8. CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER EIGHT
Joss
I n the five minutes it’s taken me to put away my groceries and put on a damn bra, I’ve come to a few conclusions. First, I am just as wildly attracted to Wes today as I was yesterday. Those freaking dimples may be the death of me. Second, I’d like it if we could be friends, in spite of said pesky attraction and our less than conventional first interactions. Third, I will not allow the first to keep me from making the second happen.
Was I shocked this morning when he appeared out of nowhere? Yes. Was I more than a little embarrassed at how easily he was able to throw me off-balance? Yes. However, now that we’re neighbors and I’ve had the opportunity to be around him under less awkward circumstances, I can admit I actually like him .
A knock at the door makes me jump, nearly spilling my coffee. I get a little flutter in my stomach and consciously press a hand to my abdomen. These butterflies are going to have to scram if this friendship is ever going to work. Pasting on a smile, I pull the door open.
I can do this.
“Hey, neighbor.” I surprise myself when my voice comes out cool… casual… smooth. I’ve totally got this. He smiles, more boyish now than when he was intentionally ribbing me earlier. He’s still wearing that same baseball cap—now turned backward—dimples peeking through his stubble. I step back and sweep my hand out in invitation.
Don’t look at his ass when he passes. Don’t look at his ass when he passes.
My traitorous eyes absolutely check him out anyway. But I blame his jeans and the way they fit like a glove over muscular thighs. Is it possible to be an ass woman? Like, you hear men classify themselves as a “boob guy” or an “ass man”, but I’ve never thought about it for myself. For Wes, I am definitely an ass woman.
“That coffee smells amazing. I’m not sure how I’m still upright at this point.” Wes’s voice snaps me out of my unneighborly thoughts and I scrub a hand over my face. This is going well.
“I definitely wouldn’t be. Let’s get you a cup. Do you take milk?”
I move past him into the kitchen and watch as his eyes rove over my space. At least it’s still tidy, what with being gone most of the week. I look around my apartment—taking in the bookshelves, organized by color, the frames nestled amongst them with photos from my many adventures, the large floral arrangement on the teak table I bought secondhand last year—and try to see it through his eyes.
I decorated when I moved in, even though most places in the building come with the option of furnishings—like Wes’s. I like a neutral color palette as much as the next guy, but the monochrome never meshed well with my beachy style. I’ve spent the last three years adding tans and whites paired with pops of mint green and coral to the space, and it’s finally coming together.
The steam rises off the top of the freshly brewed coffee, and I top up my mug before pouring another for Wes. I meet his gaze across the counter, and he smiles.
“No milk.” He reaches for it, and I meet him halfway. “Cheers.” His hand brushes mine and he lifts his mug in a half salute before bringing it to his perfect lips.
No, Joss, just lips.
I lift my cup at the same time, enjoying the sweet and creamy flavor on my tongue. “Even with all my travel and overnight flights, I still can’t get myself to drink black coffee.” I wrinkle my nose. Black coffee, bleh!
A smile plays around his eyes as they dip to the butterscotch coloring of the liquid in my cup.
“You know, I didn’t drink coffee at all until I went on my first deployment. When I first tried it, I’d use the creamer they had on the boat, but it was so sweet it made my teeth hurt.” He grimaces and slides his tongue over his top teeth, like he’s remembering it all too well. “Twelve-hour missions and days when I never saw the sun were impossible without the stuff though, so I switched to drinking it black and never went back.”
He finally looks up and our gazes lock over the rims of our cups as we each take another long sip. I let my eyes drift closed, savoring the flavor as I focus on the information that was packed into those few sentences. Where do I start?
“You’re in the military?” I ask, nodding at the hair curling out from under his ballcap, just brushing his ears. There’s also the stubble lining his jaw, sharpening his features. “That wouldn’t have been my first guess.” From everything I know about military men—which isn’t much, to be fair—they tend to be strait-laced and clean-cut all the time.
There’s a flash of something in his eyes, but it’s gone before I can pinpoint what.
“I was. I got out a couple months back.” His tone has an edge to it, the lightness that was there just moments ago now gone. His entire posture has changed, it’s more rigid. There’s a story here, one he’s probably not ready to share with a near stranger. But my curiosity is bubbling.
“Right. You said you’re here on a work visa, which wouldn’t make sense if you were still in the military. What did you do?”
“I was a pilot.” His tone is clipped now as his eyes break away from mine, looking around the apartment again. He’s clearly uncomfortable.
