18. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Wes
I stand under the hot spray of the shower, letting my mind wander over the two months I've spent in Sydney. Some days it seems as if that time has flown by, but when I think about how far I’ve come, I’m surprised it hasn’t been longer.
I reflect on the night I told Joss about Bobby. I hadn’t planned to pour my heart out to her, laying bare all my grief and guilt over what happened, but somehow, I’ve felt lighter in the weeks since. Prior to that night, I barely ever talked about it. Most people don’t know how to handle holding someone else’s grief, and it was just easier to deal with it in my own way.
My own way being me waking up sweating from flashbacks and nightmares every night, and then brushing it back under the rug every morning. I mean, at least I’ve finally accepted them for what they are and I’m not pretending they’re just “dreams” anymore. Progress is progress. Yet, in the month since I spilled it all to Joss, I haven’t had a single nightmare. It’s like my body and my brain were just waiting for me to let it out some other way so they could stop badgering me while I slept.
I feel a difference in myself. Life seems a little easier to manage. I can see now that I’d been faking a lot of my confidence and swagger since the crash. A year of putting on a show for everyone around me. But now it feels more like the old Wes is back, the one who embodied that confidence, that self-assurance, the one who loved life. Joss has been a huge part of that. Anytime she sees me getting into my head, she reminds me that I’m not to blame for what happened.
A small smile crosses my face as the water beats down my back. Joss has me actually talking about Bobby again. I’ve started to share all the good things I remember, all the memories that I locked away because they were just too painful. I wish he could have met her; he would call me an idiot for not making her mine. Maybe I am an idiot, but I still haven’t let go of my hang-ups surrounding relationships. One step at a time. Besides, our friendship means too much. She means too much.
We were out on our boards at dawn this morning, so it’s only been ten hours since I saw her, but I’ve spent all day looking forward to tonight. I love our daily routine when she’s home: surfing down at Bondi, grabbing coffee before I go to work, eating dinner at either one of our places. Sometimes we read on one of our balconies or watch something stupid on TV. When we watched Silence of the Lambs last week, we both went into hysterics remembering the day we met (for the second time) .
We text constantly while she’s working. I usually wake her up with a picture of the beach or the sunrise, or she wakes me up with a selfie of her making a silly face on an airplane. Whenever my phone pings and I see it’s her, I can’t help my face splitting into a huge smile. Like it’s doing now.
Our rhythm with each other has become easy, our expectations low. I know she has work and a life just like I have my own, but slowly they’re intermingling more and more, and I can’t complain. Even our friend groups are starting to overlap. Breck joins us for dawn patrol when he can, and Talia has even met us for coffee a couple of times after she drops Willow off at school. And after my weekend of taking care of Joss, Jaz accepted me with open arms.
I shudder at the memory of how sick she was that weekend. We still can’t believe I never got what she had. I know I’m a total man-child when I’m sick, and I wouldn’t have wanted Joss or anyone else to have to put up with that. Last Christmas when I visited Rory, I was laid up with the flu for days on end and she still makes fun of me for how absolutely horrific I was as a patient. I was completely useless.
Come to think of it, I probably need to call her this weekend to check in—see how everything is back home. The idea of home feels so strange these days. Sydney feels more like home than any of the duty stations I was assigned to over the last twelve years in the Navy.
Shit, that’s a scary thought.
One I don’t dwell on as I flip off the water and immediately hear a knock at the front door, followed by Joss letting herself in. We’ve gotten so used to sharing these spaces. Dinner here, a movie there, coffee on the balcony. But we never sleep over—not since she was sick.
Do I think about that weekend? The way it felt to hold her in my arms? The way it felt for her to straddle me on the couch? I mean, what man wouldn’t let his mind wander there occasionally. Still, it’s not something we plan on repeating, actively putting in the effort to resurrect the boundaries we blurred.
“Are you ready?” Joss calls just as I’m stepping out of the shower.
Remembering we need to get going so we’re not late to Breck and Talia’s, I hustle to slip on a pair of black boxer briefs. I turn to leave the bathroom, but stop dead in my tracks when I come face-to-face with Joss.
“Hi!” She squeaks out the word before turning on her heel to face the other side of the room.
“Hi yourself,” I purr, amused at her reaction. I’m not one to get embarrassed, especially about my body.
I check her out from behind, a favorite pastime for a masochist like myself. She’s in a pair of jeans that make her ass look amazing and those legs… Damn. She’s wearing a chunky knit sweater and suede boots. The way her hair hangs in waves down her back makes me want to wrap my hand around it and— nope, nope, nope, stop those thoughts right there, Wes.
“Are you going to put some clothes on?” She sounds flustered.
Good . She’s the one who walked in on me, let her be flustered.
“Why?” I ask as I pull myself away from the perusal of her body, my desire to tease her taking over. “Don’t like what you see?”
“Wes!” she admonishes, but her tone is breathy and not nearly as chiding as I’m sure she meant it to be .
My smile just grows wider. “That’s not an answer, Grey.” I make a low humming sound in my throat as I step closer to her.
“Wes.” It’s more of a plea this time. Does she think saying my name like that will make me stop teasing her?
I take another step. “Joss?” I draw her name out like a caress. I’m within touching distance now. Fuck, what am I doing? This is a terrible idea. “Did you see something you liked, sweetheart?”
She goes entirely still as her breath catches. Did I push too far? I may have pushed myself too far, my body reacting to her being so close. It’s not like these boxer briefs are leaving much to the imagination, and if she turns around it’ll be game over.
I don’t think she’s going to answer, but in the quietest voice, she finally does.
“Yes.”
One word. One little word, and my restraint snaps. My ability to keep this flirtatious and light goes out the window. I take the last step and press my body against her back, my heated skin brushing against the fabric of her clothes. I slide one arm around her waist and use the other hand to pull her hair to the side so I can bring my face to the crook of her neck.
“What did you see that you liked, Joss?” I whisper, letting my lips dust the shell of her ear, my breath hot against her skin. The little self-control I still have keeps my lips off her, knowing I won’t be able to stop if they make contact. She gives an involuntary shiver at the same time her head rests back against my chest, leaning into my touch.
“You.” She clears her throat, and from this angle, I watch it bob with the effort to swallow. “All of you. ”
Her breathing comes fast, and I can feel her every movement against my bare chest. She’s being coy, but I know what she’s saying, and to prove it, I press all of me against her back. I drag my nose down her neck, taking in the amazing way she smells. She moans, her back arching slightly, exposing more of her throat and pushing her hips further into where I’m pressed against her.
We’re on the precipice, a point of no return. I could spin her around and crush my lips to hers, making sure we never make it to our friends’ place. Or I could back away, put my clothes on, and we can pretend this never happened.
I don’t get the chance to choose though, because Joss’s hand comes over mine at her waist. It’s not a needy I-want-more kind of touch. It’s a soft one, the kind you use when you’re about to step away. Which she does. It’s not a rejection, just her coming to her senses, and I can tell it’s a struggle for her as much as it is for me.
She clears her throat again, her shoulders lifting and settling back, her spine straight as she walks to the door.
“I’ll meet you out here, yeah?” She doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t take another look. She just walks away, closing the door behind her as she goes.