Chapter 9 Wesley #2
“Mate, your coffee’s getting cold,” Tristan calls out. “Be out in a minute,” I call back, still trying to catch my breath.
I’ve never come so fucking hard.
Walking into the kitchen, I find Tristan with his back to me, casually sipping his coffee.
“So, when were you planning to tell me about your new neighbour?” I immediately want to throat punch him. I don’t want him looking at her or talking to her. And I definitely don’t want him sweet-talking her into a date or a night in his bed.
Something in me snaps. “Don’t fucking mention her.”
I should backtrack and throw out some excuse for why I don’t want him looking at Shannon. He spins around, one eyebrow raised.
“Shut it,” I grind out through clenched teeth.
He sets his mug down, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Did I say anything?” He looks back out of the window, then back at me.
“She’s the girl from the pub last Friday, ain’t she?” Tristan’s a smug bastard, and of course, he knows exactly who she is. He’s got a date with her mate.
On second thoughts, it’s a fucking bad idea.
The last thing I need is my neighbour pinning the blame on me when he breaks her friend’s heart.
“Yeah, and you’re not going on a date with her mate,” I bite out. “Yes, I am.” Tristan fires back, slamming his cup down on the counter.
“No, you’re fucking not, Tristan,” I bark, thrusting a finger towards the house next door. “I’ve got to live here, and I’m not dealing with your shit on my doorstep.” He looks offended.
I don’t give him a chance to reply, instead turning away to grab my boots, shoving them on without another word. I’m done talking about this.
“Come on. If you want a ride, we’re leaving now.” I toss him a pair of boots and a hoodie.
He hears the edge of my voice and keeps his mouth shut about my neighbour and her mate.
Truth is, I just need to get to work. Get away from her. Out of sight and out of my mind.
Yeah right, like I didn’t just pull my cock in the shower while my mind decided to play tricks on me.
We climb in the truck and belt up. Surprise, surprise, everything I just warned him about in the house goes right out the window.
“Look, it’s your neighbour.” Tristan’s gaze settles on her, bent over in the tiniest pair of fucking shorts I’ve ever seen, and I thought the ones she had on in my office were short, but these look more like hotpants, the kind you don’t wear panties with.
Does she own any clothes where her arse isn’t on display?
I wouldn’t be complaining if they were for my eyes only, but now Tristan’s seen her, it’s seriously pissed me off.
I flick my eyes to my mate, who’s practically frothing at the mouth, and my fist curls tight around the steering wheel.
No wonder he always ends up in deep shit.
He’s eye fucking her so hard; I’m surprised she doesn’t feel it.
My jaw tightens, molars grinding. We need to get out of here.
The words are out before I catch them. “Stop fucking looking at her.” Tristan’s head whips around, his eyes scanning my face, checking out the lump on my forehead, a smirk tugs at his lips
Fuck. He never misses a trick.
Before I can stop him, he turns back and winds the window down.
“Morning! Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
My fist connects with his arm just as she turns.
“The fuck, Wes?” He gives his arm a quick rub but still continues to poke the lion, he flashes me a wink, turning his eyes back on her.
I could bury him under a few layers of cement on my next build, and nobody would ever find him.
Wonder if Declan could get rid of him for me?
I swear he’s got his own buried sins hidden down south.
Looking back towards Shannon, her hair twisted into a messy, lopsided bun, like she’s just crawled out of bed.
Wait…
Did she sleep here? I swear I didn’t see a single piece of furniture.
Shannon makes her way towards the truck, her smile wide and bright on her face, one she could light up even the darkest of souls with. My eyes slide down her body.
She’s wearing flip flops with cherries dotted all over them. Those stupid light blue hot pants cling to her gorgeous hips and the tops of her luscious thighs.
And the fucking ridiculous tank top, stretched taut over two perfect, braless tits.
And those nipples, hard and pointed, impossible to ignore.
“Fuck this.” My tempered words erupt from my lips. Tristan is getting an eye full, and it’s either get the hell out of here or I smack him in the mouth.
Slamming my truck into reverse, the gears grinding under foot, before she can get any closer, whipping it around at the bottom of my driveway until all I see is her in the rear-view mirror, watching me crawl down the lane over the gritty surface.
I don’t want Tristan looking at her, seeing all the parts of her I’m dying to touch.
“What the fuck?” Tristan shoots me a glare, sheer disbelief on his face.
“We’re late,” I snap, my hands gripping the wheel as I glance in the rear-view mirror one last time.
Shannon stands frozen, hand covering her chest. A sharp pang of guilt twists in my gut.
It was a real wanker move on my part. But I can’t face her.
