CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
WEST
I WAKE UP TO THE SMELL OF BACON AND THE SUBTLE THUMP OF BASS ON A
song I’d know anywhere.
I know it because it’s one of Skylar’s.
Skylar, who slept down the hall from me last night, with my daughter starfished beside her—or kind of on top.
When I peeked in after night check, the door was open, light spilling from inside.
I had the crazy idea that I’d check on her, only to find her passed out with my kid. A sight that made my heart skip a few beats. Rather than wake them, I just flicked off the bedside lamp and left, only slightly disappointed she hadn’t been alone.
I’m making any excuse to spend time around her at this point. We have dinner together daily. Grocery shop at the same time, because why take two cars to the same place? Also, charging a Tesla out here is a fucking nightmare. We bump into each other at the coffeepot in the kitchen when I take a midmorning break. After that, she follows me back to the barn, conversation flowing between us easily. She sits on the bleachers at ringside, writing while I ride.
I catch her staring at me sometimes. She blushes every time I do, but then she focuses so hard on the notepad in her lap that I get free rein to stare at her openly.
The lack of dark circles beneath her eyes. The subtle glow on her skin from time spent outdoors. The relaxed set to her plush mouth.
She’s always looked good to me.
But after weeks spent in Rose Hill, she looks better.
I rub my hands over my face and stretch. That’s when I hear voices coming from downstairs. But they aren’t talking.
They’re singing along.
I grin and give my head a shake, marveling at the way my kids have taken to her.
When I exchanged them with Mia at soccer last weekend, she poked me and said, “You fucking one-upper. All they talked about this week was Skylar Stone. I’ll never be the cool parent at this rate.”
“Boring Brandon isn’t hard to beat,” I responded, and that time, she punched me.
“You never change,” she said before walking away, laughing.
But I have changed—or am changing. I can’t put my finger on it, but something feels different.
With that in mind and knowing I have to get the kids to camp before getting started on the horses, I roll out of bed and toss on sweats and a tee.
Thank god for my morning staff.
I jog down the creaky, old stairs but freeze when I hit the kitchen.
Emmy stands on the countertop singing into a spatula as though it’s a microphone, while Ollie stands on a step stool, flipping bacon. He’s wearing my This Guy Rubs His Own Meat apron, which makes me cringe.
All of this takes place as Skylar stirs a bowlful of batter, still in her Calvin Klein sleep shorts. The ones with the thick elastic waistband that are just short enough to distract me and make me jump when Emmy shouts, “Daddy,” over the music.
But the true distraction comes when Skylar turns around, making me see double.
Because tucked into that thick elastic waistband is my shirt.
My Skylar Stone shirt.
And just above the image of her is the real her.
Smirking at me.
My stomach somersaults. After days of making Skylar blush, she has flipped the switch on me because I am positive I’ve turned the brightest shade of red.
“Good morning, Weston,” Skylar says smoothly, quirking an eyebrow at me. “Do you like my shirt?”
I swallow, mind racing. I feel like a kid who just got caught with his hand down his pants. “It looks better on you than it does on me.”
Now I’m not the only one blushing.
I make my way into the kitchen and pull out a stool at the counter.
“What’s going on in here?” I ask, redirecting the conversation.
“I’m doing a concert for Skylar while she and Ollie make bacon and pancakes.” My daughter, with messy bedhead and flushed cheeks, smiles down at me, still clad in her unicorn pajamas. “We had a sleepover.” She huffs, eyes twinkling. “How many people can say they’ve had a sleepover with Skylar Stone?”
Skylar groans and I hold back a laugh. “Probably not many, Emmy baby.”
Emmy hops down into the seat beside me and plants a breathless kiss on my cheek. “Good morning, Daddy.”
She talks my ear off about bear safety as I watch Skylar and Oliver make breakfast together. They speak in short, muted sentences, and there’s a sort of harmony in the moment. It would be a hell of a lot more peaceful if I weren’t still internally cringing over the T-shirt.
Soon, Ollie sets cutlery up on the table, and Emmy and I make our way over to our spots.
She’s gabbing about cougars when Skylar slides my plate in front of me.
“This one’s for you, Coach,” she whispers against my ear while patting my shoulder.
And when I glance down, one massive pancake takes up my entire plate.
One massive pancake with NUMBER 1 FAN written across the top in chocolate chips.
I bark out a laugh and Skylar grins from ear to ear, hip cocked out, amusement flashing in her golden eyes. “Enjoy,” she murmurs before giving my earlobe a slight tug.
And when she turns to walk away, I have to focus on not reaching for her.
Her hip. Her waist. Her ass.
I can still feel her on top of me. Smell her. Taste her.
I look back at the taunting pancake and dig in while listening to the kids talk about their week. Ollie’s coding camp sounds a lot less unhinged than Emmy’s nature camp. But they both speak with equal excitement about what they’re learning.
It’s hard to get a word in edgewise. Eventually, we finish breakfast, and I send them off to get dressed.
Then it’s just Skylar and me, staring at each other from across the kitchen
table.
“I’ll get this cleaned up,” she announces before pushing to stand, taking her plate with her to the counter.
I watch her round ass move with every step, and my control snaps. I’m up and across the kitchen, pressed close to her in a matter of seconds.
I lean my front against her back because I just can’t help myself. My arms cage her in on both sides. “Skylar, what are you playing at?”
