"Grosssss," she moans, wiping her hands across her torso and flicking her wrists to remove the excess droplets.
"You brought this upon yourself, Lex."
"True." She shudders. "Wet paint feels disgusting. I need to hose down or something."
The soaked fabric clings tight to her body, emphasizing her cinched waist and flat stomach. I watch with rapt attention as she lifts her hands to her chest, rubbing the paint off once more. The circular motions cause her perky tits to bounce up and down, my dick stirring to life at the sight.
"Or," I begin, a suggestive note in my voice, "you could just take the shirt off. Problem solved."
She grunts at the proposal. "You'd love that, wouldn't you?"
"Fuck yeah I would."
"That was a rhetorical question."
"I know. I just wanted to make sure you knew my strong stance on the matter." I grin and reach for the hem of my own shirt. "I'm gonna take mine off."
"Good for you." Her words drip with sarcasm, but her vision is laser-focused on the material fisted in my grip.
I lift the fabric a few inches and pause. "I'm about to let you in on a little secret."
"What's that?"
"It's not the dimples that get the girls." With a smirk, I slide the dirty tee over my head in one swift motion. After tossing it over one shoulder, I gesture to my flexed core. "It's the blue-ribbon abs that really seal the deal."
As expected, her eyes linger on my torso for a staggering amount of time, the hard planes of muscle doing their job.
But then my words seem to sink in and her brows pull together.
"Wait..." An abrupt cackle explodes from her mouth. "Blue-ribbon abs?!"
"That's what I said," I reply pompously.
She doubles over as laughter spills past her lips. "Sounds like you're describing the prize-winning pig at the county fair! Is this a self-proclaimed title, or do you actually have the ribbon to back it up?"
"I've got the 1st place trophy to back it up."
She straightens, head shaking in astonishment. "Really?"
"Propped up on my shelf, loud and proud, baby. Chi O takes their ab-judging contest very seriously." I smooth a hand over my core and wink. "You're in the presence of six-pack royalty. Congrats."
"Wow. I'm honored." She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling wide. "I'm gonna get some water. Are you thirsty?"
I nod and follow her to a work bench. She grabs a large pitcher of ice water and pours me a glass-full.
As I'm taking a long sip, I notice a binder situated between some blue-prints, Lexie's name scrawled across the front in big bubble letters.
Double-tapping it with my thumb, I ask, "What's this?"
"This," she says as she sets her cup down, "is where I keep all my decorating inspiration."
She motions me closer and begins to flip through it, showing off her creation with pride. There are cut-outs from home decor magazines, hand-drawn floor plans, and swatches of actual fabric glued to the pages. It's so massive, there's got to be years worth of time and effort put into this thing.
"Looks like a damn Pinterest board," I comment.
"It's an IRL Pinterest board," she says with a laugh. "I've got an online one, too, of course, but I like having a physical representation I can carry around and mess with." She turns the page and points at a photo. "This was the picture that inspired my bedroom design!"
Her presentation continues, high-spirited explanations and animated hand gestures thrown in as she delves deeper into the 3-ring binder.
As she focuses on the collage-like pages, I focus on her.
I've seen many sides to this girl—bubbly, pissed off, hyperactive as a kid on a sugar high, just to name a few—but I've never seen her so engrossed with something before.
She is really into this decorating shit.
I mean seriously passionate about it.
Which leads to some confusion on my part.
"Lexie."
My weighty tone breaks her concentration.
Her head quirks as she turns my way. "Yeah?"
"Let me ask you something."
"Okay." She blows a wisp of faded pink hair from her cheek. "Ask away."
"Why aren't you pursuing this?" I nudge my chin at the open binder. "Like interior decorating as a career?"
A flash of surprise flits across her face at my query. "Um, I don't know. It's just something I do for fun. I am minoring in it, though."
"You are? That's dope."
"For fun," she quickly reiterates. "Just for fun."
Yeah...I'm not buying that.
I raise a brow in challenge. "You seem like you live and breathe this stuff."
