Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
“I can’t either,” Anson replied and then, “Get paper and a pen.”
When I did, he gave me his address and the code to get through his gate.
Chapter Thirteen
Anson
I was freaking the fuck out.
Weston was in Atlanta. He’d hopped on a motherfucking plane and flown across the country to see me because of what I said to him last night, because according to him, he couldn’t stop thinking about me.
Oh fuck. I was going to throw up.
I ran to the bathroom because I legit wasn’t sure if I was going to hurl. I sat there, gagging a bit, my head sweaty and my heart beating too fast. A minute later, I forced myself to straighten up. I got a washcloth, wet it, and wiped my face, which was red and splotchy. He would probably call me on it, tease me about being so excited to see him. It was a little crazy that I knew Weston well enough to know that, the bastard.
I watched myself in the mirror. “This isn’t a big deal. We’re friends. How many times has Darren come over?” I said it over and over, but I knew I was lying. Every word out of my damn mouth was a lie lately. Weston wasn’t Darren. This was a big-ass deal, and nothing was going to be the same afterward. Even if Weston arrived, talked, and left, I would be changed. I’d told him about me, I’d had a mini breakdown on the phone with him, and he knew I’d looked at the photos of him and that guy and wished it had been me. Now he was in Atlanta, and I’d given him my address, and he was coming over, so no, I wouldn’t be the same after.
Having Weston in my space would make everything real.
“Chill the fuck out,” I told my reflection. Before I talked to myself more, I went to the living room and sat down on the couch. I had a buddy coming over. What was the big deal?
It took Weston about half an hour to get to my place. I knew the second he pulled into the driveway because an app on my phone alerted me that the outside cameras had detected motion and the gate had opened. Noooo. Had he taken a car service here? The thought hit me, and my heart fell.
He wouldn’t have, would he?
Just a friend, just a friend, just a friend.
I hated this.
I went to the door, and as the bell rang, I jerked it open. “Did you drive?”
“It’s good to see you, West. I can’t believe you flew all the way to Atlanta. Fuck, you look hot.”
I rolled my eyes. He was annoying, cocky, ridiculous, and…endearing. I liked it. I liked him. “I don’t know you like that. Right now, you’re just my stalker.”
He dropped his head back and laughed. Damned if I didn’t watch his Adam’s apple move and study the veins in his neck as his throat worked.
“Your name is actually Stalker in my phone,” I said.
“Apparently the shoe fits. Now, are you going to invite me in?” When I cocked a brow at him, he added, “The car is parked out front, Anson. Obviously, I drove.”
“Yeah, well, someone could be in the driver’s seat.” I stood back and let him in. It struck me how easy it was with him, but talking to Weston had been easy from the start.
I closed and locked the door behind him. He was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved button-up shirt. I never saw Weston dressed down unless he was in bed. I felt underdressed in workout pants and an Atlanta Lightning T-shirt.
“Do you want a drink? I think we need a drink…or ten. That might be enough.”
Weston chuckled and moved aside so I could lead the way to the kitchen. “I could handle a drink.”
“Not ten?”
“Fuck, you’re adorable.”
That made me frown, but probably for all the wrong reasons. Babies and puppies were adorable. I was supposed to be, I don’t know, gorgeous or hot or something, but adorable was fine because I wasn’t supposed to be anything to him.
But I wanted to be, and we both knew it.
“Do you want a beer? I don’t really need anything hard tonight and—don’t.” I looked at Weston. He had his mouth open, and I knew there was a joke waiting. Why had I chosen the word hard? Now I was thinking about getting hard…seeing him hard…
“But you left yourself open for it. How do you expect me to let that go?” He grabbed his head like he was in pain. “Too. Many. Jokes. Must. Let. Them. Out.”
I laughed again, some of the tension leaving me. I didn’t like that he had the ability to make me relax, to make me feel as comfortable as if we were old friends.
He tossed my sunglasses—the ones I’d left that first night—onto the counter, and I smiled.