“Love you. Give Jackson a kiss for me!”
“Will do.”9ScarletI pull the blankets tighter around my shoulders and bring my legs up under myself. It started raining not long after we got back from the park and it dropped the temperature by twenty degrees. A damp chill took hold of the house, and while the heater is on and running, I haven’t warmed up yet.
Which has nothing to do with my cold heart, I’m sure.
Wes put Jackson to bed, and knowing that he actually wants to spend time with his son is charming. Wait, no it’s not. There’s nothing charming about him. Nope. Not at all. And he certainly didn’t look good in those gray sweatpants. And offering me his jacket wasn’t a smooth move or anything. And putting my arms in the sleeves of said jacket and feeling the heat from his body was a turn-off. Big time.
He’s closed off but not socially inept, and his charm isn’t lost on the people of this town. Ms. Soccer Mom at the park was flirting with him, and we got stopped three times on the short walk home. Two more single women just ‘wanted to say hi’ and find out who I was, of course. His next-door neighbors are an elderly couple, and they thanked him for helping mow their lawn a few days ago.
He’s the golden boy of this town, and pulling any sort of trick on him will probably cause the townspeople to grab their torches and pitchforks and march after me while singing “Kill the Beast.”
I roll over, debating if I should get up and get socks or if moving out of the covers will make me even more cold. I cuddle my unicorn close to my chest and make myself into a little ball, too lazy to get up.
Someone softly knocks at the door, and I shoot up, thinking it’s Jackson.
“Scarlet?” Weston calls, voice low. “Are you awake?”
Suddenly, I’m nervous, and it’s not because I don’t want him to come in here and make an advance. It’s because I do.
“Yeah, I am.” I get up, pulling the top quilt from the bed and wrapping it around my shoulders. Ignoring the urge to smooth out my hair, I open the door. Weston is standing there, wearing a white T-shirt and plaid PJ pants. The look is casual, completely appropriate, and not at all sexy. So why do I feel heat rushing through me?
“I never opened the vents in here.” He motions to something on the ceiling. “I just remembered.”
“Oh, um, how do you open them? I’ll do it.”
“I got it.” He doesn’t look at me, and for some reason, it annoys me. “You probably won’t be able to reach it.” Stepping aside, I flick on the light and pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders. “It’s cold in here. Sorry,” he mumbles and walks through the room, reaching up and opening the vents. Warm air rushes down on me. He turns to leave and spots the unicorn on my pillow.
“You sleep with that?” he asks, lips pulling up with a bit of amusement.
“Every night. His name is Ray.”
“Interesting name,” Wes says.
The half smile turns into a real smile and, dammit, it’s doing bad things to me. I sit on my bed and pick Ray up. “He’s yellow, like a ray of sunshine.”
“That makes sense, I guess.”
I shrug. “I’ve had him forever. I know it’s weird.”
“There are weirder things to have in bed.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Speaking from experience?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“I suppose that’s good to know,” I laugh.
Weston smiles, holding my gaze for a few seconds, and I see the man under the tough exterior. He’s a bit damaged, like me, and the strangest feeling takes over, making me want to comfort him. Then he stiffens, inhaling deep and pushing his shoulders back. I watch his chest muscles rise and fall, feeling so little next to him.
“Goodnight,” he says and walks right past me out the door. He doesn’t shut it behind him, and I watch him disappear down the hall. Jackson is in his own room tonight, and Wes closes his door halfway, probably leaving it open to be able to hear if I get out of bed and decide to kidnap his son or something.
I close my door, twisting the knob before it clicks into place, silently shutting it. Then I get back in bed, still cold but feeling hot and flustered inside. Along with having little experience with good parents, I have little experience with good guys. My track record is unimpressive, and I haven’t had anything serious since I broke up with Tommy three and a half years ago.
I can feel warm air filling the room, but I’m still chilled. I get up and grab a pair of socks from my suitcase—no, I haven’t unpacked yet, and probably won’t until I’ve worn everything at least once and doing laundry is a necessity. Hunkering back down into bed, I curl up with Ray and fall asleep.