Chase Me If You Can(28)
With a skeptical lift of my brow, I jab my empty fork toward his plate. “You’re telling me you know how to make waffles from scratch?”
He grins. “Invite me over again. I’ll prove it.”
“No thanks,” I say quickly, hoping my face doesn’t give away just how much a part of me would enjoy having a shirtless Wes back in my kitchen. “I don’t need food poisoning.”
“My mom would murder me on the spot if I gave anyone food poisoning.” He shakes his head, though behind his good-natured laugh, there’s a flash of something deeper. “She’s the one who taught me to make them. Her mom was from Belgium. Old family recipe.” He leans closer, mischief dancing in his gray eyes. “Ask me very nicely, and I might be willing to tell you the secret.”
Scoffing, I dive back into my waffle and try not to think about how nice it must have been to have a mom like that—or how much I’ve laughed over the last couple of days.
Or that Wes might not be as spoiled as I’ve always thought.
Later, when I’m in my room and brushing my teeth, I nearly spit toothpaste all over the bathroom mirror when I open a text to find a photo of Wes with the caption Too tall for life again. He’s in the shower, the showerhead hitting just below his collarbones. The look on his face of exaggerated dismay only has me laughing harder.
With the camera off to his side, I can’t see anything but a faint sprinkling of dark hair on his chest, but the water is on. Which means Wes is naked.
Sounds like a you problem but thanks for the laugh, I quickly text back before locking my phone. I don’t look at the photo again. And I definitely don’t feel any kind of way about Wes quoting my own words back to me.
* * *
I swear I’m halfway to a coma when the knock on my door jerks me out of sleep. Not awake enough to think too hard about who the hell would be knocking this early in the morning, I stumble out of bed and yank the door open.
Grinning like a madman, Wes is barely managing to balance two cups of coffee and two packages of violently pink Peeps. Where the hell did he find those in the middle of nowhere at whatever terrible time it is?
His expression falters slightly when I grunt incoherently, and that’s before his eyes dip down to my thin tank top. My hair is long, but not quite long enough to cover up the fact that I’m not wearing a bra.
Wes jerks his attention up to my face, color crawling into his cheeks. “Uh, sorry. It’s ten. I figured you were up by now.”
“Ten?” I twist my wrist to stare at my watch, where the tiny numbers read 10:06 a.m. “Shit! I forgot to set an alarm.”
He shuffles his feet, suddenly very intent on looking anywhere but at me. “I can leave this with you while you get dressed.”
My sleep-fogged brain is determined to give Wes a show. I bend over to grab a sweatshirt out of my bag, only remembering at the sound of his sharp inhale just how short my shorts actually are. He just got an eyeful of my ass.
Face burning, I yank the sweatshirt over my head and tug on the hem as though embarrassment has magical powers to summon up a few extra inches of fabric.
At least I’m not the only one blushing like a teenager.
“You might as well come in,” I mumble, taking the coffee gratefully as I give myself a firm internal lecture. “You already checked the models?”
Wes takes a few tentative steps into the room and hovers by the door as it slides shut behind him. “Yeah. I don’t think it’s going to do anything exciting. Nothing to make it worth driving three hours in the opposite direction of where we want to be tomorrow.”
“So it’s a down day?” I pull up a quick mental map of anything nearby we may want to check out, but there’s not much besides ranch land between us and tomorrow’s target.
“Looks like. Carlsbad isn’t too far from Hobbs. If we get down there early enough we might be able to catch the bats. It’s been so warm this year I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re out.”
“You want to spend your Easter driving seven hours to photograph a swarm of bats?” I grin, thankful to be on more familiar footing, and take a small sip of coffee. It’s gas station brew—local shops are likely closed for the holiday—but it’s useful for prying my eyes fully open. I’ll think about Wes paying attention to how I take my coffee, never mind presenting it to me without being asked, later. “Sounds fun. I’m just going to need pants,” I add with a sheepish grin at my bare legs.
Wes is still staring at my legs when I look up. He takes a hasty sip of his coffee, swallows in a gulp, and then tosses me a package of Peeps. “Breakfast,” he says by way of explanation.
“Radioactive marshmallow is not breakfast!”
“You don’t want any part of the sandwiches they’ve got next door, trust me.” He shakes with an exaggerated shudder, though he still won’t look directly at me. His free hand fiddles with the brim of another of his hats, this one from an outdoor brand he did some work for a few years ago. “I’ll just…meet you downstairs in a little bit, yeah?”
“I only need ten minutes.”
Wes leaves with another awkward wave. I can’t help staring at the door after it’s fallen shut, wondering how after so many years of seeing him nothing but cool, calm, and collected, I’ve now managed to fluster him twice in the span of a couple of days.