Chapter 12 #2
Her eyes widen like saucers. She slams her fist down on the table. “Even better,” she shouts, and I jump.
Even the loud chatter from the chaotic bar around us seems to quiet for a moment, before quickly returning back to normal.
What am I missing?
“Do you know how many kids Wes beat up in school for calling him Wesley?” she asks. “Well, only a couple, because after the first two times, kids got the hint. But he has never liked anyone calling him Wesley. Not even Sarah.”
I know Sarah is Delilah’s mom. From what I’ve gathered from Sophie the few times she’s mentioned her, Wesley and Sarah were childhood best friends. I know that Wes started his business, and then very shortly after, they had a one night stand that resulted in her pregnancy.
I know Sarah passed after giving birth to Delilah due to a health complication, but I’ve never asked more about the situation.
Every time Soph brought it up, she’d get this haunted look in her eyes, then change the subject immediately.
I didn’t want to pry, knowing it’s a sensitive subject for their family.
Now knowing Wesley and Delilah personally, my heart hurts for them and what they lost. I can’t even imagine what that’s like. Losing the mother of your child just days after giving birth, and having to navigate becoming a new father while in mourning. It sounds like a nightmare.
It clicks now, the reason for Wes’s cool demeanor.
Him and Delilah have already suffered so much.
I can see why Wes is so insistent to keep boundaries drawn.
They’ve already had the loss of one important figure in their life.
If Wes and I crossed the line, and feelings got involved, and it didn’t work out…
It’s what he’s not willing to risk, and I can understand that.
Not to mention, who knows how long he will need me.
Once Delilah goes to school next year, I’ll probably be let go.
The idea of that makes my stomach hurt. What did I expect?
I’d be the nanny until she turned eighteen?
I think I have some good momentum with my book, and if things go according to plan, then the possibilities are endless.
I arch an eyebrow. “So… me calling him Wesley means?”
“That you’re different,” she declares with a self satisfied smile.
I roll my eyes, refusing to acknowledge the funny feeling that just erupted in my stomach. “Stop, Soph. He’s made it clear it can't happen. I’m respecting that,” I say, picking at the chipped wood of the table. “Plus, is that something you’d even be okay with?”
Sophie rolls her eyes. “Why wouldn’t I?”
I don’t get to respond because two drinks plunk down onto the tabletop, and we both look up to see Maverick delivering them.
“Whatcha ladies gabbin’ about?” he asks, leaning both hands on the back of the chair beside me.
“How Ivy and Wesley are absolutely gonna happen,” Sophie answers her twin brother.
“Oh yeah,” he says, chuckling. “He’s so gone.”
Sophie responds by laughing along with him, and taking a big gulp of her cocktail.
“He hasn’t gone anywhere, you two. So shut up,” I scold, narrowing my eyes at the siblings who apparently team up whenever they are around one another. If they only knew It’s been almost a week since I embarrassed myself and asked Wesley, my boss, to kiss me.
Jesus, every time it pops into my head, I cringe.
They continue giggling.
“Right. I’m sure there’s nothing going on between you and Wesley,” he says the name all whiney and high pitched like a corny porn star, obviously making fun of my use of his full name.
“There isn’t!” I throw my hands up in exasperation. I mean, I want there to be, but there isn’t.
“So then you wouldn’t mind if I gave Chase your number?” he asks, hiking his thumb over his shoulder. “My bartender thinks you’re cute. Asked if you were available.”
I look behind him, and see a relatively handsome man pouring a whiskey before handing it to an older man across the bar. He’s tall, with shoulder length auburn hair and a nice build, but he’s no Wesley.
Maybe this is what I need. Maybe I just need to have fun with a cute guy to get my mind off of my infatuation with my boss.
I chew on the corner of my lip, studying the man—Chase—behind the bar.
He smiles at a customer, and it seems genuine.
Yeah, this should do the trick. He’s cute… enough. I guess.
“Is he nice?” I ask Maverick.
His eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. “Um, yeah. Chase is a great guy. One of the best.”
I nod, my decision made. “Okay, sure. Yeah, you can give him my number.”
“He’s going to kill you,” Sophie hisses at her brother.
“I didn’t think she’d agree,” Maverick replies in an exasperated tone.
Chase looks over, and we make eye contact. I shyly wave at him, and his face lights up, giving me a broad smile. No dimples. I give him what I hope isn’t an awkward smile, and turn back to the still arguing siblings.
