Page 14 of Weston’s Treasure

Okay, so, I may’ve been gaping at him. It was like he’d read my mind and then somehow channeled my dad and told me exactly what he’d say.

“When I was about eleven, the boat we lived on caught on fire. My dad grabbed me, two life preservers, and jumped overboard. When we were floating in the water waiting I asked him why he didn’t try to put out the fire. He told me that a boat can be replaced, but he could never replace me. He said, shit is shit and that’s what insurance is for. I didn’t get it then, I was kinda upset that everything we had was on fire and I was floatin’ in the water in the middle of the night. But he was right. So, I know you’re right, too. But I feel like I’m back in the cold water floating all alone with nothing again.”

Weston took his hand off the gear shift and reached over and laced our fingers together.

“You’re not alone.”

Shit. Shit. Damn.

Why on earth was he being so nice? This side of Weston was more than I could bear. I should’ve pulled my hand away and told him not to touch me, but I didn’t. I should’ve told him he didn’t need to be nice to me, I may’ve had a moment of weakness but I wasn’t going to break.

Yet I did neither of those things. Instead, I sat in Weston’s Jeep as he kindly drove us to buy me clothes, wearing his sweatshirt—that indecently smelled divine, and I did it all holding his hand.

“I like your Jeep,” I blurted.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s cool driving around with no top or doors. It feels like you’re free.”

I was sure my hair was already a rat’s nest from the first leg of our trip and it would look even worse when we stopped in Middletown, but I didn’t care. I lifted my chin, closed my eyes, and let the fresh air whip through my hair.

“It does. But if you really wanna feel free I’ll take you for a ride on my bike.”

“You have a motorcycle?” My eyes popped open and I looked over at Weston.

“Yep. You ever been on one?” he asked and glanced over at me.

Our eyes locked. It was quick—just for a second—before he had to look back at the road, but I could swear something passed between us.

“No.”

“You’ll love it.”

I was sure I would, though I didn’t think it would be a good idea. I’d learned a few things over the course of the day. When Weston wasn’t being a jerk, he was irresistible. I’d also come to the conclusion my girly parts really liked when I was close to him. Riding on the back of his motorcycle would mean my crotch would be pressed against his ass—and just to note it was a spectacular sight. I wasn’t sure what exercise he did to make it as tight and firm as he did, but whatever he was doing, he shouldn’t stop.

“Here,” Weston said, and reached behind him. His hand came back with a baseball cap.

“That bad, huh?” I laughed.

“No, you look great. But your hair is whipping you in the face. I should’ve offered it earlier.”

“It’s like you can read my mind,” I mumbled.

“What was that?” He leaned closer.

“I said you can read my mind. I was just thinking about how messy my hair was gonna be.”

Weston pulled to a stop at a red light and looked over at me.

“It’s a little knotted. But it’s….” He shook his head and didn’t continue.

“It’s what?”

“Nothing. It’s fine.” Weston shifted in his seat, then leaned back and pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to me. “My texts are blowing up, can you check them for me?”

“Your texts?”

“Yeah. Can’t while I’m driving.”