I hang up, and my mind spins. What the hell just happened? Did Nash and I do what we always do? Fight then love?
Climbing off the stool, I pad my way back to my room, lost in thoughts of two very different men who’ve just turned my world upside down.
Still Day 8
“Come with me, Ms. Gwen. You have to see this.” Flapping his hands, Garrett’s big, excited eyes flash to the large display of Deadpool in the local comic book store’s front window. It’s complete with a cardboard cutout of the man himself.
Smiling back at Garrett, I follow right on his tail. He picks up a stack of comics and sifts through them, careful not to damage the pages.
“Look at these. They’re awesome!” He’s speaking more to himself than me. It’s so damn cute.
A palm settles in the middle of my back, followed by half of a man pressing himself there. His other hand slips around my waist, and my heart flutters. “Someone has turned my son into a comic book nerd.” Wes chuckles, kissing the back of my head.
“Says the man with the Batman pajamas,” I kid, oddly savoring the heat of his palms. Which is a drastic contrast on how I thought I’d be feeling.
After I’d freshened up in my room before our outing today, I had some time to think and was finally able to gain a bit of clarity in my life. Nash is hundreds of miles away, yet, seemingly not, since he owns a piece of my heart. So, at times, he’s right here, whispering in my ear, telling me what to do. As much as I hate to say this, I have to let that go. I can’t feel trapped by a man who’s not even mine. Not when I have one right here, giving me affection and his undivided attention.
Why’s Wes doing it? Why is he openly touching my hip when his son is here? I don’t have the answers for that. All I know is that my body likes it, my mind loves it, and I have to stop fighting my attraction, even if part of me welcomes that this is temporary. That I might get hurt in the end. That he could be playing me for a fool. If that’s the case, then I’ll have to deal when the time comes. I can’t live in the, what ifs, and I sure as fuck can’t be drowning in this guilt any longer. The whore that resides within me craves Wes. There’s no doubt about it. So why should I cage her if that’s what she desires? Why should I cage myself, if that’s what I also enjoy? It doesn’t make any sense. Not when I’m a single, grown, adult woman with a sexy, albeit confusing, playboy here to keep me company, if only for a little while. In the wise words of REO Speedwagon … ‘I can’t fight this feeling anymore. I’ve forgotten what I started fighting for. It's time to bring this ship into the shore and throw away the oars, forever…’ Or something along those lines.
Good-naturedly, Wes squeezes my hip. “Hey! You like The Bat.”
“I dunno. I’m thinkin’ this Deadpool guy might be better suited for me. Garrett seems to love him. And there’s just something about a man in a red suit with a cocky mouth that gets me all tingly.” Grinning like a dork, I faux shiver to solidify my point.
Warm lips brush the outer shell of my ear as that hand on my hip grips tighter, sending a blast of cosmic heat between my thighs. Oooo … I like when Wes plays like this. “Don’t abandon The Bat for some mutant in red. Bruce Wayne has it all, Kitten. Money, women, a secret identity, and an addiction to a certain feline.” He purrs to my ear. Goosebumps break out, flooding down my frame. I shiver for real this time. Fuck, he’s already started foreplay in the middle of a comic store, and I like it. Sweet Jesus, I’m sick.
Thankfully, Garrett goes and bursts our hot little bubble when he lifts a fat stack of comics in the air. “Dad, Ms. Gwen, can I get these?”
“Yes.” I nod at the same time Wes says, “Are ya sure you don’t wanna try some Batman ones, bud?”
Without warning, Garrett busts up laughing. “Dad, I’m not into Batman. We’ve gone over that. I like Lara Croft, and now Deadpool.” Fidgeting, he hugs his stack of comics to his chest, so he doesn’t drop them. “Batman’s all yours.” Garrett’s eyes shift to me, gleaming with mischief. “Has Dad shown you his bat cave?”
Glancing over my shoulder at Wes, he gripes. “Bud, that’s a secret.”
“Not anymore.” He beams, all teeth and adorableness. “You should see it, Ms. Gwen. Dad has this secret door in his office that opens into a room that he calls his bat cave. It’s awesome!”
Perking my brow, trying not to laugh at Wes’s caught-red-handed expression, I ask, “So what’s in this bat cave, Wesley?”
