comes crashing down on me like a tidal wave.
I freeze in what could only be described as mortification.
I squeeze my eyes shut, cringing at myself. What the fuck was I thinking?
Just one kiss.
He literally just got done telling me how he can’t cross any lines, and needs to keep this professional.
Then I ask him to kiss me? I grab one of the deliciously fluffy pillows next to me, throw it over my face, and release a frustrated growl.
I know we got a little too cozy on the couch, and that was the both of us, but I just had to go and gun it, full-speed off of the grand canyon.
I can hear my mom full-naming me in my head.
I jam the heels of my hands into my eye sockets, and flail my legs, kicking the mattress repeatedly.
I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
I want to change my name and move to Canada, where Wes can never, ever find me.
Embarrassment like I’ve never felt before engulfs my entire body, setting it aflame.
Okay, you know what? It’s fine. This is fine. I’d like to blame the beer, but I only drank half of it. So that’s out. Be a grown up, apologize, and move on.
Kill me.
That decided, I get out of the bed to shower and get dressed.
When I’m ready, and have talked myself off the ledge at least three more times, I gather all of my things and creep out of the guest room.
I tiptoe past Delilah’s door, and peek my head in to see her starfished on her bed, mouth open and snoring.
A wide grin overtakes my face. She’s so damn cute.
I keep walking softly, making my way toward the living room, noting how many plants he has.
Jesus, does he water all these himself? Trees of some kind linger in the corners, and potted plants are on the long tables lining the hallway.
Thank god he hasn’t asked me to care for these. I’d kill them in a week.
I start to smell freshly brewed coffee, and that’s when I know I’m not the only one awake. When I finally enter the open floor planned living room, I see Wes sitting at a barstool at the kitchen island, back to me, and shirtless.
His broad, tan, naked back is on full display. The tattoos from his arms go up and onto his shoulders and trailing off onto his shoulder blades. All he’s wearing is what looks like black athletic shorts that stop a few inches above his knee. The slutty kind. I nearly moan just looking at him.
I can’t have another stalking encounter again, so I quickly alert him of my presence.
“Morning,” I say cheerfully as I stride toward the kitchen.
He whips his head around so fast, I’m surprised he doesn’t topple over. His hair is doing that messy, floppy thing. It’s wet, like he just showered. I resist the urge to walk right up to him and inhale the crook of his neck, just to get a hit of the leathery, woodsy scent he always has.
I bet it smells the strongest right now.
He clears his throat, and sets down his mug. “Good morning. I didn’t think you’d be up this early. Coffee?” he asks, and I nod.
He stands, and in just a few steps he’s at the coffee pot, pouring me a cup. Oh, and he’s barefoot. I have no choice but to scan his thick tree trunk thighs, muscled calves, and feet. God, they're not even ugly feet. That would’ve really helped me turn this thing for him, off.
Damn him.
He turns around and hands me my cup. Now that he’s finally facing me, I want to scream.
His front is as perfect as his back. Abs, chest, shoulders, arms. I don’t know what to focus on first. His abs aren’t the washboard kind, they’re thick.
Like he has them, even though he doesn’t try.
His arms are probably as big as my thighs, if not bigger.
It takes everything in my power to maintain eye contact with him.
What was the plan? Oh yeah, apologize. For asking him to kiss me.
The reminder of what almost happened on the couch last night, makes my cheeks burn.
“Thanks.” I nod to the coffee mug.
We begin talking at the same time.
“Did you sleep well?”
“I’m sorry for asking you to kiss me.”
He cocks his head at me, brows furrowed. We simultaneously speak again.
“It’s me who should apologize.”
“Yes, did you?”
I shake my head, and hold up my non-coffee hand with an awkward laugh.
“Okay, wait. Let me just get it out.”
“Alright,” he relents, crossing his arms, and effectively amplifying all of the muscle in front of me.
“I’m sorry for asking you to kiss me, right after you told me you need boundaries.
You made it very clear, this,” I gesture between us.
“Can’t happen. I shouldn't have asked that of you, and again, I’m very sorry.
That will not happen again. Scouts honor.
” I hold up the universal three fingered code of honor.
“Ivy, you were not the only one on that couch. I was far from professional. Really there’s no need to apologize. I’m sorry for–”
I cut him off.
