Page 24 of Blue Line

Chapter ten

Wes

“Here we are,” I tell Hadley as the car I arranged to drive us home from the airport pulls up in front of my building.

“Hmmm …” Hadley mumbles, half asleep next to me.

“I said we’re here. Wake up, sleepy head.”

“I’m awake.” She sits up, yawning and stretching her arms above her head as best as she can in the back of the SUV. Her shirt rides up, and I can’t help staring at the skin that’s exposed, wondering if it’s as soft as it appears, if she’d break out in goosebumps if I ran my finger over it.

Get a grip.

Giving myself a mental shake, I open the passenger door and climb out. I meet our driver around the back, where he’s unloading our suitcases and my hockey bag. Eventually, Hadley joins us, the fuzzy blanket she insisted she needed, even though it’s a million degrees out, thrown over her shoulder, her camera bag and tote bag hanging off her other arm. I tip our driver, and he says goodbye before climbing back into the car and leaving. Hadley reaches for her suitcase, but I bat her hand away.

“I got it.”

“Weston William. Oooh, I like that one. Tell me that’s your middle name?”

“It’s not, Hadley Jane.”

She puts her hands on her hips. “There’s no way you’re going to be able to handle all the suitcases plus your equipment bag. Let me help. I’m quite capable since two of the bags are mine.”

She’s right.

I know she is.

Even between the two of us, I don’t know how we’re going to manage because, for some reason, she packed two large suitcases even though, according to Holt, she still has clothes at his house. I chose the path of least resistance and didn’t ask her if she needed both bags. The last thing I want to do is piss off my fake fiancée.

“How about you stay here, and I’ll bring up a few of the bags and come back for the rest of them.”

“We can do this, Weston Reynolds. You do have an elevator, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, let’s go, because I’ve got to pee, and I’m starving.”

I chuckle, grabbing a couple of bags. Somehow, we manage to make it into the building with all our stuff. Thank goodness the front door has an RFID reader, and I don’t have to dig for a key; waving my wallet with my key card in it is enough to unlock it.

“I’m shocked there’s no doorman,” she says when we’re standing in front of the elevator surrounded by our stuff.

I push the Up button. “The doors are always locked. I’ll show you how to let someone in if they use the call box. The guys have a code they enter. I have a spare key card and key upstairs that I’ll give you.”

The elevator dings, and we cram everything inside, but Hadley and I end up in the corner, smushed together. I manage to push the button for the tenth floor, but when I drop my arm, I accidentally graze her boob. Shit. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice. As the elevator takes its time ascending, I realize just how cramped it is. I say a prayer that no one else wants to get on. She shifts closer, brushing against me.

Is it hot in here?

Because suddenly my body feels as though it’s on fire.

“Weston, are you okay?”

I swallow a few times, my throat feeling like sandpaper. “I think I’m a little claustrophobic crammed in like this.”

“Oh.” She shuffles backward, pushing one of her suitcases out of the way. “That better?”

“Yep,” I say, but it comes out as more of a squeak.

Fuck me.