An involuntary grin appears in response. "I really do love it, that's for sure. But I mean..." Her words trail off, a half-hearted shrug replacing them. "It's nothing more than a hobby."
"'Cause you're gonna be an M.D., right?"
"Right." She nods once, mouth in a tight line.
That fiery passion that was emanating off of her in waves a few minutes ago?
Gone with the wind.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do you want to be a doctor?"
Her bottom lip disappears between her teeth before she answers. "My entire family are doctors. My mom, my dad, both of my sisters. If you're a Montgomery, you're on the fast-track to med school the moment you exit the womb. That's just how it goes."
I jut my head forward, waiting for an actual response to my question.
Because if that's the only reasoning she has behind her career aspirations, we've got a problem here.
"It's really complicated, Weston," she finally remarks as she closes the binder and gently pushes it aside.
She takes a seat on the pavement and crosses her legs.
"Hey. I get it," I insist as I join her on the ground.
'Cause I fucking do.
The family issue hits home harder than she could even fathom.
"Look, it's your personal business, and I'm not trying to dictate your decisions or go all 'motivational speaker' on you, but I gotta say this."
She lifts her head, inquisitive eyes latching onto mine.
"It's your fucking life, Lex. Not theirs. Pleasing other people instead of doing what makes you happy is hardly ever worth it. Actually, no. Let me rephrase—it's never worth it."
"I know," she says softly, tracing a finger along a crack in the foundation.
"You gotta do you, babe. And if you guys are a close-knit fam, I bet they'd understand. And then you—"
"They wouldn't understand," she interrupts suddenly. "We're not close."
I'm taken aback at the definitive edge to her words. "You're not tight with any of them?"
"Nope." She brings her long, loose braid over her shoulder and tugs at it. "My mom and I do not get along whatsoever. She's pushy, unforgiving, and cold as ice. And my dad...well, he's not a bad guy; he's an extremely busy guy. He's a super successful surgeon and on-call constantly. A 60-hour work week is a chill week for him. Our relationship isn't shitty or strained. It's non-existent."
"And your sisters?"
The shrug she musters up is one of indifference. "I'd consider us more like acquaintances than siblings. Rayne's way more of a sister to me than they are." She blanches at the confession. "God, that sounds terrible, doesn't it? But it's the truth."
"Damn. I never would've guessed any of that." I scratch the stubble on my jawline and study her. "I kinda assumed your home situation was as picture-perfect as everything else in your life seems. I always got the impression there was a loving family behind you, supporting you and shit."
"A loving, supportive family? That's right up there with Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster on my list of legends and myths." A harsh grumble echoes in her chest. "High school was freaking hell. My mom basically had me on lock-down for four years straight. All I did was study. No social life, no dating, nada."
"No dating? You? Don't believe it."
"It's t
he truth," she says with a small laugh. "The only male I was allowed to spend time with was my 57-year-old SAT tutor. The only spit-swapping I shared with the opposite sex came from his spit-producing lisp as he badgered me with vocabulary words."
"Fucking nasty." I grin and point at her head. "Where was your umbrella hat? It would've come in handy."
"Still just an unlit lightbulb in my mind, unfortunately."
She gives me a small smile and I mirror it back.
"Coming to Windhaven must've been pretty freeing for you, huh?"
Her head bobs vigorously. "You have no clue. No more lectures for getting less than perfect on an assignment. No more critical comments if my shirt was slightly wrinkled or my hair was a little frizzy. College was a whole new world—I could go out past sunset, hangout with whoever I chose, do whatever the heck I wanted."
She scratches off a patch of dry paint on her arm and flicks it away. "Their rules had no bearing on my life anymore. I could finally make my own decisions."
"Except about your future job." I don't hesitate to add in that not-so-miniscule bit of info.
Her face darkens. "That's different."
"How?"
