Page 88 of The One I Want
So here I am, aimlessly scrolling through one of the streaming services, trying to find a true crime documentary I haven’t watched, knowing full well that I’m just going to find my favorite one and watch it for the hundredth time.
I miss Wes. Which is ridiculous. He left two days ago. I’m going to see him in another two. I got spoiled with him having home games since we officially got together, meaning his time away wasn’t as bad as when he’s on the road.
For just a fraction of a second, I feel bad for Cara. I’ve only had to do this for a few games; she had twelve years of being the only parent for chunks at a time. Then again, if Wes were to tell me after Sunday that he changed his mind and wanted to stay in the league another year, I’d pull up my girlfriend pants, get a rhinestone jean jacket with his name on it, and be the best football partner I could be.
Hmmm…Do I have time to make a rhinestone jean jacket before we leave?
I launch the app to my favorite online store, where I know I can get a jean jacket delivered in one business day, when my FaceTime signals that Wes is calling.
“To what do I owe this surprise? I figured since we talked before the kids went to bed I wouldn’t hear from you again.”
He’s laying on his hotel bed, one hand behind his head, giving me a spectacular view of his bicep.
“I missed you.”
“You said that earlier.”
He laughs. “I did. And I still miss you. We’re done with our media obligations, so I turned in for the night.”
“Well, thank you,” I say. “I was actually just laying here feeling very alone. So you have impeccable timing. Now, tell me about your day. And don’t give me the edited kids’ stuff. I need to know all of the gossip.”
Wes starts talking about the media event and how it was relatively low key. Over the past few years, there has been plenty of drama and headlines within the Fury. Some of it is public, like the quarterback’s battle with mental health. Some of it I only know because of Whitley, like the time the star wide receiver started dating a crazy ex-girlfriend of one of the offensive linemen. The same offensive lineman who is now married to the quarterback’s twin sister.
But Wes isn’t giving me any of that. Instead, he’s going on about the questions the reporters asked him, and other things like that. Normally, I listen to every word he says. But tonight I’m distracted.
His freaking arm keeps flexing, and I don’t know if he’s doing it on purpose or not, but it’s hot as fuck. And considering it’s been more than a few days since we last saw each other…
“Hello? Earth to Betsy?”
Hearing my name snaps me out of my daze. “Yeah. Totally. Yup.”
“You didn’t hear a damn word I said, did you?”
Thank goodness he’s laughing, or I would have felt bad. “Sorry.”
“What were you thinking about? I’m guessing something good because you had that spaced-out, post orgasm look on your face.”
“My what!” I squawk then slap my hand over my mouth. I forgot the kids are asleep across the hall. “I do not have that face.”
Wes starts to laugh, which somehow makes his bicep flex more.
Fuck me…
“Yes, you do. And just like the rest of you, it’s beautiful. Then again, I put it there, so I do take a bit of pride in it.”
In the past, if this were any other guy, I’d call him out on his cockiness. But I can’t with Wes. The man speaks no lies.
“But seriously,” he says. “What were you thinking about?”
I look over to the door to double-check that it’s closed. “You really want to know?”
He sits up a little more against the headboard. “Considering you just did the double-check to make sure none of my children were around, hell yes.”
“If you must know”—I pause for dramatic effect—“the way you’re sitting, your arm keeps flexing. And, well, it got me thinking…”
I watch his eyes go from curious to blazing. I’m used to getting turned on from just one of Wes’s looks, but this is a whole new level.
“What were you thinking, Betsy?”
