Page 40 of Blue Line

I think he tried to wake me. I thought I was dreaming, but no, I think that was Weston trying to wake me up. I usually sleep like the dead.

Shit, I feel bad.

I drop my head into my hands. I hope he doesn’t hate me for our inadvertent bed-sharing situation. But he’s the one who suggested we watch the end of the movie here and who turned off all the lights. Not my fault his bed is comfortable, and apparently, I was tired.

Might as well face the music and get the awkwardness over with. I climb out of bed and wrap my blanket around me.

“Weston?” I call as I walk toward the kitchen.

No response.

I notice a piece of paper propped up against the half-full coffee pot. I snatch it up and read:

Tornado,

I didn’t want to wake you. I went to get a workout in. I’ll be home in time to shower and get ready to go meet John.

*heart* Your Fiancé.

He had to.

Didn’t he?

I fix myself a cup of coffee before heading into my bathroom to get ready for the day. Once I’m dressed, I head back into the kitchen and help myself to a couple of leftover slices of pizza from the box in the fridge. Taking my brunch with me, I sit down at the counter and power on my laptop that I left here last night, next to the books I’m currently reading and my current notebooks.

Might as well apply for those jobs I found. I’m still not one hundred percent happy with my portfolio, but it’ll have to do for now.

Once I’m done eating, I start the application process for the first one. Two hours fly by, and I’m finally down to one job left. The one I’m most excited for. The one I’m trying not to get my hopes up about.

It’s a year-long contract with an organization that runs tours around the world. They’re hiring a photographer to travel with them and take pictures. Apparently, it’s a new package they’re planning to offer for some of their trips. While it isn’t my first choice of type of photography, it would allow me to see the world. Something I’ve been wanting to do for years. Plus, travel, accommodation, and food are paid for, and I’d get a stipend for any equipment I need, which sounds extremely generous.

I spend quite a bit of time filling out the application and answering all their questions. I know it’s a long shot because I’m sure there are many people more qualified for the role, but you never know unless you try, or some BS like that, right?

“You can do this, Hadley. Hit Submit,” I mutter, the mouse hovering over the button.

I skim the application one more time, making sure I’ve answered everything to the best of my ability, and finally hit Apply. Once I get confirmation that it’s been submitted, I exit out of the site and close my computer.

I take a few shaky breaths, wiping my sweaty hands on my shorts. How am I going to focus on anything else until I hear back from them? How will I manage for the next few weeks, or even months, until I get an answer? Before I can spiral too much, the front door opens.

“Honey, I’m home,” Weston yells.

“You don’t have to announce yourself like you’re the fucking King of England, Weston. No one else lives here. I think I know who it is,” I tell him when he walks into the kitchen.

But holy shit, why is he wearing his hat fucking backward? And he’s got on a Storm shirt with the sleeves cut off, showing off his deliciously muscular biceps. Is it hot in here? I clear my throat, tamping down the urge to throw myself at him.

“The King of England wouldn’t be announcing himself; he’d have court people to do that.” He runs a hand over his arm, and I can’t help tracking his movements, my gaze dancing over his tattoos.

I scoff. “Whatever, Weston. No need to announce yourself every time you walk in the door.”

“You like it.” He bounces his eyebrows at me.

“As if.”

“You know I’m right.” That earns him an eye roll. He chuckles. “I’m gonna change, and then we can go. You ready?” He takes his hat off, sets it on the counter before running a hand through his hair, then peels his shirt off in one swift move.

Fucking hell. That should be illegal.

“Close your mouth before the flies fly in.”