Time to back off, Joss.
“What are you going to be doing here?” I ask, and at the more neutral question, I catch how his shoulders settle. When he lowers his cup after another long sip, the smile is back on his face .
“My best friend from college, Breck, owns an adventure touring company here and they expanded into skydiving last year. He needed a pilot, so here I am.” He gives a “no biggie” shrug.
“That easy, huh? Just pick up and move to Australia to help out a friend?” I’m finding it hard to imagine leaving everything and everyone I know for a job halfway around the world. Though, I guess in a way, I did just that when I moved to Sydney at eighteen. But I didn’t have much choice. Maybe he didn’t either.
I don’t know where his mind goes with my question, but I must have a knack for striking a nerve because there’s that look in his eyes again. And since he doesn’t look away this time, I can better identify it. Pain . Not physical pain, but something deeper, something broken that you can’t quite manage to repair, but you feel it all the way to the center of your being. I recognize it because I’ve had those same pains. I still do. My fingers twitch around my mug, wanting to reach out to him, but I hold back.
“I wouldn’t say it was easy, no, but it was necessary,” he says, all but forcing the words out. “I couldn’t stay, and this became the perfect excuse to leave.”
His blue eyes hold mine, an ocean storm churning behind them. I know all too well the need to leave, even when it hurts, because staying will only hurt more.
“Wanna sit on the balcony?” I change the subject and start moving that way, giving him a minute and hoping he’ll follow me.
Maybe if we do become friends, Wes will feel comfortable sharing the mess behind what seems like a very put-together exterior. I wonder if I could share my mess with him too? I pull the door open and turn to watch him move through my space. He looks comfortable, at ease again.
I quickly grab my favorite teal bikini off the second chair, grateful it didn’t blow away while I was gone. I’m usually better about taking things inside when I’m away for work.
I toss it into my beach bag and catch Wes’s eyes following it as it goes. This particular suit is hardly more than a few scraps of material, and it’s definitely not the most practical for surfing, but I love how it makes me feel—confident and sexy. Wes must like it too if the heated look in his eyes is any indication.
Instead of a small flutter of butterflies, I feel a tightening low in my belly. When the burning heat returns to my face, I have to remind myself of conclusion number two. Friends , nothing more.
Sitting down in the white wicker chair, I prop my feet up on the railing. My hands curl around my mug, resting it on my knees as I stare out over the city toward the harbour. I give my cheeks a minute to cool before I look over my shoulder at where Wes is lingering.
“You going to sit? Or just stand there all day?” I force playfulness into my tone.
The corners of his mouth twitch up and he moves gracefully around me to sit. His long legs stretching out in front of him and his whole body relaxing into the chair with a sigh, he tilts his head back, completely at ease. He rolls his head to the side so he can look at me, pinning me with his sapphire gaze.
“So, Joss, what are we going to do about this?”
“This… meaning what?” I know what he means, but I sure as hell won’t be the one to say it .
“Oh come on now, don’t play coy. I am obviously attracted to you. You’re clearly attracted to me. This .”
He motions between us, as if encompassing the chemistry stretching tight. I swallow. I guess putting it all out there might make this easier. Even still, I’d have added something a little stronger to this coffee if I knew we were going to have this conversation.
Well, here goes nothing. “Actually, I’m glad you brought that up. Better for us to just get this out of the way up front. I may think you’re hot, but we’re neighbors, and I’m not looking for a random hookup or any drama in my life. It’s best we stick to being friends. Friendly.”
There, I did it. It’s out there. Wes’s smile grows, but his brows pull together at the same time. Interesting. I wonder what that face means. Is it weird that I hope I get the chance to learn what all his faces mean?
“Sounds like we’re on the same page. I find you extremely sexy, but I don’t do messy either, and I don’t do relationships anymore. So, friends?” He asks this so nonchalantly, like he didn’t just say he thinks I’m extremely sexy. Not just sexy, but extremely sexy . He also indicated a bit of a backstory, where relationships are concerned, that I’m curious to hear more about. Setting his cup of coffee on the table between us, he shoots his hand out toward me. I set my cup down too and let his palm envelop mine.
“Friends,” we say together as we shake, and dammit if electricity doesn’t zing up my arm like I just touched a live wire.
Our eyes snap to where our hands meet, and then back to each other, gazes locked. He felt it too, I know he did. We release our grip, pick up our respective coffee cups, and sit in amicable silence, all the while taking in the view and our new friendship status.