Page 58 of I Saw Her First

“Thank you.”

I let my gaze drink him in too. Jeans and a white linen button-down, sleeves rolled casually to the elbows. The undone top button exposes a small V at his throat that gives me a peek of salt-and-pepper chest hair, and the sight sends heat zipping through me. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to tear that shirt off and kiss every inch of him later.

I swallow, dragging my gaze back to his face. “You look, uh…”Unbelievably fuckable. “Nice, too.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle, and he pulls a hand from behind his back. “For you.”

I glance down to find a bunch of daisies wrapped in cellophane, their happy faces upturned to me. My heart skips at the thoughtful gesture.

“I love them. Thank you.”

“I also brought this,” Wes says, handing me a bottle of merlot. “I’m not sure what you’re cooking, but hopefully…”

“It’s perfect.” I grin, taking the bottle. Then we stand in the doorway, smiling at each other but not moving, as if neither of us knows what to do next. Is it possible he’s nervous too?

I clutch the flowers and wine, unsure of what to say. I want to kiss him, but I don’t have the guts to do it. Less than a day has passed since we last saw each other—since he had his head between my legs, for Christ’s sake—but having him here at myapartment makes everything feel different. Maybe I should have—

“I need to kiss you,” Weston says thickly, interrupting my thoughts. “Is that okay?”

Oh, thank fuck.

“Yes. Please.”

His mouth curls in a relieved grin as he steps over the threshold and takes my face in his hands, lowering his mouth to mine. Everything feels right again in the world the moment our lips connect. Warmth melts through me, softening the nervous tension in my body, drawing me closer to him. I still hold the flowers and wine, so I can’t press my body to his like I want to, can’t grab his ass and grind myself shamelessly against him, but it’s probably for the best. I have a meal bubbling on the stove, and I’m not sure how he’d respond if I mauled him before he even got through the doorway.

“Come in,” I say, catching my breath as we part.

He closes the door behind himself, letting his gaze wander around the apartment. The living room is a mix of off-white and rose gold, with faux fur on the cushions and a chrome and glass coffee table I’m perpetually terrified I’m going to shatter, making it hard to relax out here. The space is entirely decorated by Denise, despite that I pay half the rent, but I’ve made my peace with it.

At least, that’s what I’ve told myself over the years, but as I glance around at the space I’ve never felt quite at home in, I can’t help but frown. Why have I put up with her bullshit for so long?

I lead Wes into the kitchen, where I put the daisies in some water, and he slides onto a stool at the breakfast bar.

“This is a great place,” Weston says as I open the wine.

I snort a laugh. “It’s not really, but it’ll do for now.” I pour the wine into two mismatched glasses, handing him one. “I can’t, um, decant it, or whatever, because I don’t have…”

“It’s great as it is.” His eyes twinkle as he clinks his glass to mine.

I take a long sip of wine, letting the alcohol warm my veins. Weston sips his merlot as I turn the stove off and strain the pasta, trying not to feel self-conscious with him here, watching me. He’s so nicely dressed, and I can smell his spicy bergamot cologne. I picture his Audi sitting outside on the street and wonder if he feels as out of place as he looks. I sense his eyes on me as I dish up our food onto chipped plates, wishing I’d had the forethought to at least buy some new dishes for the evening.

Placing a serving of spaghetti in front of Wes, I slide onto the other stool to join him. “I’m sorry the plates aren’t great and the wineglasses don’t match,” I mumble, taking another long sip of wine to calm the anxiety rippling through my stomach. “My roommate—”

“Daisy.”

Wes takes my wineglass from my trembling hand and sets it on the counter, scooting closer to me. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, letting his fingers brush my cheek. It’s the lightest touch, but goosebumps dot my skin. His gaze moves slowly over my face, as if mapping every freckle, as if trying to memorize the blush staining my cheeks. His breath comes out on a long sigh, and he leans forward to press his mouth to mine.

“Everything is perfect,” he whispers against my lips. “I love seeing where you live.”

You never have to be nervous around me, Daisy.

I remember his words from last night and touch my mouth to his again. What am I thinking? IknowWes, and I know he doesn’t care about any of this stuff. He cares aboutme.

I smile as I draw away and return to our meal. Weston picks up his fork with a grin, tucking into the spaghetti.

“Fuck,” he mutters around a mouthful of pasta. “This is so good.” He slurps up a strand, his eyes closed in pleasure, and,relieved, I finally let myself take a bite. “You’d better be careful, or I’ll ask you to cook like this for me every night,” Wes jokes.

Yes, please.

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