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“No. It’s your thighs.” He peers down at where his muscular thighs do indeed fill out his jeans. “What about my thighs?” I hold my hands up and make a squeezing motion with both. “They’re meaty.”
City boys don’t have thighs like that.”
I don’t believe you weren’t checking out my ass, though. I have a great ass.”
“The right jeans can make any ass look good.” I peek at him as one of his cheeks hikes up. The dimple there is borderline blinding. “Should I take them off so you can test that theory?”
“Well, am I losing the pants so you can keep gawking at me like a piece of meat? Or are you gonna get your fine ass in here and help me?”
“Is that what it’s called when you hold it in your arms and do a two-step?” He chuckles roughly and shakes his head. “Yeah, you can do the tango with it first if that’s more your speed.
“Yeah, see? Now I’m clean. Magic.” I glance at the hay and must make a face because West adds, “Might do you good to get dirty. Don’t worry, even covered in hay, you’ll still be fancy with your diamond earrings.”
I don’t want to be the girl who wears two-carat diamond studs. I’d rather be the girl who tosses hay without worrying about getting dust on her clothes.
After a beat, he takes a few tentative steps forward, leaving the wheelbarrow behind him. He curls his fingers around mine, forcing my palm closed and encasing the diamond studs in our hands. His voice is so sure, so kind, it almost makes me want to weep. “Why don’t you sleep on that one? If you want to donate them to a good cause in a few days’ time, I’ll help you pick one out.”
Questions he doesn’t ask. Instead, he steps away, taking the heat of his nearness with him. It makes me want to follow him. It makes me want to chase that warmth, that comfort I feel when I’m close to him.
The relief I feel is instant. Sharp. I’m thrilled he doesn’t seem in a rush to get rid of me. I’m relieved that I’m not an annoyance to him—a liability.
“Skylar, what are you looking at?” His voice rolls over my skin, coaxing me back toward him. I swallow and dig in, too embarrassed to meet West’s eye. “I think I saw something in the trees.” “Was it your ability to lie fleeing the premises?”
“I am a lie.” “Hey.” His harsh voice lashes through the night air. I start, and he reaches for my chin, showing zero hesitation to touch me. “Look at me, Skylar.”
His fingers tighten, and he turns my face to him anyway. Then his eyes are on me. Seeking. Searching.
His hand moves, giving me a soft shake. “And you are not a lie. You are brimming with personality and humor and important things to say. And your relationship status just might be the least interesting thing about you. I’ve known you for one day, and I already know that.”
He smirks, and his eyes drop to my mouth. “The way you lick your lips when you stare at my thighs.” I huff out a laugh. “You look like you should carry a Chihuahua in your purse, but instead you have a bird that swears like a sailor.” Cherry. That makes me smile.
“And the way you inspired a little boy who never talks to anyone to introduce himself to you. That’s something special.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He gently strokes my cheek, lifts a piece of my hair, and stares at it like it means something, then tucks it carefully behind my ear. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
don’t itch to feel my friends’ hands on my bare skin. But still, I’m not in a position to turn down a friend. Especially a man as deeply good as West.
She’s low on friends and even lower on trust. And what kind of pig would I be if I took advantage of that after listening to her spill her guts in the most heartbreaking and infuriating fashion?
They may not have always liked me, but they’ve always loved me, no matter what.
If anything, she needs space. A friend. And if I’m known for anything, it’s making friends with absolutely anyone. I, Weston Belmont, am the world’s best friend.
I could easily be Skylar’s friend. Sometimes friends accidentally kiss. Sometimes friends get accidental raging hard-ons thinking about said kiss. Totally normal. Yeah, I’ve got this in the fucking bag.
She’s growing too damn fast. I’d like to shrink her, freeze her at about four years old, when her voice still sounded all sugary and she followed me everywhere.
“Five more minutes,” she mumbles, nuzzling her face into my ribs. And how the hell am I supposed to say no to that? Soon, she’ll want nothing to do with me.
So I turn and tug her against me, taking five more minutes to snuggle with my baby girl. I don’t open my eyes, but I smile when I feel Ollie’s quiet presence as he crawls in on the other side and presses his back against mine. I can hear the soft flick of the pages in his book as he turns them.
