I dropped my head back against the tufted headboard and closed my eyes. "What could possibly be better than the last bit?"
"Tom isn't a toy," she said. "Don't play with him."
My eyes still shut, I asked, "Why do you assume I'd do that?"
"Not an assumption," she replied. "Only advice."
I nodded, patting Abby's back as she slept. It didn't seem like a good time to mention I was horrible when it came to taking anyone's advice other than my own.
7
Tom
Draggingmyself from my beautifully appointed South End apartment and out of the city to Boston's North Shore on a weeknight was not my idea of a good time. My weeknights were routinized down to the minute and I liked it that way. I'd meal-prepped the week but yet I was hand-carrying sushi to a knife-wielding military operative who didn't bother with shirts or remembering people he'd talked to for a few minutes five years ago.
For fuck's sake. This was not in my macros for the day.
But this was what chest hair—and lonely boys with stupid muscles—did to me. Crazy irrational things like eating outside my meal plan and abandoning my sensible bedtime.
All of this ignored the fact I hadn't notified Shannon about my second visit of the day to her home. I'd spent the afternoon debating it but as much as I adored the supreme ruler of the Walsh world, I didn't want her to know I was calling on her brother-in-law.
Not that I was calling onhim. No, we weren'tseeingeach other. We'd only eye-fucked each other a bit and now we were eating dinner. Nothing to report here. I was merely skulking up the back steps to the apartment over her garage to deliver some sushi and…and that was it. We'd eat and talk, and then I'd leave. That wasit.
Fucking chest hair and sad eyes and stupid muscles.
And Shannon didn't need to be bothered with the specifics of my life. She was busy diapering and nursing and sniffing baby heads. Unless I crawled into bed between her and Will to ask him for a cuddle, she didn't care what I was doing with my evening.
"Hello there."
I glanced up the staircase and found Wes at the landing, leaning against the doorjamb. Bare feet, hoodie, jeans. The sweatshirt hid his waistband but you could be sure I checked out that button fly. I was mildly heartbroken when I didn't find any exposed skin.
"What? No knives?" I deadpanned.
"Not unless you're into that," he replied.
"I'm not," I called, pausing two steps beneath the landing. I shot another glance at his fly and the outline behind it. Goddamn, I could not stop myself today.
"Good. Me neither," he rumbled, taking the bag from me. Then, "You have no idea how much I appreciate this. I've missed it about as much as I miss the use of my arm."
I shook my head, brushing off his thanks. "I know you've been overseas for a time but there are apps, you know. You can order anything now. On your phone."
I mimed tapping the imaginary phone in my palm, still two steps beneath him. He granted me a half-smile then fucked me right up.
"I wasn't referring to the food, Tom."
I glanced up at him, watched his hard eyes scrape over me. He'd remembered my name. That shouldn't have meant something and I shouldn't have been the kind of person who considered that a win, but old traumas died hard.
Give me a crumb and I'd make believe it was a whole cake.
He stepped aside, motioned for me to enter the apartment. I noticed his hands then, the good one and the one partially concealed by his brace. They were fabulous hands. Big, with long, thick fingers and wide palms. All I needed in a man was a fuzzy chest, good hands, and steady employment.
If my data was in order, it appeared this guy was working with the holy trinity.
He continued, "I admit the food is a nice benefit. But I wouldn't want it getting—uh—colder? I don't know. Just get your ass inside, all right?"
I didn't know what I was getting into with this man. I didn't know where he'd been or where he was going but I knew I wanted to talk to him tonight.
And I wanted to see that chest hair again.
