Chapter 15 Shannon #2
My fingers skim against the surface. It’s old and weathered, every scratch and dent seems to hold a story.
It makes me smile. Heavy footsteps draw back my attention as Wesley pads through the living room with an adorable smile on his face, wearing jogging bottoms and a hoodie, his feet bare, his hair damp.
Loose locks falling over his face. We lock eyes for a beat before he finally speaks, “How about a takeaway?”
I decide to mess with him, just because I can.
“I only came over for pie?” His face falls flat.
“Jesus, I’m joking, Wesley.” I walk over to him and nudge his arm playfully.
He huffs out breath and breaks into a grin.
The faint creases at the corners of his eyes kick-start the butterflies in my stomach—I love the way he smiles.
“I’ve sorted dinner,” I tell him.
He draws back a little, looking surprised. “What? How?”
“My mum made me a casserole, there’s plenty for us both.” He gives his head another shake, eyes dropping to the floor before he glances back at me.
“I’m sorry, Shannon. I’m shit at this.” He nods towards the kitchen. “It’s been a really long time.” I reach out and give his shoulder a reassuring rub.
“Don’t stress, but dinner is ready.”
We’re both stuffed by the time we’ve finished, and Wesley had two more doorstep slices of bread, but now we’re both sitting down on the sofa letting our food go down.
“Your mum’s a great cook,” he says, giving his stomach a satisfied pat.
“You haven’t tried my cooking yet.” I wink at him.
“Is that an invitation, Shannon?”
I nudge his arm. “Heck no, I still want the pie you promised me.” We both fall into comfortable silence with only the sound of the low TV in the background.
My attention drifts to the old leather recliner in the corner of the room.
Under the small table next to it, a pair of simple blue sliders sit neatly.
On the top, a lamp casts a warm glow, adding to the cosiness. I notice the pair of glasses.
“You wear glasses?”
He follows my eyes, then looks back over at me.
“I do.” He wafts his hair out of his face.
“Only for reading though.” My head builds a sexy picture of him sprawled out, legs spread, book in hand, glasses perched on his once straight nose, now marked by a faint bump possibly from an old break, he’d be shirtless of course.
Shannon, your mind has no filter.
Does he normally sit there? I hope he doesn’t feel he has to sit next to me. Come to think of it, he’s literally clinging to the edge of the seat, and one wrong move, he’ll be sitting on the floor. I stifle a laugh, he looks tense, back ramrod straight.
“You didn’t have to sit next to me.”
He turns sharply, eyes meeting mine . “You don’t want me to sit next to you?”
Yes, I do, but I’d rather you didn’t sit gripping the edge of the sofa like you’re waiting for the jump scare on a movie.
I grip his arm gently. “That’s not what I meant.” My eyes flick to the chair.
He follows my gaze, then turns back to me with a soft smile. “I only sit there because I’ve had no one to sit next to on the sofa.” Jesus, he’s so bloody honest. If my heart hadn’t already clenched, it sure does now. He’s not spinning me some shitty chat-up line, he’s being completely honest.
Not sure how to reply, but I don’t want to brush it off like I didn’t hear him.
I think back to the blind date. He walked in full of bravado, brimming with confidence, but the moment he sat down, I saw through him. Fidgeting with the cutlery, elbows twitching on the table. It didn’t take a genius to work out he was nervous.
I felt them too.
He soon changed his tune, once he clocked on just by the way he said my bloody name had me squirming in my seat. “The best thing about having a sofa to yourself is you can stretch out,” I say, feeling pleased with myself until…
“I stretch out in bed, Shannon.” Oh, he had to throw that in, didn’t he?
'I stretch out in bed, Shannon, yeah, I bet he does.’
Naked?
Nope. Not going there. Not letting my brain go anywhere close to Wesley’s bedroom.
While my mind tortures me with images of Wesley sleeping naked, he’s watching me like he knows exactly what’s going on inside my head.
“Stop staring at me,” I mutter, though I’m not convinced I want him to stop. He lets his head drop, but I notice the smug curve of his lip from the side of his face.
Smug bastard. He seems to find his confidence the moment I start to fluster.
The playful glint in his eyes disappears when he looks at me replaced with something darker. His jaw ticks, bottom lip caught between his teeth.
“Did I say something wrong?” I whisper.
“No, Shannon. You didn’t do anything wrong, but…
” He edges closer, the tension between us thickens, heavy with need.
My skin feels warm and clammy like my body already knows what’s coming.
His tongue slides slowly across his bottom lip.
God help me, I can’t look away. He takes his time moving in closer, eyes searching, asking for permission.
My skin prickles, I can feel him everywhere, even though he's not touching me.