Wes doesn’t get a chance to answer when Garrett happily fills in the blanks. “He grew up watching Batman and Robin. You know, that old show?” I nod. “Well, he’s been collecting Batman stuff for years. And he even has comic books from before I was born.” Garrett’s eyes flash wide at the thought. As if sixteen years is really that old. Silly boy.
“Enough about that, Bud,” Wes stammers uncomfortably. “Let’s get you those merc with a mouth comics and get outta here.” Wes doesn’t say another word as he leads the way to the register and pays for his son’s reading material.
Returning his hand to the small of my back, Wes escorts me from the store. Our driver is standing outside of the limo as we step onto the pavement. “Bud, give Randy the comics so we can go grab some ice-cream at Sally’s.”
Garrett does just that, and we walk down the street, window shopping all the way to Sally’s. Inside the quaint shop, Garrett finds us a booth, as Wes and I take to the counter. This place is cute. Not as nice as Whisky’s Corrupt Confections in my town, but it’s got a nostalgic red and white fifties vibe going on. Wes orders a white mint chocolate chip milkshake for Garrett, a peanut butter sundae for himself, and then he sideways glances at me, waiting for me to decide. The handwritten menu scrawled on the wall is enormous. It’s too hard to pick just one. I love banana splits, just as much as I love a cookie dough flurry, or chocolate dipped cone. Hmmm … what to choose … what to choose… Uh. I can’t.
“You pick,” I command too sharply.
Wes drapes his arm casually over my shoulders, locking me closer to his side. “Come on, Kitten. You should pick.” Coolly, like the Fonz himself, he points to the board. “I don’t even know what ya like.”
The aging, white-haired woman behind the counter gives us a sweet smile, as she spends a little too much time ogling Wes’s hotness. With considerable effort, I attempt to pay no mind to her roaming eyes that are eating him alive. How can he not realize this? Does he not comprehend how sexy he is? Wait, of course, he does. He’s Wes. Knowing him, he’s probably got a stiffy right now from all the attention.
Call me territorial, or cray-cray, or something less pleasing, but my vindictive self, curls further into Wes so I can place my hand right on top of his t-shirt clad abs. They bunch under my palm, and I feel him quiver. Locking my other arm around his lower back, I hook my thumb into his side belt loop. My head leans onto his pec. Yep, lady, take that.
I hear his throat work. “Kitten?” His tone is hoarse.
Oh … right.
“I like banana splits with no strawberry or pineapple toppings. Only hot fudge. But I also love cookie dough flurries with extra cookie dough. Or those cones—you know the vanilla ice cream dipped in chocolate ones. They’re messy but soooo good.” My mouth waters at the thought.
“You heard the lady,” he notes.
“Wait, what?” I cry.
No way!
“Sir, you want all of that including your other orders?” The woman bats her eyelashes at Wes.
“Yes,” he affirms.
“No. No, he doesn’t. He’s mistaken.” I speak quickly, my pitch higher than normal. Then I gape at him as he glances down at me. “I can’t eat all of that, Wes. That’s too much. Please, it’s a waste. Just pick one of those.”
“Nope. You can’t decide so you should try ‘em all. It’s just ice-cream, Kitten. It’s not a big deal.”
It’s a huge deal.
“Do you want me to get fat?” I croak.
Wes’s corner lip quirks into a snicker, and he shakes his head. “Fat or not, you�
�ll still be beautiful.” He lifts his eyes from me to the ogling woman. My belly does a flop. Sometimes, he’s too damn sweet. “We’ll take them all,” he finishes. And just like that, it’s done. I can’t win, anyhow, so when Wes guides me back to the corner booth where Garrett’s seated. I slip in first, and he drops in beside me, throwing his arm over the back.
Throughout our ice-cream lunch, Garrett animatedly speaks about his new comics and some level he’s made it to on his game. Wes carries on with him like he knows exactly what his son’s talking about. I do not. So I spend my time gorging on delicious ice-cream and listening to two of the most amazing guys I’ve ever met.
Throwing a twenty on the table, Wes gracefully stands from the booth and offers me his hand. I take it, and he yanks me to my feet directly at his side. That soothing palm finds its place in the middle of my back all over again as we exit the joint.