She looks beautiful and forlorn all at once.
“Sometimes I sit outside with her and will her to just try, you know? I want her to know she can. But I’m scared she won’t come back.” I shrug. “Maybe she knows she can fly but doesn’t want to leave?”
“Remember that time I saved your life?”
She snorts and hits me with a droll expression. “I have officially erased all of yesterday from my memory. So…no. That doesn’t ring a bell.” I react with a dramatic gasp and throw an offended hand over my chest. “Oh my god. You erased our kiss? How could you?”
“Want me to tell you about it so you can commit it to memory?” A dry laugh lurches from her chest. “No. God. Please don’t.” “Oh, come on. I’m a great kisser. Everyone says so. Trust me. You won’t want to forget it.”
at me, but now her eyes twinkle with amusement rather than unshed tears. “It felt like kissing a corpse. You didn’t even move.” “So, this might come as a surprise to you, but you kissed me. I was in shock. Cut me some slack.” “West!” She drops her head back and stares up at the pale blue morning sky. “Dragged me outside and practically mauled me. Like a bear.” Her shoulders shake as a silent laugh racks her body.
“And being the gentleman that I am, I took one for the team. Then you just shoved your tongue down my throat and preyed on all this—” I gesture over myself like I’m a prize you can win on a game show. S...
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“I’m…” She hesitates. “Not a soccer coach.” “No shit. But guess what?” I lift my coffee mug in her direction. “Me fucking neither.”
“Jesus, Skylar, it was a joke, not an insult. I know you can tie shoelaces. Let’s go.”
“But I need some time to get ready. I haven’t washed my face or put on my makeup—” “I don’t care. We’ve got a game to get to. Let’s go, Coach Plain Face!”
Cherry squawks, “Kill you!” one last time. “I dare you, Cherry,” I shout back, hearing Skylar’s soft laughter and the thunk of the door as she shuts it behind her.
Then, “Hey! Wait up, Coach Thick Thighs! I need a ride.”
his elbow as he introduces me, and the brief touch drags me out of my head. I peek over my shoulder to see Oliver sitting at the top of the bleachers. He’s got a book in his hands, but he’s watching West and me. I wave at him, and he gives me a shy wave back before turning his focus back down to the pages in his lap.
“This here is Coach Plain Face.” I snort and the girls finally blink.
“What? You’ve got a special name for me. It only seemed fair.” I have to think about it for a beat. A special name? Suddenly, it hits me. Coach Thick Thighs. He winks. And I flush.
“Sparkly Turquoise Unicorns?” “Yes, ma’am. That’s us,” he responds as he crosses his arms and tips his chin out toward the field. “Creative.”
He snorts. “You should have heard the other options. We put it to a vote.”
But seeing him in full girl-dad mode makes my heart skip a beat.
“Nice hat, Coach Thick Thighs.”
“Thank you, fancy face. I got them for the entire team. Who doesn’t love a sparkly turquoise unicorn, am I right?”
I smile and salute him, then try not to gawk at his ass as he jogs down the sideline. Then I try not to stare at him as he “yells” at them. And I fail. I fail over and over again. Because West’s version of yelling at kids is clapping and cheering and boisterously letting them know what a terrific job they’re doing. There’s, “Get it, girls! Let’s go!” Followed by, “Beauty shot, Shelby! See you at the Olympics.”
She gets an, “Eyes on the ball, Addie. Save the victory dance for after we win, you little clown!” And then the real kicker, “Hell yeah, Emmy. That’s my girl!” That’s my girl.
“Here, but you can’t take the orange ones. Those are the only ones I like.” She wrinkles her nose. “Why?” “I dunno. I’m just a fan of oranges, I guess? My favorite fruit. My favorite candy.”
Then a big hand with veins and tattoos swoops in and swipes almost all of them—including the orange ones. “Thank you, Coach,” West calls, jogging away backward with a twinkle in his eye. “Needed a pick-me-up.” “You didn’t even ask. And you took orange ones.”
