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“Weston? Hey,” she answers softly, her voice strung with worry.
“Hey, yourself,” I say, without knowing what to say next. “I—uh, didn’t know if you’d still be up. I’m sorry, again. You’re right, that shit I flung at you back at the bar was none of my business. Old habits, and not good ones, I guess. I’ve never gotten over looking out for you.”
There’s this long stabbing pause.
“Well...I certainly needed that at times,” she says. “It was nice growing up with two big brothers.”
I grin like a fool, even if I also hate her thinking of me in nothing but a brotherly way.
It’s easier this way, to talk to her like this, though, when it’s just two voices and no heated looks or body cues. This disembodied distance is the barrier I need to behave.
“I’ll bet it was when you were crashing bikes and sucking up my rotten jokes. I know you’re grown up now, and I’ll try to knock it off. You’re not the same girl you were at sixteen,” I say, miserably well aware I’m nothing like the same easygoing boy I was then, either.
She’s silent for a heavy moment before she says, “Thanks. Honestly, though, maybe you don’t need to drop the bodyguard act just yet...”
My shoulders tense.
“Why? What’s wrong? Shelly—Rachel—if you’re in trouble, I—”
“Nothing!” she cuts in. “Nothing’s wrong. I...I just, um...I’ll only be here until about Thanksgiving and it would be pretty weird if I didn’t see you. I want things to be civil. Friendly, even.”
The tension flows out of me. I reach up, swallowing a groan, dragging a hand across my face.
She still wants to be friends, thank fuck.
Goddamn.
She wants to be friends.
That should make me thrilled—it’s clearly the sane choice—so why do I feel like I just took a searing slap to the face?
“Weston?” she whispers when I’m silent too long.
“Friends. Hell yeah. That’s what we’ve always been,” I say quickly. Not wanting this talk to get too deep, I ask, “By the way, has Hercules seemed okay to you when you fed him the last couple mornings?” Shit! I hadn’t wanted her to know I’d been watching her do that. Clearing my throat, I add, “I’m assuming that’s you and not Thelma dropping food in his trough, anyway.”
She laughs like a schoolgirl and my face actually heats, knowing I must sound like a blundering fool.
“It’s me, and he’s been fine. Why?”
“Eh, he had me a little worried earlier this week. Wasn’t really sick or vomiting or anything, he just seemed...off. Didn’t want to wolf down his grub like usual, and mostly grazed on it half the day. He’s over it now, back to eating like a garbage disposal, but I almost called the vet the other day.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. You know, now that you mention it, he didn’t eat what I dropped off Tuesday. It was still there Wednesday morning. I thought it just wasn’t to his liking, so I scraped it out of the trough.”
“He’s a pig. He’ll eat anything. Usually.”
Her giggle comes softly, this flutter that makes my cock jerk.
“He’s eaten pretty well since then.” After a short pause, she says, “Gram told me your aunt gave him to you.”
“She did. Between her knees acting up and all the looking in on my little cousins last year, she was worried she wouldn’t be able to keep up with Herc and the family. She’s also mulling over moving into a senior place. I hope she won’t get too bored there, though it’s hard to see how when she’s alone now. The house is a lot for her to keep up by herself, especially when she’s over at Grady and Willow’s half the time.”
“At least she’s not turning it into a bed and breakfast.”
I chuckle silently.
“True.”
I want to ask how that’s going for her and Thelma, but I don’t want to ruin the easy vibe I feel through the phone by broaching a subject that might bring up the date I crashed earlier.
