Chapter 5 Wesley #2
He’s been pretty decent to work for, one of the best. And one even I wouldn’t mess with.
He bought this house for his future wife as a wedding gift.
They both wanted to get out of the city life.
He was a sniper in the Army. When he came out, he didn’t want the mundane nine-to-five job.
He let it slip one night when he thought it’d be fun to share a few beers and camp out under the stars.
Crazy fucker.
He’d worked for a big-time bloke down in London. Doesn’t surprise me one bit. The man is built to destroy anything in his path.
He looks the type who wouldn’t give a fuck who you were.
He told me once that he threatened to cut a man's eyes out for looking at his Mrs, the possessive type. I’m not sure how true it is.
When I mentioned about me being divorced, he scoffed then said, “My future wife can have anything she wants but I draw the line at ever giving her a divorce.” And yeah, I’m still trying to get my head around that. They’re not even married yet.
Declan climbs into his Range Rover SV, tearing across the dirt banks, mud spraying as he pushes the Range to its limits. The tyres slip and slide as he donuts it in the thick sludge. The lads all bellow out, shouting at him to “give it some!”
“Fucking nutter,” I mutter, shaking my head and turning my back on the scene to face the lads.
“Listen up, lads.” They all stop what they’re doing, turning to face me.
“Times getting on, tidy your shit up, we’ll call it a day.
” They’re a good bunch, but sometimes need reminding who’s boss.
Most of them are fresh out of school or college with no clue what they wanted to do when they left.
Getting a trade under their belts is a step in the right direction.
They’ll have a CSCS card which will prove they’re qualified after training.
I remember being eighteen, school wasn’t for me.
I went to builders and construction college three days a week, the rest of the time I spent working on site.
I wanted to be a grafter just like my old man.
Being a builder working out in all weather conditions takes its toll, but it’s rewarding to see something you’ve built from bricks and mortar into something beautiful.
I’ve been a builder for the last eighteen years.
Thinking about Jake, I know he’ll get on well here. I’ll give the lads a brief in the morning before he starts but they know how it works, make everyone feel welcome.
My phone belts out a version of “Sexy and I Know It” from my pocket. Already knowing who it is, I pull it free, greeted by the cheesy grin of Tristan’s face covering the screen. The fucker even added his own ringtone.
“I’ve got a date next weekend,” he says, just falling right into conversation.
From the sounds of it, he never went to work after deciding to be the supportive mate while trying to chat up Lidia.
Tristan’s a landscape gardener, born with green fingers and an eye for plants, whereas I couldn’t tell you the difference between a weed and a fucking flower.
“Care to tell me why your mug’s lighting up my phone?” I ask, scratching the dust from my beard.
“Remember the girl from the pub I met on Friday?” I stop dead in my tracks, a strange feeling tightening in my chest, one I can’t place. I remember her well, maybe because Shannon was sitting in my office two hours ago.
Even then, it wasn’t the first time I’d seen her. We do have history between us.
A mate I’ve since lost touch with set me up with one of his wife’s clients.
I’d always had this fear of blind dates, but Tristan convinced me to go.
I was so fucking nervous, it had been a long time since I went on a date.
In fact, I stood outside the restaurant looking through the window, ready to walk away, until she turned around.
Guilt ripped through me. I couldn’t stand her up.
If it wasn’t for Tristan offering me his crash course on dating 101: because let's face it, I was no Casanova, I would have refused.
But when I finally plucked up the courage to face her, twenty minutes later, I was so lost in how pretty she looked, all dressed up for me.
The kind of woman who not only left you speechless but also took your breath away.
She was gorgeous… still is. Her long, dark hair cascading in waves down the middle of her back.
My imagination took me to new places, like wrapping a fist in her hair and tipping her head back just so I could explore the column of her throat.
Her deep brown eyes are fucking unreal. Clear enough for me to see everything I felt in that moment, matching the pink hue dusting her cheeks.
Shannon is a beautiful woman; her delicious curves had me silently begging to sink my fingers into her soft skin.
Lush, curvy and impossible to ignore. I was desperate to touch her.
Same as today with those shorts, and tight tank top. A primal urge to take her right then and there, flip her over, tear off those fucking shorts and feel if she was as soaked for me as I was as hard for her.
Who am I kidding? Today she gave me the real version of her.
And I fucking loved it.
I wanted her to notice me on Friday in the pub, waiting for some sign of recognition, for her to bring it up, to show even a flicker of recollection.
When she asked if we’d met before I couldn't say anything, I wasn't going down the rabbit hole again. Today proved to me she knew who I was, she remembered me. My fucking ex-wife, of all people, decided to follow me when she somehow caught wind I was going on my first date in years. We were divorced, but of course, she had to play dirty and ruin a perfectly good night. I ran after Shannon, cheap red wine running down my face like blood-stained tears. But it was too late, she was in a taxi and gone. My mate’s wife tried to contact her, but Shannon had already blocked her. I didn’t blame her.
I haven’t bothered with another date since, I decided until the shit show with my ex was finally over, I’d maybe put myself out there again.
But I know I wouldn’t find another Shannon.
Truth be told, I haven't so much as kissed another woman since my ex-wife, she would sooner push me away, than let me hold her.
If my mum were alive, she’d have clipped me round the ear, knowing I never apologised to Shannon.
I figured it was probably best to keep schtum and pretend I didn’t really care.
Why would she believe me if I did manage to stop her from leaving?
She didn’t even know me. I was a stranger, tarnished by my ex-wife’s lies as a cheating bastard.
Something I wasn’t. When she dropped her gift in the pub, her cheeks turned crimson, all I could picture was her using it, those bunny ears, coaxing her clit as she unravelled.
I shove aside the fantasy of the girl with the pretty brown eyes and killer curves I’d gladly lose myself in, warning my cock not to get any ideas.
It’s been up and down like a fucking pogo stick since I saw her this afternoon.
Biting out my reply, “Which one?” My tone sharper than intended. I just hope Tristan doesn’t twig on.
“Talia. I was calling to see if you wanted to come? She could invite her mate?” Relief fills my chest for a split second until I cotton on to what he just said.
Nope. Absolutely not. I couldn’t think of a worse idea. I highly doubt Shannon would ever want to see me again, I think today was the last straw.
“Busy, mate,” I grit out. Tristan sighs, likely worried about me as usual, so I shift the conversation elsewhere. “Buyers are moving in on Friday. Fancy doing something?” Hoping he’ll say yes.
“You’re not planning to help them move in?” He drones on, trying to piss me off.
“You want to go out on Friday or not?” I retort, kicking my boot in the dirt.
“Keep your hair on, Wes. Pick me up at one.”
“See you Friday.” Hanging up the phone with a sigh, I notice it’s getting dark now, the trees surrounding the house making it harder to do any more work for the day. I’m looking forward to a relaxing night and a belly full of food.
Climbing into my truck, I drive to the end of the long driveway, making a quick stop at the lock gates.
It’s been a long day, and a certain someone hasn’t exactly made it easier.
My thoughts keep drifting back to her in those ridiculously tiny shorts and fucking strawberry wellies.
Of course, my cock seems to think it's a brilliant time to rise to the occasion every time I think of her.