My lips dust across the shell of her ear, and she shivers before placing the plate on the counter and spinning on me.
Skylarki places her palms against my chest and gives me an uninspired shove. “I could ask you the same thing.” Her eyes flash, and a hint of betrayal resides there. Sure, she’s teased me all morning, but I can read those hazel irises clear as day. They’re the window into her soul—her mind—and I know
what she’s thinking.
That I wasn’t honest with her.
And maybe I wasn’t, but goddamn it, I’ve known this woman for the blink of an eye. I’ve shared more with her than I have with anyone.
I wrap my fingers around her waist and lift her easily up onto the counter, stepping in close to stand between her open legs.
Our eyes lock as we face off. The energy between us is electric. And definitely not friendly.
“Are you a fan, West?” her velvety voice taunts.
I chuckle, spreading my palms on her bare thighs. My hands slide up, fingertips toying with the bottom hem of her shorts, and she lets out a breathy little gasp. I groan at the sound, at the sight of my hands on her. In a flash, I’m back in that canoe. Possessing her.
“Were you ever planning on coming clean?”
Clean. It’s as though she thinks she’s a dirty secret. That I’d be
embarrassed for liking her.
But I’m not.
“There’s nothing dirty about being your number-one fan, Skylar. And mark my words, I am. I’m fan enough to be the only person who gives you what you really need—space, friendship—no matter how much it’s killing
me.”
She sucks in a sharp breath.
“What I really want to tell you is that I’m a fan of you in my shirt,” I breathe out against her damp lips. Restraint shot, I nip at her jawline. “I’m a
fan of you in my house.” My lips travel to her neck.
Her head tilts and her legs widen further, offering me better access.
“I’m a fan of you in my lap.” My hands glide under the fabric, and I squeeze the sides of her bare ass as I bite down on the crook of her neck.
“And once we have this place to ourselves,” I murmur against her skin, “I’m gonna be a big fan of you in my bed.”
“Fuck.” The single word escapes her on a breath, and I drag my mouth over her collarbones.
“And then I’ll be a big fan here.” I tug her closer, kneading her ass as her legs wrap around my waist. “On the kitchen counter.”
Her fingers trail up the back of my neck, slipping through my close-cut hair. Tipping my head up as her mouth angles over mine.
“I’ll make such a fucking mess of you that I’ll have to be a fan in the shower too.”
“West…I thought we were taking a breather.”
“Right, but the week is almost up.” I drop my lips closer to hers, watching her eyes heat as I do. “Then this fucking breather is over. You can go ahead and breathe through your nose because this mouth will be busy.”
She flushes, teeth pressing down on her lip. “That’s not really what I meant by a breather.”
“Breathing is overrated. I’d rather be drowning in you.”
Her hands tug me closer, and our lips press together. Hard. Fast.
Desperate. It doesn’t last. It can’t, not with the kids stomping around upstairs.
But she pours herself into it all the same. We kiss until we’re breathless.
When she pulls back, our noses touch, and she whispers, “Yeah, definitely overrated.”
I kiss her once more, taking liberties I shouldn’t, but everything about her is a green light right now. So why the fuck not? She tastes like pancakes.
Syrup and chocolate chips. And mine.
It pains me to take a step back, but I can’t keep going the way I want to.
Not here and not now. So I settle on memorizing the sight of her freshly kissed. Freshly mussed.
Shorts wedged high. Nipples pressing against the thin cotton of my shirt.
Wild eyes latched onto me.
I bite my lip and wave a finger over her form. “Big fan of you looking like this too.”
If she weren’t already flushed, I bet she’d go pink.
She stares at me. I can tell her mind is going a mile a minute because she only turns away when we hear heavy footsteps bounding down the stairs.
Those footsteps send me back over to the table, where I can pretend I’m
dutifully cleaning up after breakfast.
“Dad, I need to borrow some money.”
“Why?” I ask Emmy without looking up. From the corner of my eye, I see Skylar hop off the counter and busy herself at the sink.
“I bet Ollie you’d go for the most money at the fair on Saturday. He says there’s no way you make it three years in a row.”
I grimace as Skylar’s gaze narrows in on Emmy. “The fair?”
“Yes,” she squeals with excitement. “You have to come. There’s a hypnotist and rides, and they auction off all the men for dates.”
“You make it sound like some kind of illegal trade, Emmy,” I say to calm her down a bit, noting the tension in Skylar’s shoulders. “It’s a bachelor auction for the food bank—for charity.”
“Oh,” Skylar says in a hushed tone before pressing her lips together and going back to cleaning. And refusing to look my way.
“You guys sure it’s tomorrow?” Fuck. Fuck.
I walk over to the calendar, where I try—and fail—to keep my life organized. Sure enough, I’ve scribbled Town Fair on Saturday. It’s just for fun, but getting auctioned off to the women in town when I just said those things to Skylar makes me feel guilty.
“I told Doris she could put me in to help raise money,” I explain.
“I love how charitable you are,” she says with a brittle smile as she fills the sink with soap and water. She tries really hard not to make eye contact with me, but when she takes a peek from beneath her lashes, my guilt only intensifies.
I may not be well-versed in relationships, but I am well-versed in people looking at me like they’re disappointed.
And seeing it on Skylar’s face, when I can still feel her in my hands and taste her on my lips makes me despise that look more than ever.