“Where to now, Dad?” Garrett tosses his words next to his temple like he’s casting another spell as we stop on the sidewalk. Twitching, he starts to sway.
A fat man passes us and downright stares at Garrett. It pisses me off. I glare at the jerk as I wrap Garrett into a hug to shield him from the asshole. He’s taken aback for a split second before he returns the gesture.
“If you’re excited to read your comics, we can go home now,” I offer, stepping out of our hug to see Wes watching us in a strange way. I try not to notice, and keep my attention fixed on Garrett instead.
“No way, Ms. Gwen. Can we go to the park?”
“Sure we can, Bud. Anything you want.”
At the park a couple blocks over, Garrett plays with the other kids. Kids that are much younger than him, but that he seems to relate better with. They’re busy playing tag.
The nicest thing about younger children is they care even less about your differences as long as you’re fun and friendly.
Squealing, he escapes a little blonde girl trying to tag his back. She misses him by an inch, and he laughs, his red face glowing with exhilaration. It fills me with joy to see him like this. He’s an amazing kid. A kid who’s changed me forever. Being a teacher, you meet children, hundreds of them throughout your career. Then there’s that special few that stick like glue, taking up space in your heart. Garrett is one of those kids. He’s special. Not because he’s autistic. It’s his zest for life, big heart, and willingness to overcome his obstacles that make me love him. He’s truly one of a kind.
On the bench seated beside me, Wes pats my knee, letting his hand settle there.
“You’re awfully touchy-feely,” I observe kindly, resting my smaller hand atop his huge one. Wes flips his palm over and folds his fingers through mine. I let him. It feels weird, yet nice. I couldn’t tell you the last time I’ve held someone’s hand. Those fluttery feelings return.
“There’s just something about you, Kitten. I can’t help myself.”
Not wanting to, I blush at his compliment. Giddiness I’ve never felt before fills me to the brim.
“Thank you,” I mutter, rotating my head away so he doesn’t see my heated cheeks, which’ll just embarrass me more. “You’re not one to shy away from complimenting a woman, are ya?” The question is rhetorical.
“The truth is the truth. No use in hiding it. So how’d the family chat go this morning?”
“It was alright.” Frowning, I shrug. “Nash stole the phone from Trish, so we talked.”
“You don’t sound very happy about that.”
I stare off into the distance, thinking of the best way to explain Nash and me without actually having to explain. “Nash and I have a complicated relationship.” That’s vague enough.
“Define complicated.”
Shit. He’s not going to let this go. I can tell by Wes’s interested tenor and body language. He’s still holding my hand, with our shoulders and legs touching. Guess I should just get this over with. Rip off the Band-Aid.
“You promise not to judge?” Fuck, this is hard. I’ve never had to discuss this with someone before. Ever.
An offended sound battles in Wes’s throat. “Seriously, Kitten? Have you not seen the way I live?”
Touché.
Taking a deep breath, my chest expanding, I wrap my mind around any strand of confidence I have and travel forth into the scary unknown. Let’s hope I don’t get eaten alive. “Ummm … let’s just say … Nash and I … uh … We’ve always had a unique kind of relationship. Since childhood, we’ve never had that I hate my step-brother, I hate my step-sister rivalry. To make a twenty-plus year story short and sweet, let’s just say Nash has always been my rock. At fifteen, something happened to me and he stood by my side. And through my birth of Trish. And raising her. Even when he joined the club.” There. That’s answering a question without giving too much detail. I’m not interested in delving into my past unless I have to. It opens horrific wounds that I’d rather leave alone. The past is the past for a reason, and I like to keep it that way.
“But now things are different between you two?” Damn, Wes sounds very interested in this, and in me. It’s weird. Good weird, I suppose. Yet weird nonetheless.
“I guess so.” Lifting my shoulders, I drop them in a hefty shrug. “On Sundays, we’ve always had family luncheons at our parents. But about a month ago, something happened at one that basically tore us apart. And I’m not sure why. The day before the race, I went to see him, to talk things through, and he basically kicked me out after he had said we were too ‘codependent’.” I air quote with my free hand.
“Ahhhh … So there’s more than brother sister love here?”
Hopefully, he’s not angry with what I’m about to admit. “Yes … um … I have this need. It’s more of a split personality thing—”
“What?” Wes interjects.