The next thing he’s in front of me, sitting so close I can feel his breath on my skin.
His darkened eyes look between mine as if he’s searching for approval.
One tattooed hand reaches out, his fingertips grazing my cheek.
Those long, inked-covered fingers cradle the side of my face, trailing through the silky strands of my hair.
“You’re so beautiful.” His breath brushes against my skin, soft and warm.
“I’m so sorry, Shannon, for being a prick to you.
” Our eyes lock, the anticipation crackling between us like static.
We lean in, meeting each other in the middle, a breath apart.
I can feel the heat of his mouth, my lips tingle, drawn together like two live wires.
“I hope you give me the chance to get to know you.” My body screams with Just kiss him, he’s giving you the chance to make the first move.
My lips part.
My tongue pokes out, wetting my lips.
Then.
Buzz, my phone vibrates across the coffee table, rattling loud enough to pull us apart. I swear phones were invented purely for cock blocking, bloody things have the worst timing.
“Shit, I’m sorry.” I want to ignore it, pretend it’s nothing, but the name flashing on the screen tells me I shouldn’t. There’s no mistaking the look in Wesley’s eyes when he sees the name… Barney.
He doesn’t ask who he is. He doesn’t need to.
I lift the phone, swiping to open the message. What the fuck?
Barney’s outside my house, now? I don’t want Wesley to see the text, but judging by the look on his face, he already has.
“I… should...” I start, but he stops me.
“Yeah, you should,” he clips out.
“It’s not what you think.” I don’t know why I feel the need to explain. We’re not dating, but at the same time, I wouldn’t lie to him about something like this. I know he’s been cheated on. “He’s sort of a friend.” Now I’ve made it sound even worse.
Wesley doesn’t reply, he gets up and heads for the door, waiting for me.
He pulls the door open, and I take the hint, he doesn’t want to be caught up in whatever is on the other side of his door. He’s been hurt. I can feel the trust issues rolling off him, after all, he doesn’t truly know me.
“See you soon, Shannon?” he whispers, voice low and a little unsure. I nod around the guilty feeling, heavy on my chest.
But I need to tell Barney to stop this, there will never be an us.
“Goodnight, Wesley.”
He smiles, closing the door behind me.
“Shan?” Barney’s voice cuts through the air. Already, I’m annoyed with him. Something’s off. He looks out of it, like he’s drunk.
Great, I can feel a long night ahead.
“Jesus, Barney, you’re hammered.” I walk towards him, where he grips the porch railing.
”Hey—” hiccup, “—Shan, I missed you.” Not this again. “Barney, what are you doing here? It’s late.” I’m trying to keep my temper under control, but the more I watch him swaying from left to right, the more he’s winding me up. I scan the area, noticing his car, bloody hell, did he drive here?
“Barney, did you drive… drunk?” He reaches out for me, but I take a step back, waving my hands in front of me.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” There’s no hiding the disgust in my tone, driving whilst drunk, and putting others’ lives at risk, what kind of person does that?
What can I do? I can’t exactly send him home in this state.
Holding out my hand and flattening my palm out.
“Keys?” He wobbles, fumbling inside his pockets trying to pull his car keys out, he slats them in my palm, then falls back landing on his arse on the bottom step.
I don’t help him, the man should know better.
“Shanzy, baby…” he slurs his words, looking me up and down with a sleazy look. “I… love you.”
I walk towards him and grip his arm. “Get up, you’re a mess,” I mutter under my breath.
I eventually get him inside; I know a taxi won’t come out here this late on a Sunday night.
Barney wobbles in the living room and reaches out to me, his fingers grip the side of my hips, his face a few inches from mine.
“Jesus, you stink.” I shove him off me. “Wait here.” I point at him then grab some blankets from the box in the corner and throw them at him.
“You should get some rest.” My tone is anything but nice, turning my back on him he yells behind me.
“Are you fucking him?”
I stop dead in my tracks and turn to face him. “Barney, what I do with my life has nothing to do with you.” Maybe I should have just kept my mouth shut. Seriously, though, one flick of my fingers and he’d be on his back.
He takes a measured step closer, trying his hardest to stay on his feet. Suddenly, he’s there in front of me, his hand reaching out to cup the side of my face, his fingers gripping my jaw tightly.
He repeats the words, slowly, “Are. You. Fucking. Him?” His grip tightens, my hand comes up between us and slaps his hand away. Then I step closer despite my nerves.
“You ever fucking touch me again without…” And whump, the words stop when a fist connects with the side of Barney’s face and he falls down like a sack of potatoes.
“Wesley?” I gasp, my hands covering my mouth, eyes wide.
He looks feral, seething.