Page 18 of Cade

Is that Weston?

“Twelve o’clock sharp. With the blue shirt, rolled up sleeves.”

I felt my entire body freeze on sight.

Weston strolled down the street lazily, hands in his pockets, his blue shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow only showcasing his fresh sun-kissed glow. His dark hair blew about in the wind, and I could have sworn I heard angels singing.

Or demons, more accurately given the state of things.

“He’s...”

“Hotter than a fucking rack of ribs straight from the grill, I know,” Gina said with excitement as my mind short circuited.

Rhodes.

Weston.

Weston Rhodes.

Heir to Rhodes Enterprises.

This can’t be happening!

At that very moment, our eyes met just like in the movies. Weston stopped dead in his tracks, a light smirk coursing over his lips.

“You should totally ask him out,” Gina cooed behind me.

I swallowed nervously as the memories of the previous night of passion flooded my brain, causing my damn cock to spring to life.

Again.

I cleared my throat as I turned away from Weston’s smoldering gaze, fussing over anything else I could to try and regain a semblance of order once again. Because at the moment, all I could think about was how badly I’d messed up that morning, noting that Weston would likely want nothing to do with me now.

Now, I was just an embarrassment.

“Yeah, I don’t think so. Weston is so far out of my league we’re not even in the same ballpark,” I chided.

Gina’s lips curled into a smile. “I never said his name was Weston...”

And that was the moment Mitchell and Dawson arrived at the firehouse booth.

Perfect timing, as always.

I watched as Weston talked to a group of women, smiling genuinely and schmoozing like the unabashed rich kid he obviously was, feeling a pang in my heart. I forcibly tore my gaze from him, if only to try and put the beautiful man—and the memory of his cock down my throat—out of my mind.

“You look good for hungover,” Mitchell said as he snapped a photo of me, not giving a shit if I was ready or not.

I swatted at my ‘friend with camera’, as Dawson let out a laugh.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, with about as much venom as a daddy-long-legger. They are actually venomous, but their fangs are too short to actually hurt anyone.

What can I say, arachnids are my spirit animal.

Dawson smiled with mischief. “Sarge said I should come down here to sign calendars.”

Gina rolled her eyes. “Please, like anyone would actually want you to sign anything.”

Dawson opened his arms wide, motioning to himself like he was some great, Herculean hero.

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