Page 43 of Wild Eyes
His chin tips down as he looks at his hand. He pulls out an orange piece and holds it up between his thumb and forefinger. “Oh, like this?”
“Yes, like that.”
He tosses it up in the air, leans his head back, centers himself, and catches the candy in his waiting mouth like an overgrown child playing with his food. He stares at me as he chews a few times and nods. “Oh yeah. The orange ones are good.”
For a moment, I watch his throat work as he swallows.
I swallow, too.
Then I mouthdickin his direction, and all it does is make him throw his head back and laugh. The most full, carefree laugh I’ve ever heard. In a world that’s so manufactured, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard someone laugh as genuinely as West.
He’s brimming with life.
He’s like a magnet. And I get the sense I’m not the only one who’s drawn to him. The kids hang on his every word. The parents shake his hand at the end of the game.
And a few of the moms smile just a littletoobrightly in his direction.
With a 12-5 victory under their belt, the girls are in high spirits as they make their way down the line of opposing team members. I’m grinning like a fool watching them because this wasfun.
Good old-fashioned fun.
I shared Skittles in the sun, watched a bunch of girls work together to master a sport, and learned the cheer they have for the Sparkly Turquoise Unicorns.
Never saw myself here, but the world works in mysterious ways and all that.
It’s when I turn to see West chatting with a fair-haired woman that the world seems extra mysterious. The woman is laughing, and Emmy has just launched herself into her arms with a loud “Mama.”
My brow furrows as I hang back to watch. Emmy and Oliver seemed pretty open to talking about their mom and stepdad. But watching my parents attempt to rip each other into shreds these past months gets my back up about the whole thing.
It seems downright impossible that two people could divorce amicably. Yet here this man is, talking happily to his ex-wife as their daughter attempts to drag her away.
In my direction.
“Okay, Emmy. Okay. I’m coming,” she says, laughing lightly as she allows her daughter to pull her toward me.
“Mom,” Emmy announces. “This isSkylar Stone, and she’s living inourbunkhouse.”
The woman gives me a kind smile. She’s all soft, feminine curves, with chocolate-brown eyes, freckles of a slightly lighter color dotting her pert nose. Her shoulder-length hair is golden like straw, and I can see the warmth of it lending that peachy tone to Emmy’s. She’s got that girl-next-door look down pat.
She’s effortlessly beautiful.
“Hi, Skylar. I’m Mia,” she says, with no squealing or slack-jawed staring. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, and I am so sorry to hear about the bunkhouse.” She sticks her hand out to shake mine.
My smile matches hers as I take her hand. “I’m crossing things off my bucket list I didn’t even know existed, that’s for sure.”
“Hey now,” West interrupts as he swaggers up to us. “You haven’t lived until you’ve spent some nights in the bunkhouse. That’s an internationally accepted fact.”
Mia’s eyes roll dramatically. “Your attachment to that place is one of the wonders of the world, Weston.”
He nudges her with his elbow, and for a flash, I can see him doing that exact move as a child. I can imagine him as a little pest, ribbing everyone in sight. And for a flash, I also see the years of familiarity between the two of them. I imagine them together and it makes my stomach twist in a new way.
“Anytime you and Boring Brandon need a romantic getaway, it’s yours. I won’t even charge you.”
She shakes her head at him and glances away to cover her smile. “Unbelievable.” When she finally glances back at me, it’s with a mocking type of seriousness. “Skylar, you’re in luck because it’s my week with the kids starting today. That means you’ll only have to live on the same property with one child.”
I chuckle. Mia gives off only good vibes. But I still turn my head away bashfully to cover my blush because the thought of being alone on the property with West has a thrill racing down my spine.
An entire week of avoiding him, so I don’t throw myself at him again. And an entire week of beingfriendswithout his adorable kids as our buffer.