“Yes, but you did not ask me to kiss you. Let’s just agree it was a lapse in judgment, and from now on, we will have a friendly employer, employee relationship, yes?” I’m sure the smile on my face is borderline manic.
The muscle in his jaw flexes, and he looks off to the side, resting his hands on his hips.
“Yes,” he grits out.
“Great!” I sound more unhinged than my intended cheery.
He turns his beautiful head back to look me in the eye.
“Friends?” I ask.
Is my eye twitching?
“Friends,” he agrees.
Great.
————
Sophie: I miss your face.
Ivy: I miss your face more. How’s work? Want to get dinner?
Sophie: It’s going. Whiskey Hollow at 7?
Ivy: See you there.
————
I walk into The Whiskey Hollow just before seven. Apparently Maverick bought this place after the former owner passed away. The place is every inch the small town dive bar.
The floors, tables and chairs seem to be made of the same worn wood. Neon beer signs, and random, framed memorabilia grace every wall. String lights attached to the high ceiling cross back and forth over the large space, doing their job of creating that gritty, unpolished atmosphere.
I love it.
There’s a pool table and a dart board at the far end of the room. Both are currently occupied, as is the rest of the bar it seems. Pretty much every seat at the bar is taken, which Maverick is tending to now, along with another bartender.
Maverick has a white bar towel slung over his shoulder, chatting up a curvy redhead while he pops the top off of a couple beers.
He’s not wearing his usual flirty smirk, he’s almost smiling gently.
He sets the beers on the counter and rubs the back of his neck.
Is he nervous? That’s impossible. He says something I can’t make out, then the woman takes the drinks and practically runs away.
He looks up and sees me across the room. I point in the direction the redhead went with a questioning look, silently asking him “What the hell was that?” He waves me off with a frown, shaking his head, silently telling me, “Mind your business.” I give him a thumbs up.
Got it.
He tilts his head in the direction behind me, and I spin to see Sophie waving at me from a table near the wall. I hurry my steps as she stands, and all but jump into her arms.
“Where have you been?” I ask into her thick blonde hair.
“Working. Busy. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m just glad to see you,” I reply as we sit down.
“Tell me everything. How is Mrs. Abbott? Why do you smell so good? Why are you busy? What aren’t you telling me?” I ask in rapid succession as I grab a fry out of the basket she already ordered, and pop it into my mouth.
“Still up-tight. It’s a new lotion, I'll text it to you. I have a lot going on with summer break around the corner. And I don’t want to talk about it,” she replies to all of my questions with a cheesy smile, then grabs two fries herself, dips them in the side of ketchup, and eats them.
“But you’re okay?” I question with a raised brow.
“I’m okay.”
“You’re not in danger?”
That gets me an eye roll. “I’m not in danger.”
“You’ll tell me eventually?”
She nods. “I’ll tell you eventually.”
My shoulders sag a bit. “Well, damn. I thought we were going to gossip.”
“Oh. We are.” She grins.
That gets my attention. I sit up straighter, suddenly giddy. “Oh, yay! What’s it about? Spill.”
“You,” she says, eyeing me while taking a sip of her drink.
I rear my head back. “Me?”
She gives me a slow, deliberate nod of her head. “Do you, or do you not refer to my brother as ‘Wesley?’” she asks while doing air quotes with her fingers. I’m not sure where she’s going with this.
“Yes? Sometimes?” I answer, wondering what the hell that has to do with anything.
“That’s what I thought. And are you attracted to my brother?”
That surprises me. Why would she ask that? Am I that obvious? Do I lie? Will it bother her? It doesn’t matter either way, because I can’t and won’t act on it.
Honesty it is.
“Yes,” I give in, hesitantly. “But I’m aware nothing can happen. He signs the paychecks, I take care of Delilah. End of story.”
She scoffs. “Says who?”
“Well, him. And me. But mostly him.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Oh, Wes,” she says with a long sigh. “Ivy, are you aware that nobody, I mean nobody, has ever called Wes, Wesley?”
There she goes again with the damn finger quotes—she charges on.
“It is technically his full name, but everyone has always called him Wes. Yet he allows you to call him Wesley.” She sounds like a lawyer in a courtroom, and I feel like I’m on the stand.
I sit up a little straighter on instinct, and respond. “Well, he introduced himself as Wesley, so what was I supposed to think?” I ask.