“Good morning.” I cross my arms over my chest, hiding my hardened nipples. “I’m used to being alone, at least until Spencer gets here.”
“Yeah, I’m usually gone by now, so I can cook breakfast for Thea, but she stayed over a friend’s house last night.”
Well, dammit if that isn’t adorable. This gruff, silently cocky man of few words has caretaker in his bones. Designing this rink to support Spencer’s training. Bringing Thea tea with honey before she goes to sleep. Supporting his father to remain in his home for as long as possible. Creating a vibrant hockey community, with camps, recreational leagues, and family events. He has two cats, for fuck’s sake.
Maybe he only wants to be my date to my family dinner to help me.
“It’s not a problem that I’m here, right?” he asks.
“No, of course not,” I say, bending down to pick up my bag and finally giving myself a break from looking at him.
Wes is hot—a fact that has become harder to ignore now that I know he remembers our first kiss. But this reaction—the inability to wrangle the storm brewing deep in my belly—has more to do with lack of sex.
I forced myself to get back out there after my separation from Chip. I craved a connection after being lonely in my marriage for so long. I missed that feeling of being desired. But each date left me empty, worse than I had before, so I haven’t been with anyone since. And I don’t see that changing any time soon.
“I’m glad you didn’t change your hair color,” Wes says.
I didn’t realize I was running my hands through my hair, but I immediately stop after hearing his words. I also have no idea what he’s talking about, which must show on my face, because he goes on to explain.
“You said it made you stand out, and all you wanted was to blend into the background, to be left alone to skate. You didn’t like how ‘Covington’ it made you.”
Because every woman on my father’s side of the family had strawberry-blond hair.
How the hell does Wes remember this so many years later? I know we made an impression on each other, that if my phone hadn’t been stolen that we would’ve kept in touch, maybe become something more.
But I let my memory of him fade, the way you do with a favorite childhood movie lost to time.
Since finding out Spencer’s brother ismyWes, it’s all flooding to the surface. The moments between us dusted off and replaying anew in my mind. The hesitant way he paused his steps when he found me crying in a stairwell, the nervous shake in his voice as he asked if I wanted to go somewhere with him. The clamminess of his hands as they held mine while we roller-skated. My first kiss, with the boy who got me to smile on one of my saddest days.
Wes told me not to ask questions I didn’t want the answer to. So I don’t ask how he remembers our conversations from that day, because Wes Davidson would tell me the truth. And I’m not ready for it.
“I kept my hair color because I like it.” My mom also wanted me to change it because she thought it drew attention from boys she didn’t approve of. I didn’t want her to win. “And being a Covington got easier as I got older.”
When I started dating Chip. The arguments from the past stopped. My parents didn’t make comments about my skating. They thought I was on the right path, working toward a college degree and dating a guy they deemed worthy. I loved Chip once, but I also think my feelings were influenced by how he smoothed my family dynamic.
Wes rises off the bench, taking a few steps towards me. “But you need a decoy boyfriend to get your family off your back.”
“I don’tneed—” My tone is sharper than I intend, but I don’t like the way Wes seems to think he understands my family situation. “This was Spencer’s idea. You could’ve said no if you don’t want to be involved.”
“I know,” Wes says softly, his soft brown eyes locked on mine.
He’s slipping into the boy I knew right before my eyes, but I’m not that same girl. I don’t want to talk about the aspects of my life weighing me down—my family or my divorce, or how I feel like I’m starting over again when I should be settled in my life.
I’ve got one goal. Nothing will distract me from it.
“What does your tattoo mean?” I ask, flinging a hand toward his chest.
His lips fall into a firm line. Wes clears his throat. “It’s the Gemini constellation. You know the story?”
I shake my head.
“It’s about two brothers. When one brother died, the other one—who was already immortal—begged his father, Zeus, to bring his brother back to life and let them live together forever.” Wes traces his fingers over the lines on his chest. “This is them, side by side for all eternity in the stars.”
He loves his brother so much that he memorialized it in a tattoo. The dedication is admirable, and something I understand.
“I’m not going to let him down,” I say.
“You wouldn’t be here if I thought you would.”