"Well, there's the whole financial aspect of everything. My parents help me with university expenses now, which I'm very thankful for, but their contribution is contingent on me fulfilling my end of the unspoken deal—going to medical school." She blows out a long breath. "And there's also the factor of stability. Working as a physician? Stable career choice. Starting up an interior decorating company? About as stable as a tight-rope. I'm just not sure I'd be successful with a business venture like that."
"You're way off the mark there." I instantly shut that thought down. "Okay, the money thing? Yeah, I can see how that's an issue. But you not being successful? Total bullshit."
"How would you know?" Lexie asks with a hint of a grin. "Are you a fortune teller?"
"It's pretty obvious you'll succeed in whatever the fuck you set your sights on. If you wanted to be the world's greatest dog walker, you'd make it happen. You're insanely ambitious, smart as a whip, gorgeous as hell."
Her head falls back on a laugh at that last one. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"It doesn't. Just wanted to throw it in there," I say with a wink.
She laughs again, but it quickly fades away. "I don't know, Weston. Sure, it'd be the ultimate dream to become a designer. And I'd totally be lying if I said I haven't considered it, but I'm not sure it's feasible right now."
"Whatever you decide, just know you've got someone in your corner supporting your choice." I place a hand above her knee and give her a comforting squeeze. "Your fam might not have your back, but I will. I've got your back, Lexie."
She rests a dainty hand on top of mine, slowly rubbing her thumb over my knuckles.
"That means a lot," she says sincerely. "Thanks."
With a soft smile, she peers up at me, those big green eyes boring into mine.
And damn.
Gorgeous as hell is such an understatement when it comes to this girl. She fucking radiates beauty.
I swear I could stare at her face all evening long and be content.
That's not in the cards for tonight, though. A few moments later, blinding white light floods my vision, my sight temporarily impaired.
Lexie instantly jerks her hand from mine. We stand up and shield our eyes from Chelsea's headlights as she kills the engine.
"You two are still here? Good!" She yanks a giant bag of groceries from the front seat. "I'm making Italian for dinner. Y'all stay and have a bite."
"Stuffed shells?" Lexie asks with a hopeful note.
Chelsea shakes the reusable bag and kicks the car door shut with a nod. "You know me too well. I picked up some garlic bread, too."
"Then I'm definitely in."
"And you, Weston?" Chelsea points at me with her keys. "You're tall, fit, well-built."
Her eyes hover on my bare torso and Lexie loudly clears her throat.
"Oh hush, Lexie." Chelsea laughs and waves her off before addressing me once more. "Do you play a sport?"
"I play soccer for Windhaven."
"Excellent! Then I'm positive you're hungry. You've got that insatiable athlete-appetite. I demand you stay and eat with us. Consider it a 'thank you' for helping out with the furniture." She walks up the back steps and pulls open the screen door. "My stuffed shells are to die for. Lexie will back me up on that."
I glance at Lex for confirmation and she gives me two thumbs up.
"Sounds good," I say with a grin.
The moment the back door closes, Lexie gives me an apologetic look.
"You don't have to stay just to be polite. I promise she won't hate you too much if you bail."
"What about you?" I take a step towards her and arch a brow. "Would you hate me?"
She holds out her thumb and index finger, a sliver of space between them. "Maybe a tiny bit."
We laugh and she shakes her head. "It's the weekend. I'm sure you have better things to do than chow down on carbs with the two of us."
It is Friday night.
And I can name at least five parties off the top of my head that are happening later, a few of which I've already promised to make an appearance at.
But for some wack-ass reason, they no longer spark my interest.
Me turning down booze and babes?
The notion is pretty fucking laughable.
Well...it was laughable.
Because here I am, doing just that.
"Weston?" Lexie tilts her head, waiting for my response.
"You know what?" I say as I drape an arm over her shoulder and pull her into my side. "I can't think of anything I'd rather do."
19
"Weston? You're dating Weston? Weston Paine?!"
Rayne is in total freak-out mode over here.
My best friend's not one to draw excess attention to herself, so the accusation comes out in a shrill whisper as opposed to a shout. Volume doesn't matter, though—her shock is evident just the same.
