Chapter 17 Clever, Kind, and Beautiful #3
“Umm . . . d-did you know that our noses are always visible to us? I learned this on a podcast about the history of perception. Our brain filters it out, or else we’d never notice the rest of the world.
” Sasha paused for emphasis. “Imani, the robber’s probably right in front of you—just think of him as your nose. ”
“Brilliant.” Imani pointed at her, almost accusatorily. “Bitch, I fuck with you, hard.”
With that proclamation, Imani McIntyre was out. She twirled away, a cloud of curls and cleavage—but not before air-kissing Sasha and wrapping Wes in a breast-centric embrace.
Then, it was just Wes and Sasha, sitting alone at the tiny, turquoise table.
Sasha was caught in the crossfire of a million conflicting emotions.
She didn’t know how to feel, or what to think.
But she did know one thing. Wes sparked with Imani.
He sparked with his Barbecuties. He damn near sparked with his coffee cup.
Whatever unnamable thing he had with Sasha wasn’t special. It was just his way.
Twenty minutes later, they were still there.
Wes ordered appetizers for her, but she had no appetite.
And the two of them were talking circles around the elephant in the room.
They were so affected by each other’s presence: Sasha’s hands were trembling, and Wes couldn’t stop folding his napkin into origami.
The air between them seethed with everything they hadn’t said.
“Imani’s sweet!” Sasha said enthusiastically.
“If by ‘sweet’ you mean imperious, then sure. But she has a good heart. Unless it’s a Blood Moon, when evil Imani reigns.” He took a sip of water. “Her words, not mine.”
“I do love a witchy girly.”
Sasha searched Wes’s face for some sign that last night even happened.
Did it matter at all? She couldn’t tell.
His eyes were infinite pools of inky darkness, revealing nothing.
So intense, so mesmerizing. She saw him above her, his exquisite face, his expression as he fucked her so well, so thoroughly, that her thighs were still liquid.
There was no way to hide her inconvenient, ravenous lust for him, anymore.
He knew all about it. He’d tasted it. There was nowhere to hide.
She’d never felt more naked in front of a man. More confused. More jealous.
“So, when did you date?”
“Why?”
“Just wondering. You have chemistry.”
“No, we have history,” he corrected. “We’ve been friends a long time. Why?”
“I’m just curious. I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.”
He chuckled humorlessly and took a drink. “It really isn’t. You know. Considering.”
“So you had a shut-in experience, too? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Never came up.” It was clear he didn’t want to elaborate, and Sasha didn’t push.
Instead, she fiddled with her gold cuff for ages, fighting off tears that made no sense.
Why was she feeling emotional? Wes wasn’t acting like himself.
And she didn’t feel like herself, either.
He sounded bitter, and she sounded jealous.
She cleared her throat. “I brought the letter. Um, the one you’ll give to . . . Teo, when you see him. I did what you said. I put in my phone number, my email, everything. So he can contact me, if he wants to.”
With trembling hands, she pulled an envelope out of her purse and slid it across the table. Wes nodded, pocketing it. “Thanks, I was going to ask about that.”
They sat in excruciating silence for what felt like hours. Finally, he spoke.
“Are we gonna talk about last night?”
Her eyes found his. They stayed tangled in each other’s gaze for a few heartbeats; until his eyes flicked down to her mouth, lingering there, before traveling down to the mark he’d left under her jaw. She saw his jaw clench. And then, he tore his eyes away.
“I’m sorry. For everything,” he said.
With that, he broke the tension. But it also broke Sasha.
This wasn’t how she hoped this conversation would go.
On some level, she wanted him to tell her it wasn’t a mistake.
Tell her to forget Seat F, to listen to what her brain, heart, and pussy were telling her, and stop running from him.
She hoped he’d legitimize her feelings. But it was unfair to expect Wes to do all the heavy lifting.
And, besides, Wes didn’t feel the same. He wasn’t shy about the things he wanted.
If he was serious about her, he would’ve told her.
And she wouldn’t have felt like a third wheel with Imani.
And then, a terrible thought crossed her mind—if Imani had been in her place last night, would he have fucked her the same way? Was Sasha just an available body? She stopped these thoughts before spiraling further.
Instead of pouring out her soul, she simply said, “I’m sorry, too.
It was both of us. Something happens to us when we’re in each other’s space.
” Her words tumbled out. “The call, the kiss at the ceremony. Last night. It’s like the walls come down, and we lose ourselves to this unavoidable attraction, and I think maybe . . .”
Suddenly, Wes reached around the small table and grabbed her chair leg, easily dragging her closer to him.
She gasped, startled. And then, he tucked his index finger under her chin, tipping her face up.
She was close enough to feel his minty, warm breath on her skin.
God, she wanted to taste his mouth again.
She ached for it. Lightly, he ran his thumb over the bruise on her neck.
A temporary reminder of a heated moment neither one of them could help.
Her nipples peaked. Her heart pounded in her throat.
This man was irresistible.
“You make me feel fucking crazy.” Wes’s voice was even, controlled—but Sasha felt a subtle tremble in the hand under her chin. “Please stop making me feel crazy.”
“I’ll stop if you will,” she breathed, fighting off a swoon. “We have to. It complicates things. Blurs lines.”
“Let’s just be normal. We can be normal, right?” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself, more than her. And then, he dropped his hand. The absence of it left her dizzy.
“Yes. Normal.” She nodded, gulping down a glass of water.
“That’s my water,” noted Wes.
“Sorry,” she said, grabbing hers. “Honestly, it’s just hormones. We’re not teenagers, we can control our lustful urges. And I have too much lapsed Catholic guilt to keep doing this.”
“Let’s just focus on the case. We’re starting over from here, blank slate.”
“Right. Let’s do a reset.”
“Just not a manual reset.” He smirked, crookedly.
She let out a grateful little laugh at his corny joke. “Thank you, friend.”
“For what?”
“Your maturity. For not letting this get weird. It’s generous of you.”
Wes toyed with his knife, his expression opaque. “Don’t thank me yet.”