“I’ve never had a pet,” I admit, something soft and warm taking root in my chest. “Always wanted a cat.”
“Noted.” The humor fades as his eyes latch on mine, dead serious. “Any other dealbreakers for you?”
I resist the urge to shake my head. I’ve never had a conversation like this. No one yelling or crying or carrying on over big, emotional topics. Just a calm exchange of information. It’s a welcome change to realize that Wes isn’t going to lose his shit if I tell him the truth.
“You scare me sometimes,” I say after a beat. “You call it impulsive. I call it reckless. I can’t…I need to know I’m not going to get a call one day because you went off half-cocked and got yourself hurt. Or worse.”
Wes lets out a sharp breath and then nods. “The thing with my windows was a bit of a wake-up call. You were right that day. It could have been a lot worse. I got lucky.”
He pauses, shifts his weight from foot to foot, and then adds, “I’ve told you enough about him that it probably isn’t a surprise my dad can’t take a joke. Any kind of criticism, he loses it. Been that way since I was a kid. I decided a long time ago that I didn’t want to be a thing like him. That I wouldn’t take myself too seriously and end up bitter and angry about everything. I think what happened is that I tend to not takeanythingseriously, but there are some things that are worth being serious about.Youare worth being serious about, Sloane.”
I swallow hard. “No more stupid risks?”
“No more stupid risks,” Wes confirms. “But you know chasing is dangerous. I can’t promise there won’t be a close call or two in the future.”
“I know. I get that part. I just want to know that you’re not going to do anything to make itmoredangerous.”
“I won’t. Besides, if I get my way, I’ll have you with me next season to keep me in line.” Wes slides his hand along the counter, tentatively resting his fingers on mine. “Anything else?”
I take a deep breath and push off the counter, moving to stand in front of him. He just admitted he wants us to be together ayearfrom now. It should be enough to banish any lingering doubt, but just to make sure, I force myself to ask the question that’s been on my mind since we decided to come back to Colorado. “Do you want your car, now that we’re here?”
“My car?” Confusion wrinkles his brow. “I was going to say we could swap out for a bit, put the miles on my tires, but if you don’t want to, I’m good with sticking with yours.”
The last bit of my hesitation vanishes at his genuine bafflement. There’s a small part of me that feels enormously stupid for doubting Wes, but we needed to have this conversation.Ineeded it, not just for his words—though I’ll be holding some of those close for a long time to come—but for the undeniable proof that he’s exactly who he’s shown himself to be in our time chasing together.
Physical distance isn’t going to make or break our relationship if we talk to each other, a lesson Wes has just deftly taught me. It won’t always be easy to make this work, but he’s proven at every step he’s willing to try. The least I can do is meet him halfway.
I close the last remaining bit of distance between us and let my palms rest lightly on his chest. “You sure you’re not sick of me and my horrible, awful, no-good taste in music?”
Wes lights up, a grin full of mischief curving his lips. “Darlin’, you and your ridiculously unorganized playlist makemy life interesting,” he says, settling a loose arm around my waist.
Neither one of us is in a hurry to move. We stand together in my kitchen, my cheek on his shoulder, one of his hands idly toying with my hair, and breathe each other in. I trace idle patterns on his chest and listen to the steadiness of his breath, the catch in it when I accidentally graze one of his nipples with my nail. The muscles in his abdomen tighten when I drag my fingertips lower, and I swear he stops breathing when I rest my hand on his waistband, all of the anticipation and want from earlier flooding back in with my doubts quieted.
But there’s one more thing I need to say before we leave this kitchen.
“Wes?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you,” I say softly. “For calling me on my shit. For making me talk about it.”
“I’m not letting you go that easily,” he says, quiet but intensely serious. “I get you’re used to doing everything on your own. I can handle an independent woman. Just don’t shut me out, all right?”
“I’ll do my best.” I glance down the hallway toward my bedroom and lift a teasing brow. “Still want to take me to bed?”
“Always.” But despite the flare of heat in his eyes, Wes doesn’t move. “Earlier, when you said you’re tired of giving instructions…you got me thinking.”
Nervous anticipation floods my veins. “Oh?”
“Nothing kinky. Not tonight anyway.” Burying his free hand in my hair, he lightly massages my scalp. I might nothave a migraine this time, but it feels just as good. “I need your promise you’ll tell me if you don’t like anything.”
“I think we both know that I have no problem telling you when I don’t like something.”
Wes grins and drops a light kiss on the top of my nose. “In that case,” he murmurs, bending to lift me in one smooth motion, “legs around my waist.” I never did put panties back on after I cleaned up earlier, so when my dress bunches around my hips, the only thing between me and his semi-hard cock is the thin layer of his sweatpants.
He grunts softly at the contact, his breath hissing through his teeth when I grind against him.
It’s a slow walk to my bedroom, each step producing delicious friction. Wes pauses halfway down the hall to press me into the wall and claim another searing kiss, but once we’re next to the bed, he doesn’t toss me down like I expect. He lowers me slowly to my feet, my body dragging against his, and then reaches behind his head to grasp his shirt one-handed. It comes off with a yank, and then he rasps, “Take off my pants.”