Not after yesterday and this morning. I don’t know why I’m acting like this.
Nothing will ever happen between us, she’ll meet someone soon, and probably bring him back to her house, they’ll sleep in her bed.
My tyres spin as I push my foot to the pedal, leaving a cloud of dust behind me.
Tristan’s hand grips the dash, his knuckles white. “Slow the fuck down,” he bellows, through gritted teeth.
Ignoring him, I see Shannon turn her back on me, and finally I can breathe, relieved I don’t have to see the look on her face… just the faint outline in the distance of her finger flipping me off.
All I can do is shake my head.
“Don’t,” I warn Tristan, who, for once, actually looks pissed off at me.
It takes a lot for him to lose his temper, but the look in his eyes is telling me he’s just worked out why I didn’t want to hang around any longer.
Anyone with any sense would see it for what it is.
I’m jealous.
We drive down the lane in silence, apart from the crunch of gravel beneath the tyres. But I can feel his eyes on me burning holes in the side of my head, any hotter and I’d be a pile of ash.
“You’re a right dickhead mate, you know that?” Cheers for telling me something I don’t already know.
“Got my reasons,” I retort. I know he won’t stop digging until I give him something.
Sighing, I tell him more, “She was the blind date I went on last year.” He looks at me, slightly baffled as the cogs keep turning in his head. “The one you gave me dating advice on,” I say, waiting for the penny to finally drop.
“You’re shitting me?” He leans to look in the rear-view mirror, but she’s gone inside.
“Nope,” I say, ending the word with a pop.
“Let me guess, you never did tell her Satan was your ex-wife?” Tristan has never liked Megan. He always thought she was self-centred, someone who only showed interest when it served her purpose.
Back when we lived in town, I bought a Tudor house with a stunning classic black and white timber exterior.
It took months to renovate, draining on my finances so I could turn it into the house she dreamed of.
Everything had to scream wealth, right down to the hand-forged cutlery from a local blacksmith.
She wanted it to tie in with the medieval theme of the house.
Image was everything to Megan, whereas I couldn’t give two shits.
I’d drink out of a paper cup and eat off a paper plate without a second thought.
She, on the other hand, wanted to be the woman her friends envied.
The woman who had it all. While all I ever wanted was for her to be happy.
The cracks started to appear. The foundations of our relationship strained under the weight.
Then came the holidays, booked conveniently with her friends, always at a time when I couldn’t take the time off work.
She no longer looked at me with longing or desire, the way she first did when I first plucked up the courage to ask her out.
I thought she was the one. If only I’d taken off those rose-tinted glasses and seen her for who she really was.
At the time, my mate was helping me with a warehouse reconstruction.
I was hanging out my arse, nursing a killer hangover from a night out with Megan’s family.
He patted me on the back, telling me to go home and get my head down.
It was five hours later when I woke up, and realised I’d left my phone at the warehouse.
I pulled into the car park, noticing his car was still there, and Megan’s, assuming she’d come to see me straight from her parents where she stayed after the night out.
It wasn’t unusual for her to come and see me, but something twisted in my gut, telling me to stay quiet when I walked inside the building.
I saw her.
My darling wife.
Bent over a workbench, my so-called mate behind her with his trousers around his ankles. His hands gripping her hips like she was his, pounding into her.
My mate.
My wife.
Right in front of me.
The same woman who I had to beg for a kiss goodbye. The woman who flinched when I tried to hold her in our bed. I thought I knew pain. Losing my parents had shredded my heart. But this… this was different. It ripped through my chest, grinding the shredded pieces into nothing but dust.
I hadn’t cried since my parent’s death, but I waited until I was alone in my truck…
then I broke down, like a lake bursting its banks.
I couldn’t fix us, couldn’t fit all the broken pieces back together again.
My marriage was over, my wife had made her decision.
For months, I blamed myself. Maybe I didn’t fight hard enough.
It took my one closest mate to pull me out, if he hadn’t, it would have dragged me under with no way back.
I’ll be forever thankful. I might give Tristan shit, but he’s been my rock, never letting me down.
He must sense I’m slipping deeper into my own head. “You alright, mate?” I grip the steering wheel tighter, nodding stiffly. Maybe Shannon and I were doomed from the start. I can’t let anyone in, not until I’m rid of Megan once and for all.
It wouldn’t be fair to drag her through my shit.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I lie, winding the window down of my truck for some much needed air. I’m probably too broken for anything serious.
“You don’t fucking lie to me, Wes.” He slaps a hand over my shoulder. I just smile, pushing the thoughts to the back of my mind.