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He settles the hat low over his forehead, making me hum with appreciation. “Acid and fat?”
“It’s the secret to leveling up any dish,” I say as I finally find a size large. “Make sure you have a harmonious combination of acid and fat. They’re like the yin and yang of cooking. You need a blend of hard and soft for a well-balanced meal.”
“A well-balanced person, too,” he says, tipping his brim up, catching my gaze from underneath with a perfect Indiana Jones smirk. “I guess that’s why I am the way I am.”
“What way is that?” I murmur.
His eyes take on that piercing quality familiar from our first night in the woods. “You know.”
I know…
His meaning hits and my cheeks flush. I do know. I know that Wesley is a sweetheart on the street and a filthy beast in the sheets. I also know it’s probably one of my favorite things about him.
But it’s not something I should be thinking about.
Not something we should be talking about.
And definitely not a reason to beg him to kiss me senseless against the hat shelf.
Thankfully, Wes turns away before I can do something I’ll regret, announcing, “On to the bikes. We’re burning daylight, Lady Gray. If we want to be settled in our campsite before dark, we have to stay focused.”
Focused. It’s good advice, but as we reach the bike section and Wes helps me try out several models, hovering behind me as I take increasingly confident rides down the wide aisles, it’s easier said than done.
The feel of his hand on my back as he steadies me, the way he crouches beside my knee, his breath warm on my thigh as he adjusts my seat, all of it combines to leave me a tingling, aching mess by the time we’ve picked our bikes and rolled them toward the checkout.
I don’t want to resist this man or be one of the many people who only know one side of him. I want to tackle him in the sleeping bag aisle and bite his gorgeous, muscled bicep while he fucks me like a freight train.
“Does that work for you?” he asks, turning from the checkout to arch a brow my way.
Blushing again, I stammer, “S-sorry, I was…wrestling with mind squirrels. What did you say?”
“The ten-year extended warranty. It’s only thirty dollars extra per bike. Is that something you think you would use? It covers parts and labor and, like I said, there’s a Trout World not far from Bad Dog.”
I nod. “Sure, yeah, that sounds great. I can always borrow a friend’s truck if I need to take it in. I don’t think I’d be able to fit it in the back of the Jetta, even with the front wheel off and the seat down.”
“I’ll take it in for you,” he says, slipping his credit card into the machine. “Anytime. All you have to do is ask.”
All I have to do is ask…
I have a feeling the same could be said about the freight train fucking, but it would be such a bad idea. There’s no future for Wes and me beyond this week. Things are too complicated back home. And even if Daria and Darcy both magically disappeared, his family is basically my surrogate family. I can’t afford to lose them if Wes and I end badly.
Or just…end.
And we would end. All things end, especially romantic things. At least, for me. If my life thus far has taught me anything, it’s that.
The thought helps tamp down the ache between my thighs. By the time we reach the camper, I’ve nearly convinced myself the ache is just tenderness from being on a bike for the first time in decades.
Still, who knows what might have happened if Wes and I had made it to Aspen on time. If we’d ridden our bikes to a gorgeous lookout, gotten drunk on snowy mountain views, and forgotten all the reasons it’s best to keep our hands to ourselves.
But we don’t make it to Aspen on time.
Instead, Wes opens the storage area in the back to reveal a small clown curled up in a nest made of our sleeping bags and extra blankets, my ferret napping on her wig, and we suddenly have much bigger problems.
Chapter 17
WESLEY
My first thought is that the little girl with the smeared white makeup, curled up in our sleeping bags, is dead.
