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For one…she currently has on more clothes.
The array of images he gathered looked more like a lingerie model’s portfolio that I had been sent to judge rather than the daughter of the woman who’s been mothering me for the past ten years of my life.
Each one featured her in a dress too tight to breathe let alone think and a pair of heels I know men pay to see in the air behind their wives’ backs.
What I saw in those pictures was a female selling herself because that’s all she assumed she was good for, yet seeing her now, on the screen, sporting low-rise jeans – I have no business wishing would go lower – and a slightly tattered blue tank top, I spot something completely different.
Not a woman who defines her value by how much skin she shows, but a woman who won’t define herself by other people’s judgments.
Standards.
An intrigued groan precedes me sliding lower in my chair.
Staring harder at her light mocha skin that seems to shimmer in the sun.
That seems to command the clouds to locate elsewhere in order for her curvaceous frame to properly bask in its glow.
And mygod, does she have fucking curves.
Full lips.
Full tits.
Full hips.
What more could a man in his right mind ask for?
“Wes?” is quietly called somewhere off to the side, encouraging me look away, tempting me to stop gawking at the gorgeous creature I’ve idiotically invited into my bleak orbit for the immediate future.
I hope it’s only for a day or two.
No.
I hope it’s for a lifetime.
Deeper, heavier displeased growls over the out of the blue declaration are followed by my name being spoken once more. “Wes?” This time when my gaze cuts to the lingering presence, she casually gestures to the vibrating device on my desk. “Your phone’s ringing.”
Shame threatens to color my cheeks, yet I manage to banish it else. “Thank you. That’ll be all.”
Penny offers me a polite nod of dismal, spins on her heels, and swiftly removes herself from my space, shutting the door behind her.
Once the room is clear, I turn back to the monitor where I can see them and answer the call from J.T. on speaker, “I see that she has arrived safely.”
My best friend slides his hands into his pockets while the 5’6 sunglass wearing knockout – whose home address was actually difficult for Park to locate – does her best to drink in her new surroundings. “That’s um…That’s certainly one way to put it.”
“Are you talking to me?” She quickly questions, attention moving away from the driveway fountain.
The sound of her sultry voice only attempts to rock my foundation harder.
Shake the steady second story floor beneath my feet.
“No,” J.T. replies before pointing to the small device attached to his ear. “I’m talking to the boss.”
“I hate when you call me that.”
“Well, that’s what you are, Bruce.”
“I thought you said his name was Wes.”