Humorlessly, I laugh with my face twisted every which way. Then I chew my lip. “I’m not crazy. At least, not any more than a typical female is. I just have this part of me that likes … dirty things. Naughty, filthy, very bad things.” God, was that so hard to admit? My heart’s about to erupt from my chest. It’s beating wildly. And my hands are sweating.
Gnawing my bottom lip, I await his reply. He doesn’t make me wait long. “You’re kinky is what you’re sayin’?”
How does he make it sound so easy? So normal? It’s not.
“More or less,” I clam up, shoulders stiffening.
“You can tell—”
“Dad, Ms. Gwen, can I go play over there and swing?!” Garrett hollers from across the way, severing Wes’s words. He points to a different playset a few yards away.
Using his free hand, Wes waves him forth. “Yeah, Bud. Go on.”
“Be careful,” I add.
“Okay!” Cracking a giant grin, Garrett skips with a group of his new friends over to the play area. With innocent gusto, they attack the swings first.
Wes squeezes my hand, reestablishing our private bubble. “As I was saying, you can tell me, Kitten. Just spit it out.”
“I-like-group-sex-with-men,” I blurt so fast that the words basically merge. Then I take a deep breath, feeling a hundred pounds lighter for confessing it aloud. I’ve never done that before. Not to anyone. Not even Nash. Not like that, anyhow. Relaxing into the bench, I tip my head to lay on Wes’s shoulder. It’s cozy here with him like this. Our bench is tucked under a bank of trees. A gentle breeze skitters through the air, carrying the scent of fresh cut grass. It’s peaceful.
“Are you safe when you do this?” There’s zero judgment in his tone. If it were any other man, I’m sure they’d cringe at what I just confessed. But not Wes. He’s calm, and I’m kinda shocked, kinda not. He is the open-minded type—obviously. I guess I just assumed he’d be more bothered or something.
My cheek rubs into his shoulder as I nod. “Yes. They’re Nash’s club brothers. He’s there the entire time.”
“Watching you?” Again, no jealousy, no judgment.
“No. He kisses me, and sometimes he holds me. He’s like my anchor. I don’t think I
could do all of that without him. I … it feels wrong,” I whisper.
“Yes, but you love it. So you feel guilty for feeling that way.”
How could he know that?
“Are you a mind reader?” I quip, breaking into a smile. Man, there is something about divulging your secrets that make the world less dark. People should do it more often.
Wes chuckles. It’s deep and yummy. “No, Kitten. But I get it. You’re a classy woman. A school teacher, no less. So you don’t know how to process this level of desire. It eats at you, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
How did he know that, too?
“And if you go without it, you crave it to the point of constant arousal?”
“Yes.”
“Is that what you meant by split personalities? One part of you wants it, while the other’s telling you it’s wrong?” Wes tests.
He’s freaking me out here. It’s like he’s living in my damn head. “Yes. That’s exactly it. How did you know?”
Wes moves our folded fingers into his lap, laying them on his thigh. Instinctively, I curl my legs onto the bench, shuffling my body so it’s cuddling closer to him. My knees rest partway on his thigh, right next to our joined hands. “I can just tell, Kitten. Last night, at first you wanted to touch me, then you didn’t. You stopped. But then you started watching those men play with the blondes, and it gave you a push. Your resolve folded once you touched your nipple. I could feel the change. It was sexy as fuck.”
Bashfully, I murmur, “It was?”
“Yes.”
“But I rode you just to get off. And then I…” Damn it, I didn’t even help him finish. “I’m such a bitch. Didn’t even think about your needs after I took care of mine.”
“Don’t worry about that.” He brushes his thumb over the back of my hand.
“Don’t? You were turned on, too.”
“Yes. I was. It was one of the hottest things I’ve ever witnessed, let alone felt. So yeah, I was hard as fuck. But you needed it more. Your body was desperate. The way you rode my dick like that… It was…” He trails off, lost in thought, as he stares straight ahead, his eyes glazed over. Wes is so damn handsome with all of those hard lines, his supple lips, shapely nose, and those eyes. They’re one of his best features. Because, unlike his dirty blond hair, his eyelashes are thick, long, and black. They’re utterly stunning.
Nowhere (Crimson Outlaws MC #1) Page 17