CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SKYLAR
I WAKE IN AN UNFAMILIAR HOUSE. WITH UNFAMILIAR BEDDING. AND AN unfamiliar throbbing on my face.
It takes me only a moment to figure out where I am, how I got here, and why my face hurts. The good news is…I slept.
In West’s house, I slept better than I have in months.
It could be all the action and change and lack of sleep recently, but the minute I walked to the barn and he smiled at me, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders.
His smug smile insinuated he knew I couldn’t resist a queen-size bed, but I didn’t even mind.
I didn’t mind when he offered to go back to the bunkhouse with me to get Cherry. I also didn’t mind when he led me up the stairs to the first door on the right. Or when he told me to sleep tight and not let the bedbugs bite.
At first, I’d recoiled at the mention of bedbugs, but from what little I know of West, I assumed it was a joke. Or something he tells his kids. The sentiment was charming and fatherly and somehow made me feel safe.
As I slipped into cool, fresh sheets that smelled of laundry detergent, I truly let myself appreciate the type of person West is.
The type of man.
He wanted me to feel better for me, not for him. He wanted me safe under his roof, but he didn’t force my hand. He let me make my own decision.
And that was refreshing.
Did I consider staying in the bunkhouse just to prove a point?
Fuck yes, I did.
But I didn’t want to punish myself to win an argument in my head with a
guy who’d be smirking at me the next morning anyway.
It felt good not to fight. Good enough that I slept until…I turn and glance at the nightstand where the small brass clock shows 10:45 a.m.
I blink a few times before sitting up and muttering, “That can’t be right.”
My fists press against my eye sockets, rotating gently to rub the sleep away. The pain reminds me of my face-to-face with a ball, though, so I stop and glance over at Cherry.
She quirks her head at me and blinks her black, bead-like eyes.
“Did you sleep as well as I did, Cherry?”
“Feed me” is the demand I get back. She’s always bitchier when she’s hungry.
“Okay, okay. Let’s go find you something.” I kick my feet out of bed, place them flat on the hardwood floor, and reach around the bed, in search of my phone in the sheets. That’s usually where it is because I spend my nights scrolling gossip sites until I fall asleep. Then I wake up and need to plug it in,
followed by checking my name alerts.
Today, I don’t find it.
What I find is a flash of annoyance, followed by a flood of relief.
I don’t need to check…because I can’t.
I sit with that knowledge for a minute, breathing it in and breathing it out.
Next, I remove Cherry from her cage, let her climb up my arm to my shoulder, and make my way downstairs.
I don’t even look at myself in the mirror on the way past. I already know I’m going to look very, very bruised. And I’m just vain enough to know I’d rather not see it.
Once downstairs, I take a peek around. “West? Hello? You here?”
“Feed me. Feed me.” The bird bobs and does a fake pecking motion on my cheek.
Cherry may be a snarky bitch, but she’s never bitten me. Only other people.
Still, when the clock in the kitchen confirms that it is indeed almost 11 a.m., I opt not to take my chances. Deciding her pellets can wait, I head straight for the fruit bowl on the counter and peel a banana.
She practically lunges for it the moment it’s open. While she eats, I hold it in place for her and stare at the spot where the glass broke the other day.
Where West showed his true colors and made me confused enough to kiss him later like a colossal idiot.
The kiss he teases me about.
Because we’re friends.
Friends.
My lip curls at the word, but I also rationalize that Weston Belmont might be an ideal starting point for a girl who doesn’t have any. Even if I am a little perplexed by his steadiness and transparency. By how much he cares.
But then, perhaps that’s the basis of normal friendships.
With that in mind, I go searching for him. Slipping my feet into my sandals, my hand clamps on the front doorknob, and I twist, only to open it to a woman standing right in front of me, fist up like she was about to knock and I ripped the door out from under her hand.
For a few beats, we stand and stare at each other.
Me in confusion.
Her with an air of hostility.
We size each other up. She’s got icy-blue eyes and smooth chocolate- colored hair that frames her face in a silky sheet. Full brows and high cheekbones. The longer I stare at her flawless bone structure, the more I feel like a troll who just crawled out from under a bridge.
“Hi,” I venture carefully. “I’m…not from here.”
Way to go, Skylar, you awkward idiot.
“Are you…” I know the question even as she trails off. Her eyes race over me in shock.
With a full mouth, Cherry still gets out an enthusiastic, “Go away!” and I do my best not to cringe.
“Sorry, she’s hangry,” I offer lamely as Cherry rips another chunk out of the banana I’m holding up.
God. What must this woman be thinking right now? A bruised Skylar Stone answers the door with a rude parrot—who is dropping banana bits on my shirt as we speak.
“I’m just…” She shifts, peeking into the house. “I’m looking for West. Is
he in?”
“Yeah, same. I’m also looking for him.”
Her eyes narrow like she’s wondering if I’m bullshitting her, and my cheeks heat as more explanations tumble from my lips. “I’m just at his house because we’re friends. Not a clue where he is. I woke up, and he wasn’t here.”
