“Checking to see if you have a fever.”
“Do I look that terrible?” she asked, crossing her arms defensively over her stomach.
“You couldn’t look bad if you tried, brown eyes. I heard you were sick.”
“How is that even possible?”
“Word travels fast ‘round here. You should probably keep that in mind before trusting anyone with your secrets.”
“And who do you trust?”
“No one.”
“Of course,” she huffed. “Well, thanks for your concern, but I’m fine.”
“Your aunt says otherwise. I ran into her at the grocery store. She might’ve mentioned you went home sick from work today.”
“Well, she shouldn’t have. It’s not a big deal.”
I ignored her, reaching for her forehead one more time.
She slapped at my hand once again. “Will you stop that!”
“This is my fault. I shouldn’t have let you leave the house without real shoes.”
She looked exhausted as she sighed, resting her head against the doorframe. “That was weeks ago. There’s no way this is related. And even if it was, it wouldn’t be your fault. It’s just a migraine.”
“You get those often?”
“No. Only when I’m stressed.”
“What are you stressing about?”
“Nothing.”
“Keeping that secret to yourself?” I taunted.
“Just taking your advice,” she droned, her eyes dropping to my side. “What’s in the bag?”
“Provisions. I got the one thing you need for anything that ails you…” I grinned, lifting the bag with the Tupperware container. “Homemade chicken noodle soup. It should do the trick.”
“You made me chicken noodle soup?” An emotion flashed across her face and was gone before I could identify it.
“No, Grams did. I just made the phone call and the trip to her house to pick it up. But hopefully that still counts for something.”
She gave me an amused smile as she opened the door wider, stepping aside. I passed her the bag and she carried it into the kitchen around the corner. I slipped off my jacket, hanging it on the coat rack she had in the entry while my eyes scanned the cozy living room.
The couch sat centered in the room, anchored by two end tables with lamps, directly across from a large-screen TV mounted above the fireplace. White built-in shelves and cabinets flanked each side of the fireplace, already jam-packed with her things. Her place seemed like she’d been living here for years rather than weeks, with the way every room was already decorated and organized.
I walked over to the fireplace, where she had a couple of unlit logs stacked inside. Squatting down, I surveyed the handful of used matches piled off to the side. Shaking my head in amusement, I picked up the nearly empty box.
“You got an old newspaper or something?” I hollered over my shoulder toward the kitchen, where I could hear her tinkering around.
“Do people still read those things?” she yelled back.
I chuckled.
“Kidding! Check on top of the coffee table.”
I glanced over at the table, finding last Sunday’s local paper. I restacked the logs, pulling a few off to give the fire some room to breathe, then checked to make sure the damper was open. Crumpling up a few pages, I stuffed them under and between the logs. I lit the edge of a piece of the sports section, using it to ignite the rest of the paper. Within minutes the logs were starting to catch.
“You come all this way to light my fire?” she asked from behind me.
“I wish,” I muttered, lifting from my knees.
“What’s that?” She cocked her head, innocently.
“Nothing.” I grinned over at where she stood just inside the living room with two mugs filled with soup.
“I made you one.” She offered the one in her right hand, passing it off to me with a spoon.
“I brought that for you.”
“I can share. She made enough for the whole town.”
“You’ve obviously never had Grams’ cooking, or you wouldn’t be complaining about the amount, and you definitely wouldn’t be so willing to share.”
Giving me a soft smile, she took a seat on one end of the couch, pulling her feet onto the cushions and her knees to her chest. “Then I can’t wait to try it.” She cupped the mug with one hand as she lifted the spoon to her mouth.
I waited patiently for her reaction and within seconds of her first bite, she was humming with appreciation.
“Oh. My. Gosh,” she mumbled through another bite.
“Told ya,” I said proudly, taking a seat on the other end of her couch.
“Does she make the noodles from scratch or something?”
“Family secret,” I responded, taking a bite myself.
“So, you don’t know,” she concluded.
“Hell no! That woman will probably take all her recipes to the grave. I’m pretty sure she even leaves off a few key ingredients in the church fundraiser recipe book,” I grumbled.
She flung her head back with a hearty laugh. “Oh my gosh. You sound so bitter.”
I grinned over at her. Every time I heard her laugh, it made my world a little brighter. Especially when I knew it was me making her do it. A deep-seated desire inside me wanted to make it my life’s mission to make her laugh at least once a day.
“Were you about to watch a movie?” I jutted my chin toward the TV that was frozen on some introductory credits.
“Netflix marathon.” She took another bite and then sipped some of the broth from her cup.
I sat my mug on the table, picking up the remote to hit play, then settled back into the couch.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s getting late. We should probably get started.”
“You’re staying?”
“Unless you don’t want me to.” I glanced over at her, raising a brow.
“No. I mean, yes. I do. It’s just…it’s Friday night.”
“And?”
“This is really how you want to spend your Friday night?” she asked, setting her mug aside to face me.
“It’s exactly how I want to spend my Friday night.” I reached for her ankles, pulling her fuzzy-socked feet into my lap, before looking back at the TV.
“Wes.” There was a warning in her tone, laced with hesitation.
