Chapter 26 Wesley
Wesley
My eyes flicker open, adjusting to the brightness of the room.
I shove the thin sheet down and run a hand over my chest, my skin feels damp.
The memories of last night and the early hours come flooding back to me…
the best sex I’ve ever had. Grinning to myself, I roll over, ready to wrap my arms around Shannon and kiss her pouty, swollen lips but her side of the bed is empty.
Jolting uprigh,t I call out for her. “Shannon?” No answer.
Kicking off the sheets, climbing out of bed, still naked.
I remember my clothes are soaked from the downpour, but fuck it, she’s already seen me like this.
Stepping into the hallway, checking the bathroom, nothing.
“Shan, you in here?” Still nothing. Heading to the kitchen, there’s a mug on the side and a note tucked underneath it.
Hey,
I’ve gone to grab some food, help yourself to coffee, your clothes are in the dryer. Shan x
Grabbing my clothes from the dryer, I throw my shorts on, leaving my shirt off, then check my phone.
“Shit, it’s gone 10am.” There’s a text from Shannon.
I stopped off at a market, but won’t be long xx
Another smile tugs at my lips.
I’m nipping home for a shower xx
Slipping my phone into my pocket, I walk over to the fridge.
As I grab the milk, my eyes land on the peach crumble.
“Sod it, this pudding has my name on it.” I grab the dish and peel back the clingfilm, holding it to my nose, my eyes close, my lips can almost taste its sticky sweetness and soggy crumble topping, from the juicy peach filling, seeped through to the golden crumb.
I don’t bother heating it up. My God, it tastes good.
So good, in fact, I go back and fill my bowl again.
I’ve officially died and gone to peach heaven.
I’ve always been more of an arse man, maybe that’s why I’ve got such a soft spot for peaches.
After I’ve filled my stomach and washed up the bowl, I head home to grab a quick shower. Shannon shouldn’t be much longer.
Gripping my coffee mug tight, I watch from the porch step as Shannon speeds past again. Her legs peddling like the clappers, going back and forth down the lane on a shitty happy shopper pushbike she picked up from a car boot sale this morning.
The yellow frame, rusty basket, and wobbly wheels look like they’ve been pulled from a river and left out in the cold weather all year round. Yet, here I am, white knuckling my mug, as the ten-quid rusty piece of shit goes past me a second, third, then fourth time.
At first, she planned to clean it up and stick some flowers in the basket, have it as some kind of garden ornament.
But then decided to test it out, her long maxi dress tucked into the side of her knickers, strawberry print ankle wellies wedged on the pedals…
and, of course, the pink hard hat I made her wear, strapped under her chin with a bit of ribbon.
If I’d have known she was actually going to ride the fucking thing, I’d have snapped the chain myself.
Now I’ve been banished to the porch, because apparently, I’m not allowed to walk alongside her and hold the seat while she rides.
She told me in no uncertain terms. “I’m not a fucking child, Wesley.
” I held up my hands, surrendering and backed off, but it didn’t stop me from biting my molars every time she rides past me.
I’m waiting for her to fall; my feet shoved into my boots ready to run after her.
She whizzes by me again, bumping along the gravel and potholes, a common sight in the UK.
Her hands stretched out at the sides as she tries to show me how to ride without using her fucking hands and legs, practically star-fishing on the bike.
Going full pelt, trying to pick up as much speed as she can. I close my eyes for a second.
“Wesley.” She laughs as she goes by again.
“Slow the fuck down.” My temper flares as I bellow the words out, now standing up and walking to the edge of my driveway. I can feel it in my bones, until I hear the crunch of metal meeting the gravel and she’s down.
Arse over tit.
“Bollocks,” she screeches, splayed out on the harsh stones, the back wheel still spinning, the little basket dented. I’m running faster than Usain Bolt.
“Fuck, are you alright?” Her dress still tucked in her knickers, pink hard hat lopsided on her head and her knees grazed with little dents and small stone shards digging into the bloodied skin. Dropping down, I scoop her up from under her arms, but in true Shannon style, she shoves my chest.
“Get off.” She wipes her hand over her knees, dusting off the dirt.
“I’m fine,” she says around a smile and throws her head back, before looking down on the shittiest push bike ever.
“Can you fix it?” She gives it a little kick.
I could fix it but I’d sooner bin it off and buy her a new one, so I tell her in the nicest way possible without hurting her feelings.
