Chapter 14 Wesley #2
Jesus, pull your head out your arse, Wes. Why would she want to share dinner with you? I fucking hate my head at times.
“Fuck it.” Leaving my beer behind, I make my way over to Shannon’s. A prickly heat crawls up the back of my neck as I find myself standing outside her front door.
“Knock on the door, apologise, and walk away,” I will myself, take a steady breath and wipe my sweaty palms over my jeans, then rap my knuckles against the door, before shoving my hands into my pockets.
My eyes flick over the porch, landing on the outside light, still missing a bulb.
I should have sorted it before I sold the place.
“What do you want?” her voice calls out, but the door stays firmly shut. I spin around searching for her.
“Down here, arsehole.” Yep. Still pissed at me. Bending down, I meet a pair of dark brown eyes glaring at me through the letterbox.
I clear my throat. “Can we talk?”
“Why would I want to talk to you?” She’s got a point, but I’m not leaving until she hears me out. I don’t think she realises I’m terrible at this.
“I get that you’re mad at me, but I want to explain.
” The letterbox closes with a snap, and I wait for the sound of the lock turning.
A moment later, the door swings open and there she is, arms crossed, expression mixed between pissed off and I’m about to kick your arse off my porch.
Biting back a smile, I look down at my feet, then to hers.
Fuck, she’s perfect. Bare feet, pretty nails painted in yellow, not pink like the last time I stood on her porch.
Slowly, I raise my head, eyes sweeping the length of her body.
She’s wearing a floor-length, flowery maxi-dress.
Hair piled loosely on the top of her head, soft curls escaping, framing the sides of her face.
Shannon is fucking beautiful.
“What do you want, Wesley?” She brushes a loose strand of hair from her face and I have to fight the urge to reach out and tuck it behind her ear myself.
“I have to start work soon.” She works at night?
“You’re leaving for work?” It’s none of my business, but I didn’t realise she worked nights. “It’s Sunday?” I state the obvious.
“Yeah, I know. I have a part-time job. I work from home.” I want to ask her what it is she does, but we’re not there yet.
“Ah, okay, I won’t keep you.” I rake a hand through my unruly hair, suddenly aware I should have made an effort before coming over here.
“I’m sorry for being an arsehole, Shannon.
” I pull in a breath. “I also want to explain about the pub.” Jesus, I was such a fucking idiot.
I never meant to corner her. “I’m not a bad bloke.
I shouldn’t have cornered you.” The memory of the afternoon drifts back, the scent of her skin, sweet like candyfloss and strawberries, clung to my nose as I leaned in, my lips close to her ear.
Shannon exhales, releasing a breath she’d been holding in. “Listen, I… I shouldn’t have said those things to you either, Wesley.” Her hand drifts over her chest, drawing my attention to the curve of her tits, barely contained by the flowery, soft fabric of her dress.
“I don’t know your history,” she says, and I nod, distracted by the way her lips shape around each word.
“But…” My gaze snaps to hers. Is this the part where she turns me away? Tells me I’m wasting my time?
“It’s in the past.” She waves a hand between us. “We had one blind date. You were married, and we….”
I move before I think, both hands landing on her shoulders, because she needs to hear me out. But the second she flinches, I rear back, holding my hands out in front of me — a silent, sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you.
But I’m desperate to make her understand that I wasn’t lying.
“You don’t understand, I wasn’t married, I swear to you.
” Her eyebrows knit together, but I don’t stop, desperate to get the words out.
“We separated and later divorced.” This next part is even harder to say.
Only my closest friends know the truth. “She cheated on me, Shannon.” The words taste bitter on my tongue, Shannon gasps.
If I don’t say it out loud now, I never will.
“I… I caught her.” The flashback slams into my chest, but I don’t tell her the details.
I can’t look at her without feeling ashamed, the memory dragging up unwanted feelings, worthlessness, betrayal, humiliation.
Then, I feel the soft touch against my arm, warm and soothing, and it has me lifting my head, bracing myself to see nothing but pity in her eyes. Only it’s not what I see. Shannon looks angry. Her face crumpled tight with a fierce look, but her touch, still tender.
“Shit,” she says, barely above a whisper.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Wesley.” She shakes her head, gaze falling to the floor.
“I judged you.” She sucks in a breath before lifting her eyes back to mine again.
Her free hand reaches out, the touch sending a hum beneath my skin.
The warmth of her palms rubs over both my arms, gentle, comforting.
“Do you want to come inside?” She glances behind her. “I haven’t got a sofa yet, but I’ve got a couple of chairs.” Her voice like silk whispering against my senses.
“Don’t you have work?”
Shannon rears back slightly, like she forgot. “Shit, I have, but it’s just an insurance claim. Can you give me an hour?” Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips.
I want to kiss her, fuck, I really do, but instead I ask. “Have you had dinner?” Hoping her answer is no.
She smiles. Fuck me, the tight knot in my stomach unravels, replaced by a burn in the pit of my stomach. “I haven’t.” A cute blush dusts her cheeks.
“Would you like to share my pie?” Christ, instantly regretting how tragic I sound. Great, three years since I was in a relationship, and ten fucking years since I asked a woman out on a date, and now I opt for: “Do you want to share my fucking pie.”
“I would love to share your pie, Wesley.” Relief fills my chest, but I hope she isn’t humouring me, because I don’t know about her, but I can feel it. It’s too strong not to. We’re both skirting between the edge of attraction and lust, but it’s still too early to step over the line of friendship.
“I should go.” Her fingertips graze my wrist, eyes flicking to the Rolex my father gave me before he passed away.
“Nice watch.”
I dip my head slightly, not trusting myself to drag up the past. Jerking a thumb towards my house. “I’ll shower and see you in an hour.” I head down the steps, hiding the smile from my face.
She’s coming to dinner. My cock gives an eager twitch at the thought of dessert. I’m getting well ahead of myself.
I step inside, closing the door behind me, and lean my back against it, releasing a harsh breath.
Sweat trickles down the back of my neck, making me strip off my shirt and swipe it across my damp skin.
Nobody realises I’ve always struggled with confidence when I’m taken out of my comfort zone, or at least they never mention it.
If I really think about it, I’m pretty good at hiding it behind my usual arsehole self.
I quickly grab one of the pies from the freezer and shove it in the oven.
Since I’m not a great cook, I chuck in a bag of frozen pre-prepared Mediterranean veg into a roasting dish, drizzle over some olive oil.
Jamie Oliver would be proud. I whack the oven up to the highest setting, hoping it’ll be ready in time, and head to the bedroom, planning to sort some clothes out for a quick shower.
The moment my hand unbuckles my belt and pops the buttons on my jeans, it’s already sliding into my boxers and gripping my cock.
I’ll blame her for getting me this worked up, aching with the need to come.
At some point after I’d fisted myself, I must have nodded off, because I’ve just woken up with a tissue stuck to the tip of my cock, and now someone’s banging on the front door.
“What time is it?” I mutter to myself trying to wake up.
“Shit.” I peel the tissue off my knob and leg it to the bathroom, shouting, “Just a minute,” as I go, then toss the tissue in the toilet before washing my hands, and the knock comes again.
I bolt out, not even having time to fix myself. I yank open the door, and there she is.