Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
My heart is beating loudly in my ears as I open it. Then wildly in my throat as I read.
Hey Josie,
You left this behind, and I’m honestly glad you did. I’m returning it since it’s yours. But also because I’d really like to see you again. Can I show you around San Francisco sometime soon?
Wesley Bryant
It’s so simple and so perfect. I clutch it to my chest, closing my eyes, my cells flooding with sunshine. His lips sweep over my shoulder once more. “Guess it was just a matter of timing,” he murmurs against my skin.
Timing.
That’s always been the challenge for us. I open my eyes and meet his—they’re full of longing and want. “Our timing hasn’t always been right, has it?”
He shakes his head, his tone sad as he says, “No, it hasn’t.”
And it still isn’t. Timing is the reason I’ll have to move home far too soon.
And I don’t want to push anything now. I don’t want to define this. But I do want—I’m just realizing it this very second—more of him. I’m scared to ask for it though. Scared to figure out what this new thing with us is. What if this moment is just pillow talk?
“Hey. What’s going on?” Wes asks.
If I went to improv, I can do this. It’s okay to be afraid. “I like you. A lot,” I say.
He laughs, smiles, and then covers my mouth with a kiss before he says, “It’s sooo mutual.” He reaches for my hand and slides his fingers through mine. “Was that hard to say?”
“I had one serious boyfriend in college and then after college we dated too,” I say, then quickly backpedal. “I’m not suggesting this…or that we’re having a…or anything. But just that a lot of this is…new to me. I haven’t been with anyone in a while.”
He understands what I haven’t said out loud, since he nods, then says, “I haven’t been with anyone in a while. Not since New York. I dated a woman there. Anna,” he says, and I remember what he said about her—that she said he didn’t like anything but hockey. She was the one who wanted him to debate philosophical issues with her.
He drops another kiss to my shoulder. “It’s different with you, Josie.”
The world halts, slowing to this moment, to that admission, to the thing every person longs to hear—that we’re special to someone else.
I touch his cheek, tracing a line along his jaw. “It’s different with you too.”
I don’t entirely know what that means or where we’re going or what we’re doing. But I’m sure tonight isn’t a one-time thing.
I settle into the crook of his arm, then run my fingers over the ink covering his right arm. “I think I’ve figured them out. Your tattoos.”
“Decipher me, then.”
I trace the dog. “You’re into dogs. You want one. So the dog is like a goal.”
“Yes.”
I run a finger along the music notes. “The music is your love for songs and lyrics. It’s your present—but also your purest interest.”
“You’re too observant,” he says, sounding ridiculously pleased.
“And then you have these sunbursts,” I say, traveling along the thick black lines that curve and bend near his shoulder. “What are they for?”
“Passion, desire, bravery,” he says simply.
I sit with that for a minute, considering the meaning behind them. “Who you want to be? In your job and in life?”
Wesley’s gaze catches mine, and he holds it for a long, potent moment. His eyes are dark brown pools, and it feels like the air is shimmering between us. “You know me,” he says easily, but that can’t have been easy to say.
“I think I do,” I whisper.
“You do.” He cups my face and presses a gentle kiss to my lips. “Stay the night.”
I had a feeling he was going to say that. But I needed to hear it.
I curl up next to him, terribly unsure of what will happen in the morning—but incredibly okay with the uncertainty.
His eyes flutter closed as he coasts a finger along the scar on my chin, then kisses it before he falls fast asleep.
32
MONSTER-SIZE
Wesley
I wake up to a note from my dad blinking at me on my phone.
Dad: What’s the verdict? Lunch today? We can go to a new bowl place by the Marina. And I’ve been thinking, if Frieda’s artwork isn’t your style, I can take you shopping for…something else for the walls. Before your session with Domingo this afternoon
.
As I drag a hand through my bedhead hair, I snort a laugh—the dude is relentless, but I guess I did say I’d connect with him today.
Josie rustles. Shit, I didn’t want to wake her. She turns to me, eyes fluttering open, question marks in them.
I waggle the phone. “It’s my dad. I think he acknowledged that Frieda’s art is horrifying. But of course it’s wrapped around reminders of what he wants me to do today.”