“Relax, Doc. The show’s starting,” I demanded, keeping my eyes on the screen. It wasn’t until I felt her body do just that, that I glanced at her again.
“Before I forget to tell you,” she yawned, her head nuzzling into a throw pillow. “Thank you for the soup. And the fire,” she added sleepily as I began to gently rub at the soles of her feet with my thumbs.
“No problem, brown eyes. Now be quiet.”
She nudged my stomach with her toes and I chuckled.
* * *
I woke up to something vibrating my leg. I rubbed at the crick in my neck as I lifted my head from the back of the couch. I glanced down at my lap where Devin’s feet still rested, one sock now missing and the other making its way off her foot. The buzzing started again. Shifting as carefully as possible, I dug my phone out of my front pocket.
A missed call and a couple text alerts from Billy were on my screen. After looking at the clock on my phone, I rubbed a palm against the rough stubble on my face. It was four in the morning.
Fuck.
I was late for work.
I glanced over at Devin, who was still sound asleep. Lifting her feet as gently as possible, I slid out from under her. The last thing I wanted to do was leave her. I’d prefer to be carrying her to bed and curling up beside her for the rest of the morning.
Picking up the edge of her blanket, I adjusted it so she was completely covered. I flipped off the TV, setting the remote on the table. She moved and I stilled as she rolled to her side on the couch, mumbling something incoherent. When she settled, I instinctively leaned down, kissing the top of her head, taking one more g
ood look at the softness in her expression as she slept. My phone started to vibrate again, and I swore under my breath as I sneaked out her front door, locking it behind me.
“Chill, Miller. I’m on my way,” I barked, answering my phone on her front porch.
“You fucking better be. Your old man is pissed and taking it out on the rest of us,” he grumbled.
“Shit. Sorry, man,” I apologized as I rushed down the steps and to my truck. I jumped in and started it up. “I must have dozed off while watching a show.”
“Where are you, anyway? And don’t tell me at home because I already checked there. It’s not like you to do an all-nighter at some chick’s house when we have an early start. You with Mandy or something?”
“Hell, no. I ended that weeks ago. And not that it’s any of your business, but Devin’s.”
“Devin. Huh.”
“It wasn’t like that, so keep your mouth shut. Or my dad won’t be the only one kicking your ass today.”
He laughed. “All right, man. Just hurry the hell up.”
“Be there in ten,” I confirmed before hanging up the phone and hauling ass past the city-limit sign.
* * *
“You boys get enough to eat?” Grams asked as she took a seat next to me at the table with Colton in her lap. His tiny fingers went for the butter knife and fork, but she pushed them out of his reach.
“Yes ma’am,” Billy answered, nodding his head as he dragged his napkin over his mouth.
“Delicious as always, Grams,” I added, standing from her table and kissing her cheek before picking up my dirty plate to take to the sink. Billy followed behind me with his own plate.
“Rushing off already? I have some fresh peach cobbler in there that needs to be eaten.”
“Wish we could, but Dad’s already in a piss-poor mood. We need to get back to work.”
“And whose fault is that?” Billy muttered beside me and then grunted, glaring over at me as he rubbed the spot where I’d just elbowed him in warning.
Grams didn’t miss a thing, the wrinkles in her brow deepening as she stared at us. The old woman was as sharp as a tack.
“Later, Grams. Thanks for lunch.” I smiled, moving quickly to leave. Billy’s steps were right on my heels.
“Now hold on just one minute,” Grams commanded.
We both halted, glancing back over our shoulders.
“Billy, you and Hannah will be over for Sunday dinner tomorrow night.” It wasn’t so much a question as an order.
“Yes, ma’am,” Billy agreed like a good little boy.
Pussy. I smirked.
“Wes, make sure to invite Devin over, too.”
The grin on my face disappeared faster than shit off a shovel. “We’re just friends, Grams,” I insisted, not sure I sounded as convincing as I hoped.
“All the more reason. It’s about time I met the girl in person. I’ve heard enough about her. Time to put a face to the name.”
I nodded. No use in arguing. If I didn’t invite her myself, Grams would figure out a way to get her there on her own. Might as well prepare Devin ahead of time.
Billy snickered beside me as we walked out of the house. I shoved him and he laughed harder, stumbling down the steps.
“Friends my ass,” he cackled.
“Watch it, Miller. Just because you’re married to City with a kid on the way, doesn’t mean I won’t still beat your ass.”
He threw his palms up in surrender, making a poor effort at containing his now silent laughter. “Just find it hard to believe is all.”
“What’s so hard to believe?”
“You being friends with Devin. Unless… Oh, shit”—his smile widened with his eyes—“she friend zoned you, didn’t she?”
I ignored him, yanking open my truck door.
He climbed into the passenger seat across from me, still staring at me in shock. “She had to. Because there’s no fucking way being friends was your idea. Either that or you’re losing your touch, brother.”
“I’m not your brother. I’m your boss. Remember that.”
I backed the truck up, flipping it around and taking off down the dirt road toward the field we’d been working. Finally quieting, Billy rested an elbow on the edge of the open window as the cool autumn air rushed through the cab.