Her mouth purses, and I realize how badly I’m blowing this. His
explanation about friends last night drifts into my mind.
This. This is what I did not want.
“No. No. We’re actual friends. Separate rooms type of friends.”
The gorgeous woman seems to be at a loss for words. Probably because I sound like a bumbling idiot. And look like I’ve taken a header into a wall.
I’m about to clarify—again—when West’s deep baritone booms from the
side of the wraparound deck.
“Bree.”
I hate how familiar her name sounds on his lips. She spins so eagerly.
I’ve known this man for two days and I’m instantly jealous. It’s ridiculous.
To cover, I put on a big smile. Based on the head tilt West gives me, it must be a weird fucking smile. But whatever.
He smiles back at me, but she preens like it was meant for her. “I was worried about you after you canceled last night.”
He holds both hands out wide as he approaches the front steps. All it does is show off his immense width. The veins that run the length of his thick arms. The bronzed skin peeking out from between the top of his jeans and the bottom of his shirt. “All in one piece.”
The woman glances back at me and then at West. She’s clearly trying to piece together what’s going on.
I want nothing more than to escape. I know this type of drama, and I want no part in it.
They may need makeup sex, and as much as it turns my stomach, I decide to give them the space.
Because West and I are friends, not friends, and I don’t want to be a cockblocker.
“Gonna go”—I point an awkward finger gun toward the bunkhouse —“feed Cherry.”
“Feed Cherry!” she repeats, bobbing on my shoulder.
I edge past Bree, jog down the steps, step onto the grass, and flee toward safety.
But not before Cherry can skewer me on the way past West’s rigid form.
Her parting, “Fuck Coach Thick Thighs!” keeps me hustling forward with a beet-red face and a prayer for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
I really need to have a heart-to-heart with my bird about boundaries.
Alone in the bunkhouse, I flip open my laptop. I figure since I have no phone, I might need to be more regular about checking my inbox.
There are emails from my agent, Jerry. Subject lines ranging from possible interviews and one particularly troubling one that says List of possible dates. Like I’m choosing a pair of shoes off a curated shelf.
It makes me sick.
But it’s the email at the very top of my inbox that washes away any nausea. The sender is one Weston Belmont. And the subject line says, “BREAKING NEWS!”
Both curious and amused, I open the email.
BREAKING NEWS: Small town jerk is sorry for throwing Skylar Stone’s phone in the lake.
I snort. That’s all it says.
I consider writing him back but realize I don’t know what to say. Instead, I just grin at the screen, basking in the glow of the world’s most adorable apology.
A knock at the door startles me and I immediately move to answer it, secretly hoping it’s West and that he’s not spending time with Bree.
I yank the door open. And come face-to-face with his sister instead.
“I brought the sweatsuit!” Rosie cheerfully announces from the front door of the bunkhouse. Followed by, “Oh my god, your nose.”
I reach up to it self-consciously. “Is it that bad?”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Just caught me by surprise. What happened? Did you try to pet another bear?” She deadpans the joke, but the twinkle in her eyes gives her away.
There’s something so normal about getting ribbed like this. And yet,
people don’t generally tease me.
I decide I like it.
“Yeah. He booped me on the nose, stronger than I banked on.”
She grins at my playful sarcasm as I reach forward and take the folded pile of pink cotton from her. “No, I helped West at Emmy’s soccer game
yesterday, and a kid accidentally kicked the ball straight into my face.”
“Oh no.” She steps closer, inspecting it from both sides. “Well, if it’s any consolation, you’re still hot as fuck.”
A shocked choking noise lodges in my throat.
“No, I mean, really, I wish I looked like this with a bruised face.” She leans back now, a smirk playing across her features. “Poor West.”
Her comment leaves me confused, and I quirk my head. “Poor West?”
She doesn’t respond, so I venture, “Because I had to stay at his house last
night?”
“You did?”
I swallow and rest my gaze on my feet for a few beats before admitting, “I met Scotty last night and…I freaked out. Screamed like a fucking baby. I tried to keep it a secret, but West found out about the mouse. He offered me a room at his place.”
Rosie scoffs and waves a hand. “It’s okay. I’ll head up to his house and
threaten him.”
“Oh… On that, give him a bit.”
It’s Rosie’s turn to tilt her head.
“There’s a woman named Bree with him.”
Understanding dawns on Rosie’s face as she breathes out, “Oooh.” Then she shrugs and adds, “That’s fine. Scotty’s safety is more important to me than his privacy.”
When she turns to leave, I’m struck by the casual power she exudes.
Rosie has a certain quality that makes you want to follow her. A natural leader, an effortless sort of confidence.
That’s why excitement surges through me when she turns back and says, “Oh! Drinks on Thursday? The guys have their bowling league, and my friend Tabby is free. You game? Or do you need more alone time?”
More alone time?
I don’t know what my work schedule will look like yet. But the prospect of more time alone feels borderline stifling. And Rosie is so…chill. Which is why I immediately respond with, “Count me in.”