Page 66 of Love Marks
* * *
I get to the hotel almost twenty minutes late. Sweating and heaving with exhaustion from booking it up the subway steps, I sneak in the back exit, hoping to avoid Sharon. My plan works and I ride up the elevator in near silence, only the sound of my pathetic gasps echoing back to me.
The elevator doors slide open, and I must be so distracted by my lateness that I don’t notice Wesley until I get into the kitchen where he stands. Completely shirtless.
If I weren’t already gasping for air like a fish out of water, I might have dropped my jaw on the floor. There’s no stopping my eyes as they study every inch of his chiseled chest. Like, seriously. Nobody should look like that. It’s rude to the rest of us. He looks like a Calvin Klein model. He looks like a Google image result for toned.
I finally force my eyes to stop their perusal when I look up and see Wesley’s signature smirk out in full force. He quirks an eyebrow at me. “See something you like?”
I step backwards, snapping back to reality. “What? Of course not.” I force my eyes anywhere but on his chest. “You — you shouldn’t be walking around like that!”
He raises his eyebrows, incredulous. “I live here. I just finished a workout. Besides, you were running around here in that little maid outfit.”
“What?” I rear back. “Those were my uniform!”
He shrugs and turns back to the smoothie he’s blending, cranking up the noise. I try to shout over the sound, but he points at it, gesturing that he can’t hear me. Fuming, I cross past him and flip the blender off.
“Don’t walk around like that when I’m here!”
“Well, you weren’t here before. Besides, we’re friends, right? Can’t friends be shirtless in front of each other?”
He reaches his arm around me and turns the blender back on, not even attempting to stamp out his smug expression. I turn around and flip it off again.
“Oh, really?” I challenge. “So, it wouldn’t bother you at all if I took my shirt off? If I decided to scrub the kitchen down in just my bra?”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He stares down at me, his expression no longer gleeful. “Of course not. Friend.” He tacks on the last word, narrowing his eyes.
“Great. Glad we cleared that up.” In one swift move, I pull my shirt off, revealing my black bra underneath. I throw the shirt to the side and strut towards the living room. “I’ll be cleaning the bathrooms if you need me!”
* * *
It’s not long before Wesley finds me in the bathroom with my shirt in his hand. I’m scrubbing the tub and could not look like more of a mess.
“Put this on.” He flattens his lips into a thin line and tosses the shirt in my direction. “Please.”
I smirk and glance down at the shirt. “I thought friends could be shirtless around friends?” I swear he lets out a small growl as his eyes wander down to my chest. “Unless you’re having trouble…focusing?”
His eyes snap back up to meet mine, but he doesn’t say anything. We stay silent for a few moments, a stalemate.
“Fine,” he snaps. “If I admit that I find you attractive, will you put the damn shirt back on?”
My jaw drops. I did not see that coming. Wesley Marks finds me attractive. I have no idea what to do with this information. Suddenly nervous and realizing I am, in fact, topless, I pull the shirt over my head and straighten it out.
“Good.” He turns and strides out of the room, leaving me gaping after him.
I pull my gloves off and pick up my phone, wanting to text someone and get advice on this Wesley situation. Who do I text? My mind wanders to my mom, but I don’t want to bother her. Besides, she still thinks I have the boss from hell.
It’s times like this when I wish I had a best friend. Someone to confide in and talk about boys with. During college, there were a couple of girls who I went to the bar with occasionally, mostly the other sugar babies I knew, but none of them were really friends. After that, I threw myself into work and hardly had time for anything else.
What would a best friend tell me to do right now? What would I do if this was an episode of Sex and the City? Am I more of a Carrie or a Samantha?
My stomach flutters remembering the way Wesley’s eyes felt on me — the heat that pooled in my stomach at the intensity of his gaze. Is he feeling what I’m feeling?
No, no way. Wesley Marks doesn’t do feelings. He might find me slightly attractive but that doesn’t mean he’d act on it. Or that he even cares.
But he must care a little. He seemed pretty fired up about the shirt issue. I wonder how he would react if I touched him. If I trailed my fingers up his chest to touch his face. If I bent over and let his large hands spread my legs open.
Jesus.