Chapter 5
FIVE
Wes
We finish our coffees in a silence that isn’t exactly uncomfortable, but isn’t easy either.
Brew House is busy. Lottie and I are surrounded by the murmur of conversations, the steady hum of the espresso machine, the sound of chairs scraping against the floor, but it all feels distant, like it’s happening miles away. Like we’re the only people here.
Lottie hasn’t said much since I laid it all out.
She’s quiet, staring into her cup like she might find the answer sitting in the bottom of it if she just gives it enough time.
I’d give just about anything to know what’s going on in her head right now.
Is she actually considering it, or is she about to stand up and walk out?
My gaze drifts over her slowly, taking in details I’ve noticed before, but never this closely. Her eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, are lowered, but I know better than to mistake that for anything fragile. There’s nothing fragile about Lottie. She has always been a little wild.
Her lips press together slightly, like she’s holding something back.
I should drag my attention away from them before she looks up and notices.
My eyes catch on the line of her neck instead, the way it curves as she tilts her head just slightly, like she’s still turning it all over in her mind.
There’s something about the way she effortlessly carries herself that makes it hard not to stare.
Harder still not to imagine what it would feel like if I ran my tongue along that curve.
I shift in my chair due to my hardening cock, but it doesn’t help much.
The truth is, I wasn’t prepared for how I’d feel sitting across from her just the two of us.
When she walked into the coffee shop, I thought I had this handled, that I could keep it about the arrangement and nothing else.
Sitting across from her now, I’m not sure how to do that.
She’s stunning, wearing fitted jeans with a soft blue cropped sweater that shows a sliver of her stomach and the swell of her tits—two perfect handfuls that I imagine my cock pressed between, fucking them slowly. It’s an image I shouldn’t be thinking about, but it’s one I like a lot.
Her hair falls around her shoulders in loose waves, just long enough for me to wonder what it would feel like between my fingers. My hands flex under the table, dying to know if she’d let me gather it all into my fist and pull on it while I make her come.
I could have fun with her. Easily. I could, but I won’t.
Hookups have never really been my thing.
Neither have relationships. There have been plenty of opportunities, but I’ve just never been very interested.
I know the reputation I have around Deep Cove—the pilot with a different woman every weekend in my bed.
I’ve heard the whispers. The truth is that people are going to believe whatever fits the story they’ve already written about you.
I stopped trying to correct them a long time ago.
After everything I’ve been through, trust isn’t something that comes easily to me.
It hasn’t in a long time. I have learned the hard way how quickly people can disappear when things get complicated–or worse, how they can turn on you when you need them most. So, I stopped expecting anything from anyone.
I stopped needing anything. There have been a few women over the years, nights that came with no expectations.
But every time I hooked up with a woman, it felt the same.
Temporary. Surface level. Like I was just passing time with someone I was never going to get close to.
Eventually, I stopped feeling anything at all. When that happened, it all just seemed pointless and after a while, I stopped thinking about relationships altogether.
I like my life the way it is. My place is quiet, and I’ve grown to appreciate the silence—no chaos, no interruptions, no one asking anything of me I don’t want to give.
I’ve got my brothers, my friends, and my dog Scout, who loves me unconditionally.
That usually feels like enough, and when it doesn’t—I fly.
That’s where I really feel at home. My thoughts don’t follow me up there. There’s no past, no expectations. It’s just me, the controls, and open sky in every direction. I can breathe in a way I can’t on the ground.
I force my attention back to here and now. We need to figure out the details of Lottie moving in, the logistics, how we can make this look real. But first, she has to say yes.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, Lottie,” I say. “If you have questions, ask them. I’ll answer.”
“I do.”
“I want to hear them.”
She exhales softly, leaning forward slightly in her chair. “When would I need to move in?”
“Tomorrow.”
Her eyes go wide. “And we just, what? Play house for a year?”
“Not exactly,” I say, considering her question for a beat. “We live together, but you don’t need to act like my wife when we’re in our home.”
Her brows furrow. “Our home?”
“Yes,” I tell her. “I told you I want you to be comfortable while we’re —”
“Lying to everyone?”
I look away, not sure how to respond until I can come up with a good enough answer. “If we’re going to do this, it has to be believable,” I say. “You can tell your immediate family, but everyone else would need to believe this is real.”
“Okay,” she nods once. Next question. What happens in a year when this is over?”
“We break up. My publicist will issue a statement. We can say we’re separating or divorcing. Whatever makes the most sense at the time. We’ll go our separate ways.”
She studies me for a second. “And you’re really okay with this? Living with someone you barely know?”
I nod. “I know enough.”
Her eyes search mine like she’s trying to figure out what that means. “Wes, why do you think this is actually going to work? Because, just so you’re aware, pretending to be someone’s wife isn’t exactly something I have a lot of experience in.”
“No one will question it,” I say confidently. “People want the headlines to be real. They want to believe in the story. They’re not going to be looking for a reason to doubt it.”
She shoots me a doubtful gaze. “Is there a girlfriend or a Mrs. Winters lurking somewhere I should know about, or am I safe from being publicly labeled a home-wrecker?”
I shake my head. “No, Lottie. I don’t have a girlfriend or a wife or anything close to one. I haven’t in a long time. Do you think I would be asking you to do this if I did?”
“A girl can never be too careful.” She shrugs.
“Same goes for you,” I tell her. “If you have someone, that needs to end. This won’t work if there’s anyone else in the picture for either of us.”
A beat passes between us.
“So,” I ask. “Is there someone I need to know about?”
“I’m not seeing anyone.”
I already knew that. I asked Jesse before meeting Lottie today and he confirmed she’s single. And for reasons I’m not interested in examining too closely, I was very relieved to hear it.
Lottie taps her finger against the side of her cup as she chews on her bottom lip.
“Lottie, what are you thinking? This is only going to work if you’re honest with me.”
“How exactly are we supposed to convince the press that our marriage is real?” she asks in a lowered voice.
“We don’t have photos together. There’s no wedding.
No marriage license for anyone to dig up.
So, unless you married me in my sleep and forgot to mention it, I’m not seeing how this holds up under even the smallest amount of scrutiny. ”
A corner of my mouth almost lifts, but I keep my expression in check. She’s going to say yes.
“Don’t worry about that. That’s Victoria’s job. We pay her an obscene amount of money to handle this stuff. She’ll figure it all out.” I lean back, still watching her. “We can meet with her tomorrow. She’d like to talk to you in person.”
Her eyes hesitantly search mine. “I’m assuming we’ll sign some sort of contract.”
“If you’re concerned that I won’t hold up my end of the deal, Lottie, I’m a man of my word. I’ll pay your father’s medical bills. But yes, to be safe, my lawyers will write up a contract. Something that will protect both of us.”
“Okay,” she says.
I stare at her for a second, making sure I heard her right. “Is that an okay,” I ask, “or an okay?”
She exhales like she’s fully aware of what she’s about to say and what it means. God, she’s cute. How am I going to survive living in the same house with this beautiful woman without my cock imploding?
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll do it.”
I hold back a smile. Lottie Hart just agreed to something that’s about to change both our lives.
“My wife,” I say testing it out loud. “Charlotte Winters.” It rolls off my tongue a little too well. “Kinda has a ring to it.”
“Relax,” she says, rolling her eyes. “It’s not real, remember?”
It’s not, but that doesn’t stop me from picturing her in my home, walking through rooms that have always been quiet and only mine.
Her lips part just barely, like she’s about to say something, then thinks better of it.
I’m not sure what’s going to be harder—playing the part of her husband or keeping my hands and my cock to myself.