I glanced over at him, his words bugging the hell out of me. “How do you know I wasn’t the one who wanted to be friends?”
His head tilted to the side. A silent stare of skepticism was his only response.
I focused back on the road. “Screw you. Mind your own business,” I ordered.
He chuckled under his breath, annoying me more. Mostly because, maybe he was on to something.
Maybe I was losing my touch with the ladies. I’d been going through an abnormal dry spell. Since the first night I’d met Devin, to be exact.
My knuckles flexed as I fisted the steering wheel tighter. It was time to shit or get off the pot, I decided.
Billy jumped out of the truck as soon as I parked. He glanced back at me when I didn’t make the same move.
“Right behind you,” I said.
With a smug smile I wanted to punch off his face, he strutted off to fire up a tractor. I pulled out my phone, scrolling through my contacts.
Wes: How ya feeling?
I didn’t have to wonder long whether she’d respond. The gray dots appeared immediately at the bottom of my screen.
Devin: Better. I think you were right about the soup.
Wes: Usually am. ;)
Devin:
Wes: Glad you’re feeling better. You got plans tomorrow night?
Devin: Depends…why?
Wes: You’ve been summoned for Sunday dinner.
Devin: Who’s cooking?
Wes: Grams.
Devin: In that case, I’m wide open.
My grin widened. My fingers moved swiftly.
11
DEVIN
Another text-message alert dinged. Setting the spoon on the counter, I turned the stove down to a simmer before picking up my phone again. I bit down on the smile growing on my lips as I read the message.
Wes: Killing me, Doc. I’m getting visuals over here.
Devin: Mind out of the gutter, slick. FRIENDS.
Wes: You still set on that?
I started to type “no” as a knee-jerk reaction, then deleted it, my chest tightening. It was getting harder to deny the chemistry between us. Every little thing he did made it so easy to want to throw every doubt I had out the window.
Devin: What time tomorrow?
I held my breath, waiting for his response to my avoidance. I didn’t want to lie to him, but I wasn’t sure I could take that leap with him either. A change in subject felt like the best solution.
When a good two minutes went by with no reply, I sagged against the counter. I set my phone down and went back to making my lunch with a heaviness in my stomach. I was dishing up a bowl of leftover soup by the time my phone finally chimed again.
Wes: Six. I’ll pick you up.
Devin: I can drive myself.
I was pushing my luck. At this point, he may un-invite me altogether. But that would be better than it feeling like a date.
Wes: Six, Doc. Be ready.
I set my phone down, only half-relieved. He didn’t hate me. But I was pretty sure his patience was running out. I wasn’t dumb enough to think he was good with being friends. I’d known the minute he agreed in the diner that it wasn’t what he really wanted. It was written all over his face.
Problem was, I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to take what he’d be offering: a good time in his bed with no strings attached. That wasn’t me. That wasn’t what I wanted. But part of me wondered if it was just what I needed. Jumping into a new relationship after barely coming out of a failed one was never a good idea.
* * *
I groaned, tossing another outfit to my floor as I trudged back over to my nearly empty closet in my bra and panties. Ov
er half of my wardrobe was scattered across my bedroom floor. I had nothing to wear.
No. Really. Nothing.
At least nothing that made me feel sexy, but not too slutty for Sunday dinner with his family, but still hot enough to impress Wes, without giving him the wrong impression.
Was that so much to ask?
I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. He’d be here in less than thirty minutes. I flopped backward onto my bed with a groan and stared at the ceiling, only lifting to my elbows when my phone began to ring. Jenna’s name and smiling face flashed onto the screen and a wave of guilt flashed through me.
“Hey. What’s going on?” I answered, sitting on the edge of my bed.
“Not much, just making brownies for the kids’ fall fundraiser tomorrow. Mom said you were sick the other night. You okay?”
“Yeah. It was just a migraine.”
“That sucks. But glad it wasn’t something worse. What are you up to?”
“Uh, not much…just trying to find something to wear to dinner.”
“Hot date?” she teased. The hopeful glee in her voice didn’t help the rolling guilt in my stomach.
“Not exactly…” I let out a heavy breath, knowing I’d only feel worse if I didn’t come clean. “I’m having Sunday dinner at the Monroes’.”
The line fell silent and I pulled the phone from my ear, wondering if we’d gotten disconnected.
“As in Grams’ Sunday dinner?”
“Yeah…” I chewed on my thumbnail.
More silence followed.
We hadn’t talked much about Wes since her wedding, other than her informing me that he’d disappeared from her life altogether. His choice, not hers. She’d tried multiple times to reach out to him since, and every time her calls and texts went unanswered. She’d given up after six months of trying to no avail.
“Jen?”
“Yeah…I’m here.”
“You okay? Is that okay?”
“What? Of course. I’m just shocked is all. Not that I should be. It’s just…how is he?”
“He’s good.” Neither one of us needed to say his name. There was only one Monroe she’d ever be that concerned about. “He’s single.” I smacked my forehead with an open palm as I shook my head. There was no need to point that out.
Taming Wes: BOOK THREE|BILLINGSLEY SERIES Page 10