“He bit my head off when I tried flirting with her at dinner,” Maverick says to Sophie.
I almost snap my neck with how fast I turn my head to him. “What?”
“And aren’t you going to Texas tomorrow with him and Lilah?” Sophie buts in.
I’m not ready to move past what Mav just said, but I answer Soph anyway. “Yes.”
“Few days in a hotel… a lot can happen,” Maverick clicks his tongue.
“I’ll have my own room, and Delilah will be there,” I remind the twin interrogation team.
That does nothing to convince them otherwise. Maverick prattles on about how Wesley and I “bumping uglies” could really benefit his grouchy brother, but he’ll give my number to Chase anyway. Sophie laughs and agrees, but not with the Chase part.
I down two drinks to push thoughts of their brother away, and it does the opposite.
I briefly met Chase, and did my best at flirting, but it felt kind of weird and forced.
I’m sure it’ll get easier once I get to know him better.
I dance my ass off to some nineties country with Sophie, catching Chase stealing glances our way.
When we finally decide it’s time to go home, Maverick calls Sophie a cab after I promise her I can drive. I hug her goodbye, promising to text when we all land in Texas.
I’m in the bathroom freshening up when I realize I might not actually be okay to drive.
I thought I drank enough water, and sweated it all out on the dancefloor.
Damn it. I love and hate being a light-weight.
I’ll have to have Maverick call a cab for me as well, which means the one that took Sophie home will have to come back for me. Small town life and all.
I leave the bathroom and walk up to the bar, watching Maverick wipe down the display liquor bottles. “Hey, Mav? Can you call me a ride actually? I’m a little tipsier than I thought,” I tell him, looking around the bar.
He nods. “No problem.”
Noticing my perusal of the space, he adds, “Chase went home. Told me to tell you he’d text you,” he says with a teasing smirk, and I do my very best pretending to be excited.
Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting at the bar eating out of a questionable bowl of mixed nuts, when I hear a deep but gentle voice say from behind, “Let’s go, trouble maker.”
I look over my shoulder and see a black T-shirt stretched over a broad muscled chest. Following it up, I see Wesley’s perfect face, and have to stop myself from sighing in appreciation.
How is he still taller than me? I’m on a damn barstool for Christ’s sake.
I face forward again and glare at Maverick. “I asked for a cab.”
“No, you asked for a ride.” He winks and mouths, “You’re welcome.”
I spin in my barstool to face the owner of all my thoughts and fantasies, and start speaking like a runaway train.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you come all the way out here so late.
I didn’t realize how much I drank. I swear I’ll be fine tomorrow for our flight.
I just didn’t want to risk it. I asked your brother for a cab, I didn’t know he would bug you.
” I know I’m rambling, but I feel guilty.
I don’t want him to think I asked for his brother to call him.
I don’t want him to think I’m trying to cross any boundary.
“Woah, woah. It’s fine. You could’ve called me. Friends, remember?”
Bleh. How could I forget?
“You have Delilah, I didn’t want to ask that of you.”
“Ivy, my parents live up the road. I called my dad and he came down to sit at the house while Lilah sleeps. It wasn’t a big deal.”
My guilt eases a fraction, but not entirely. “Alright. Well, thank you. I’ll come get my car in the morning.” I slip off my barstool, and grab my purse.
“Don’t worry about it, give me your keys.”
“What? Why? You don’t have to do that. I can handle it tomorrow morning.”
“I know you can, but I’m going to.” He holds out his palm, waiting. His expression shows no room for argument, and he came all the way here, so I choose to listen.
I drop my keys in his outstretched hand, and he shoves them in the front pocket of his jeans.
“Good girl.”
The sound of those words coming out of his mouth, in his gravelly voice will live in my head forever. I feel a wave of warmth wash over me, and my toes curl in my sneakers. He casually ushers me toward the door, and waves to his brother, blissfully unaware of what he just did to me.
He says we can be friends, but I’m not sure we can. I don’t think I can handle the closeness while keeping this thing platonic. He might be able to come pick me up, take my keys from me to make sure I get my car, or call me a good girl, while still thinking of me as a friend. I however, cannot.
I made that very apparent last week when he invited me for a friendly beer on the couch, and then told him to kiss me. Similar to now, when he praises me for doing a simple instruction, I want to drop to my knees and see what else I can do to be good for him.
I’m very aware of my praise kink, thank you very much. It just hasn’t been unearthed by a real life human man in a very long time.