“Shannon, it’s fucked… I’ll take the heap of shit to the skip tomorrow.
” Okay, so I lied. She blows out a breath and walks away, leaving me to deal with it.
Picking the rusty heap of shit off the floor, all I want to do is smash it to bits for hurting her.
But if she wants a bike, I’ll get her a fucking bike.
Shannon sits on my front step, and she scowls up at me when I walk by, then toss the heap of junk in my garage, ready to throw in the skip at work tomorrow.
“Well?” she says, looking up at me. “Can you fix it?”
“No.” I pull out my wallet and pass her a tenner. She looks at me then the money.
“Jesus, what is it with you offering me money?” Her face twisting in disgust. “I don’t want your money, Wesley.” She swats my hand away.
“You’re not riding it, and I’m not fixing it,” I bite out, staring down at her.
Shannon stands up, hands on her hips.
Fuck my life. “Right, that’s it, come on,” I say, holding out my hand to her.
“Where are we going?” she asks, as I walk her around to the passenger side of my truck, opening the door for her.
“Up you get, sweetheart.”
She shoots me with a death stare. “Not until you tell me where we’re going.”
I lean in and kiss her forehead. “Just get in the truck and trust me.”
After helping her up, I walk to my front door locking it, then slide into the driver’s seat.
Shannon’s still sitting there, not even attempting to fasten her seat belt, I shake my head, leaning my body over hers and pull the belt across her, and clip her in myself.
“Bloody hell, I can do it myself.” I'm getting fed up of her telling me what she can and can't do.
“Right,” I say, fully facing her, my palms on either side of her cheeks, pinning her in place. “Now, let me tell you something about me… I take safety very seriously.” I search her face before kissing her soft lips. “You got it?” I ask, dropping my hands from her face.
“Aye, aye, captain.” She salutes. Once we’re driving down the gravel lane, she flicks on the radio and starts belting out AC/DC’s Thunder Struck…
a smile pulls at my lips, she’s absolutely butchering one of the best songs ever written.
I’m not sure it’s possible to fall even more in love with someone… not when I already love her this much.
Love her? Did I really just admit to myself that I’m falling in love with her?
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?”
I answer, keeping my eyes on the road. “I’m taking you to buy a bike.”
Her palms slap down on the dashboard; her head whips round.
“What? Wesley, I don't need a bike,” she says but I just carry on driving, which is more than likely winding her up. “Jesus, you can’t be spending money on me.” I’m starting to get pissed off with this I can't be spending money on her bollocks.
The truck slows to a stop at the crossroads, while we wait for a tractor to pass by.
“If I can’t buy my girlfriend a bike, then something’s seriously wrong, Shan.”
She’s still droning on. “Wesley, no. I don’t need you to buy me a bike.”
I inhale a deep breath, then look over at my beautiful, argumentative girl, with a spit fire temper.
My voice raises enough to make her listen. “For Christ’s sake, Shannon, I’m not a millionaire, and I haven’t got hundreds of thousands in the bank.” I blow out a breath. “But I can buy you a fucking bike. I want to buy you a bike.” She’s quiet for a minute, looking out the window then back at me.
“But I didn’t agree to this?” She scowls.
“I’m not asking.” I deadpan. “I’m buying you a fucking gift.”
She waves her hand between us. “No, no I’m not talking about the bike,” she murmurs. “You called me your… girlfriend.” Yeah, she’s got a point, maybe I was a little presumptuous but we’re already doing stuff couples do.
“I thought after everything and sleeping together, we were more than just sex?” I clear my throat.
“You don’t want to be more with me?” Shit, what if I’m wrong?
What if it’s just sex to her? I turn away from her, trying to concentrate on the slow-moving tractor and trailer, wishing it would hurry up, so I can at least drive instead of waiting for her to say something.
She finally answers after what feels like a trillion minutes. “Of course we’re more.” I nod and grip the steering wheel then turn off towards the bike shop.
“Now we’ve established what we are, let’s celebrate with getting you a bike.”
“So, you want a bike with a basket?” the salesman, Albert, asks.
“Yep,” Shannon says, with a no-nonsense, you won’t change my mind tone.
“Follow me, we have just had some new ones in.”
I whisper my thanks to him behind her back because she knows what she wants. He comes to a halt and pulls out a pastel blue bike. If I’m honest, it’s pretty and would definitely suit Shannon.