“First of all, I’d say you’re a littletoogood at keeping your dick in your pants,” I crack, and he smiles, some of that inherent lightness right back in him, like it never went out. “But he and Rory have been together a long time, huh?” I ask, back to cleaning up in the sink. He’s told me bits and pieces about their history, stories of growing up together, whenever it’s come up as we painted together, but I haven’t heard the entire story.
“They got together in high school. Were together for ages, up until she left town. But she’s been back and they’ve been together again for, shit, probably almost two years now. She was it for him though. From the moment they got together his path was clear as the river, right in front of his eyes. That never happened for me, I guess. My future wasn’t here the way his was. Dunno where it was really.”
Circling back to how he started this little sharing session, I ask, “Did youwantto leave town?”
He shrugs again, rolling over on his side to sit up. “Nah, not really. The Heights isn’t a bad place to live. ’Specially now with what Rory’s doing to it. But it was easier to get out than have the thing you hate most about yourself used against you like a weapon, ya know?”
Do I fucking ever.
“I really do. And for the record, I think you need to set your brother straight. He can live his own life however he wants, but he has no right to try to control yours, or tostopyou from being your own self.”
My own words punch me in the gut with the hypocrisy in them, and I hope he doesn’t notice that I rush past it.
“I meant it when I said your brother was lucky to have you. And I mean it even more now after everything I’ve seen since then.”
Weston takes a deep breath, arms on his knees. “Your turn,” he says, rising to his feet. His head nearly brushes the ceiling when he’s barefoot like this. If he were in his work boots, he’d have to duck down.
I decide to give him something honest about me in return. “I haven’t seen my mom in a really long time. She’s my favorite person in the world, but I can’t go back to where we’re from, and she can’t meet me on the road. It’s…complicated.”
He can’t possibly understand, I know that was cryptic, but it’s as honest as I’ve been with anyone outside of my own head since I left college and tried to turn over a new leaf. But like the wonderful fucking person he is, he doesn’t press me for more. He’s never pressed me for more than I give him, which is why this friendship has worked out so far. As usual, Weston accepts what I tell him, and then he miraculously keeps the mood light, despite our somber confessions to one another.
“So what you’re making us now, that from your mom?”
“Yeah,” I smile. “It’s a classic back where I’m from. There are a million variations on the recipe, but this is the one that tastes like home to me.”
“I think home has a new taste for me after tonight,” he says, a little swagger in his smirk as he eyes my body.
A flutter of a thrill shoots down into my core, and I try to stay focused on getting the kitchen reset. It doesn’t take that long, but I learned in my first week on the road that putting things where they belong right when you’re done using them is theonlyway to make life work in a living space as compact as this. Nothing gets put off until later. You never know when you’re going to hit the road next, and the last thing Van Gogh or I need is a hot plate ora pan of leftovers flying through the living area, splattering onto the cabinetry, or worse.
By the time the dinner prep is cleaned up, all the cookware has been stowed once again, and the counters are completely empty (minus the air fryer), and wiped down, Weston is seated on the edge of the bed, and the conversation has turnedpersonal.
“What about a fantasy? Anything we can check off tonight?”
Weston’s brows bounce playfully with my question. “Tonightisa fantasy for me, are you kidding?”
My face heats at the raw honesty in his tone, and the flush spreads down to my chest when he keeps talking.
“Getting to taste that perfect pussy, touch those designer tits. Breaking you in and being able to finally fuck you is everything I’ve been dreaming of, angel. It’s all one big, giant check for me.” He grips his dick through his underwear on the last line, and I laugh against my own will because really, that was just ridiculous.
How I still want to ride him senseless after some of the shit that leaves his mouth can only be explained by magic. That must be his superpower. Being completely over the top half the time, and still totally doable. More than doable. He lights my nerves on fire in an instant with a single look, and that mouth of his is just fuel for the flames.
Weston’s tone drops into a lower range and he asks, “How about your fantasies, darlin’? What can I do for you?”
Anything.
Everything.
All of the things, and some new ones I haven’t thought of yet.
But I don’t say that.
Truthfully, there’s alotI’d love to do that I haven’t been brave enough to do with a one-night stand.
Maybe I could be with Weston?
“I still wanna ride it,” I remind him of that truth that slipped out of my tipsy mouth weeks ago. “But I have other fantasies too.”
The images I conjure when it’s late at night, just me and my B.O.B. flash through my mind’s eye. A man—who used to be faceless, just a ripped abdomen and arms with a blurry face, who’s since been replaced by a golden man with an endless tan, deep green eyes, and laugh lines on a face I could never forget—overtop of me for once. Broad shoulders taking up my view, hips pinning me in place as one of his arms holds my hands over my head, and I’m forced to take what he has to give.
