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What the hell was he doing here?
That day, I picked up my research on Weston Sheats, and my slight fascination became a very unhealthy obsession.
Almost one year later, I knew everything there was to know about MPU's tight end and former best friend of Lilly and Rhys. I found out that he hadn't seen them since he left LA two years ago, and I suspected it had something to do with why he ended up here. The only person from his past that showed up regularly was Denielle Keller. She visited him, but he never went back to Virginia—that much was apparent from her public social media account and her complaints about the cold in Montana. I hadn't been able to pinpoint their relationship. Was there something going on? Whenever I thought about that possibility, a burning sensation spread through my chest.
Wes grew out his blond hair, almost to chin length, with the sides shaved. He came back like that from winter break, which he had spent with Kai. He wore it in a man bun, and girls on campus flocked around him wherever he went. Not that I blamed them. Fuck that, I did blame them. I hated every single one of them for being able to talk to him openly, touch his arm in a flirtatious manner, and do whatever else they got to do to him.
A low growlcomes out of my throat at the memory of the last time I witnessed exactly that, and I realize I had completely spaced out.
Fuck! Feeling my face heat, I focus again on the present and the guy still lounging against my car.
Wes's mouth quirks up at the corner and—Why does he have to be so gorgeous?
I fight the urge to slap my forehead. Focus! I lower my arm that is still holding up my bag from searching for my goddamn keys and widen my stance. I slant my head and give him my best bored-out-of-my-mindimpression.
"I asked you a question." I lace my tone with annoyance. I can do this. I've done this for years. Just turn it off. My heartbeat is slowing the more I repeat my old mantra in my head, and I can sense the numbness creep through my body. This means nothing to me.Hemeans nothing to me.
"I asked you a question first," he counters.
What the fuck?
Frustration eclipses the numbness, which is still better than me drooling at his feet. I need to get out of here. I take a step forward.
"Get off my car," I say, grinding the words out through clenched teeth.
"And if I don't?" he taunts.
I fight the urge to stomp like a toddler. An idea forms in my mind, and a slow smile spreads across my face. I tilt my head, reaching behind me. Wes follows the movement, and his eyes widen when he sees what I'm holding.
"You can't be serious." He glances between my CRKT Du Hoc and me. My CRKT Du Hoc fixed blade is one of the two knives I take everywhere for multiple reasons. Grizz's customers assume it's my fancy, eccentric way to cut their limes, not that this blade holds several memories for me—good and bad.
"I asked you nicely. I'm not repeating myself." All emotion has left me. This is the old King, the one I never wanted to be again. But if this is the way to get rid of him, I have to let her come out and play.
Wes stares at the curved blade for a long moment before pushing off the Jeep. I fight the urge to exhale in relief, but then he strides forward casually and steps right into my personal space. I have to crane my neck to look at him. Damn him for being so tall. He studies me, and the intensity of his stare makes me want to squirm. I've dreamed for a year of being this close to him, and now that I am, all I want is to run. People always want their dreams to come true, but it's better if this dream remains a dream. There is no Wes and King. There is only a Wes and a King on completely different playing fields.
Wes leans down until our noses almost touch, and I hold my breath. What the hell is he doing?
"I'm going to figure you out, MOAB Girl," he whispers, so close to my lips I can feel his warm breath mingle with mine. With that, he straightens and walks around me down the alley leading to the front of the bar.
I'm rooted in place, my legs too weak to move.
What just happened?
CHAPTERSIX
A knife.She pulled a fucking knife on me. Who the hell is this chick?
Common sense would tell you to stay the fuck away from this lunatic. First, she chases me down the freaking road, almost running into the back of my bike, then she bolts when she sees me, followed by threatening me with a blade that could gut a bear.
I've dealt with enough crazy shit to last me a lifetime, yet something deep inside of me stirs, wanting to peel back every single layer and expose who this girl is deep down. My intuition tells me the tough act is real, but there is a reason for it—a good reason—and I itch to figure out what it is. Plus, I can't shake the feeling that I've seen her before. But when or where?
There is no way I would've forgotten if she had been one of my drunken sexual escapades, as D calls them. Now that I have gotten a glimpse of her entire face, I got my confirmation that she is truly beautiful. Her eyes are the lightest blue I have ever seen; I definitely would've remembered those. She's around Den's height, her dark-blonde hair hangs in casual waves down her back, and her tan tells me she spends a lot of time outside—which is not hard, given where we live.
I stride casually to the front of the bar, not looking back. I know she's watching me, and no matter how badly I want to see her pale eyes again, I force myself to keep moving.
As I round the corner to the street, I almost smack into Kai, who apparently came looking for me. After she jumped off the bar, I raced out of The Grizz. Something told me she would make a run for it, and I was right. It was easy to spot her badass Jeep in the back parking lot. All I had to do was wait. I was not prepared for her, though.
A. Knife.
