Running a one-woman business takes so much time and energy there isn’t always much left over for anyone else, especially by the time my family is done with me. June is mybusiest month, but my calendar is never really quiet outside of the weeks I spend on the plains.
It’s a huge part of why I’ve barely dated. The few times I tried for anything serious, the guys were always understanding—at first. That quickly morphed into almost constant complaints that I didn’t make them a priority. With Wes on the road through the end of June and then jumping right into monsoon season for the summer, our time for each other is going to be limited.
Not that he seems concerned about it.
“We’ll figure it out. Am I showering alone?”
“Yes. We need to get going,” I remind him with a playful shove. There’s nothing to be done about my worries right now. I’m just going to have to wait to see what happens when summer camp is over.
“An unfortunately valid point.” Wes saunters off to the bathroom, giving me a delicious view of his muscled ass and the tattoos running down his spine. “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll still send you your daily shower porn.”
“I think you need to work on your definition of porn!” I call after him with a shake of my head. He’s still laughing when the bathroom door closes.
Forcing myself out of bed, I grab a shirt from the top of his bag and pull it over my head before checking emails and messages. Of course there are at least ten from my mother, and four more from Eric.
Deciding my brother is the lesser evil, I tap his name first.
I don’t have room to store Wes’s car at the garage forever. Put it in your driveway. Keys on the counter.
You’re welcome.
Fix your second step. Almost broke my damn leg trying to get in your house.
Stay safe out there, okay? I don’t want to have to be the one to tell Mom if anything happens to you.
I’m glad Wes isn’t present to witness the riot of emotions that have me sucking in a breath. When he told me that Eric finished the repairs days ago, I wanted to believe his motivations were good. That he meant it last night when he said he isn’t interested in casual with me.
Under his antics, Wes possesses a sweet streak I never expected. He makes me feel cared for, cherished, in a way very few people ever have. He’s generous with his affection, and he’sdefinitelynot bad in bed.
But he also loves photography with a single-minded obsession that can easily turn toward recklessness. I’ve witnessed it time and time again over the years. Dented bumpers. Shredded tires.
This season hasn’t been any different. That dangerous and pointless hook punch. His windows. The time he nearly drove us into that flooded road. Lying down in the middle of the road with a tornado barreling right at us, so distracted by his need to get his shot that we nearly got clotheslined by downed wires.
Wes goes after what he wants. It’s a quality that’s made him a successful photographer, but what would it mean for uslong term? I already have a family that puts their goals, their wants, ahead of mine at every turn.
All of my mother’s relationships start out with sunny skies. I’ve seen her showered with gifts and affection time and time again. For a month. Maybe two. And then I’ve watched her smiles turn brittle over and over again, watched her exhaust herself trying harder and harder and harder to be what those men wanted in the end.
Never once has she bothered to look for the inevitable storm lurking just over the horizon. What might come after the honeymoon phase.
When it comes down to it, I still don’t know if Wes will make me a priority when it takes effort. When I’m not in the same car, or even the same state.
Last night might have been a mistake. Not because I didn’t want or enjoy what happened between us—I did—but that might be the problem. The deeper I let him carve himself into my heart, the more likely it will destroy me if—when—he makes impulsive and reckless decisions at the expense of our relationship.
I shove the thought aside. The emotional minefield of contemplating my future with Wes will have to wait. We’re together now, and with three more weeks until I need to return to Colorado, I don’t need to figure it all out right now with the scent of his skin still on mine.
I do need to deal with my mother.
More than half of the messages are the usual overly dramatic guilt trips. No one ever mowed the damn lawn. She’s been fined by the HOA. Again. She wants me todeal with thatuppity witch—the HOA president, Sharon Campbell—and somehow magically solve her problems from five hundred miles away.
I’m still fuming when my phone lights up with another text from Eric.Call Mom. She’s freaking out. Sam and I tried to calm her down but you know how she is. She doesn’t listen to us.
I almost throw my phone.
Wes finds me glaring at it, my temper running so hot that not even the sight of him in a towel distracts me. “Um, Sloane? What happened in the last ten minutes?”
“My mother.” I don’t look up, continuing my furious texting. “I’ve never met a woman so determined to be so helpless.”
“Did both of your brothers go out of town?”
