Page 4 of Here In Your Arms

“I’m sure he was just looking around. I don’t know who he was. Maybe he’s a secret agent, tracking down a villain!” I tell her in a conspiratorial voice.

Claire rolls her eyes. “That is SO not a thing!”

I start humming the Mission: Impossible tune. My head whips back and forth as I scan the parking lot for potential villains.

“What are you DOING?” Claire screeches, clearly embarrassed.

“Uh, Mission: Impossible, duh,” I tell her.

“Oh, is that like an old people movie?”

“You can walk home.”

She giggles and drinks her milkshake as I lament about “kids these days” and drink my shake. Good thing it’s easy to distract ten-year-olds, or I’d be forced to keep thinking about Pool Hottie. Not that I won’t anyway. At least I have Claire to keep me from obsessing, though. It’s been too long since I was attracted to someone. I have no plans to enter into any kind of relationship, but enjoying the eye candy is nice for once.

Maybe he’ll be there next week, too.

Chapter 3

Kyle

I get home from the day in an absolutely foul mood. The managers who report to me were exhaustively demanding today, making me rethink some of my recent hires. Do people not realize that they can’t have literally everything? You cannot have your cake and eat it too. It’s just not an option. The people at the gym pissed me off when I stopped to lift some weights. Drivers were shit on the road. My patience is gone.

Rummaging in the fridge, I decide to pull out some leftovers for dinner. I don’t trust the universe to let me cook unscathed today. Once my food is heated, I sit down at the table and tuck in, my eyes on my phone flipping mindlessly through online videos.

The door to the garage opens then closes and I hear Wes’ heavy footsteps walking through the entrance.

“Make sure you take your boots off!” I call to him.

The footsteps don’t pause, so he must have already done that.

“I always do. What’s up your ass today?”

I can hear the amusement in his voice. He comes around to the other side of the table from where I am, and I can see his small smile. Wes leans against the back of a chair and takes me in.

“You look happy,” he says, that damn smile still in place.

“Just one of those days,” I say with a heavy sigh.

“Aw, poor baby, I’m sorry,” he says with sincerity. He’s still smiling, though.

Walking over, he plants a kiss on my head before rummaging up his own leftover dinner. He sits next to me with his food and heaves a sigh. Head falling back for a moment, he seems to revel in just sitting at the table.

“Long day?” I ask him, reaching over to attempt an awkward one hand shoulder massage.

“Yeah, we pushed to get a lot done. Not bad, just busy,” he replies, sitting up and leaning toward his food.

We eat in relative silence with some small banter back and forth about whatever comes to mind. One of the things I love about Wes is that he can always tell when to push and when not to. He’s such a chill guy most of the time, and his general whimsy balances out my practicality. My blood pressure would probably be sky high without him.

After we get dishes put away, I decide I’ve had enough of the monkey suit for a day, so I head to the bedroom to change. The house we share isn’t anything like a mansion, but it’s nothing to scoff at either. Three bedrooms and two bathrooms with a small office in the basement that I can use if I need to work from home. Wes has his gaming stuff set up in the basement and our next bigger purchase is going to be a large couch for the area. He wants to be able to have people over with more comfort for gaming.

As I walk to the bedroom, I slowly unbutton my shirt and tug out the ends from where they’re tucked into my slacks. I know, I said “monkey suit” but honestly, it’s just a button-up and slacks. My idea of comfort on a daily basis is jeans and a T-shirt, so this feels like dressed up to me. When I drop my button-up into the dirty clothes hamper, I notice Wes has followed me into the master room. I look over at him as I unbuckle my belt.

He waggles his eyebrows at me as he pulls his shirt off, revealing his strong body. Wes isn’t ripped, but he’s not all fat either; he’s a decent mix of the two.

“You showering?” he asks me, mischief in his eyes.

“I wasn’t planning to, but I could be persuaded,” I tell him, letting my eyes run down his body and back up.

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