She softly raps on the Dillard's dressing room door until I fling it open. Her honey-colored eyes laser into mine, her foot tapping impatiently as she awaits my retort.
"We're not dating dating." I quickly clear that up as I pull my shirt over my head and toss it on the floor. "It's an experiment of sorts."
The explanation sounds stupid as hell.
"An experiment? You guys are going out on dates as an experiment?" Jessica's voice from the changing room next to mine is so damn loud I'm confident everyone at the mall is now debriefed on my odd situation.
And jeez.
It sounds even more ridiculous coming out of someone else's mouth.
"Yeah," I say as casually as I can. "He claims I'm going out with guys way below my league. And, for some very bizarre reason, spending time with him is going to change my whole outlook on things."
Rayne's lips purse as she digests my words. "Honestly, Lex? I can see where he's coming from. You're too good for practically all the guys you date."
"So I've been told," I mumble as I put my hands on her shoulders and push her backwards. "Now get out so a girl can change in peace."
I turn the lock and she continues our convo through the closed door. "But this is Weston we're talking about here. Jumping from nice, nerdy dudes to Weston 'Womanizer' Paine is like going from swimming with dolphins to diving with sharks! It's a drastic difference. Have you been ignoring my warnings about him for the past six months?"
A sigh escapes me as I unbutton my skinny jeans. "I've heard and internalized all of them. I know what I'm dealing with."
I dig through the large pile of clothing I pulled from the racks, my hands stalling on a cream linen sundress. As I slip the scratchy-soft fabric over my head, I contemplate her words.
Yeah, I've absolutely heard her countless anecdotes about Weston. She's got enough of them to fill an entire storybook full.
The Infamous Tales of a College Fu
ck Boy by Rayne Everett.
But lately I've been struggling to connect the manwhore from her stories and the cool-as-hell guy I hung out with on Friday night.
"Don't get me wrong," Rayne says as I exit the dressing room and head for the 3-way mirror. "I like him as a person. He's funny, charismatic as can be, and I doubt Vaughn would be close with him if he was truly a dickhead."
"I don't know about that." I step up on the platform and crack a smile. "Vaughn's judgement isn't the best. I mean, have you met his girlfriend? Yikes."
"Har har har. You're such a comedian." She hops up behind me and tugs at a strand of my hair. "All I'm saying is I don't trust him when it comes to girls. He's a player, Lexie. A complete playboy."
"Believe me, R. I'm aware." I frown at her through the mirror. "But you're getting all worked up over nothing. This isn't serious. We're just hanging out a few times. That's it."
"If you say so," she remarks with a tiny hint of skepticism. "Just make sure you don't get too attached."
"Too attached?" The thought produces a vibrant laugh on my end. "Did you forget who you're talking to? When have you ever known me to get too attached?"
She looks me over, clarity flashing across her face as she recalls my dating history. "You're right. You both are the heartbreakers, not the heartbroken."
"With Lexie's track record, maybe it's Weston you should be worried about, Rayne." Jessica steps out of her dressing room in a floral midi dress.
She takes Rayne's place in front of the mirror and does a princess-like twirl, the material billowing out beneath her.
"Calling it now. This is my new favorite statement piece for Spring."
I nod in agreement. "That was freaking made for you."
"Thanks!" Jess fluffs up her curly hair and turns to me. "Yours is gorg, too. Let me see the brand."
I laugh as she tugs me closer, fingering the tag as she reads the details. "I might get it."
"It's on sale. You will get it," she insists before releasing a content sigh. "God, I love shopping. Why get attached to boys when you can get attached to clothes? Right, Rayne?"
When no dissenting peep comes from our not-so-fond-of-fashion friend, we both spin around.
Rayne's sprawled out lazily on an armchair—the one that's usually housing an exhausted mom or a dad who was promised 'Just one more store!' for the tenth time. Her high school volleyball shirt is so baggy only a centimeter of her pink running shorts are visible. She's staring at the ceiling, her boredom with our Monday night activity on full display.
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