ChapterSixteen
Wynter
Horror engulfsme as I realize what just happened. A moment of weakness. He’s the only man who’s ever brought this needy, desperate side out of me. We keep crashing into each other, like bumper cars running on an electrical track and bumping into one another as we drive our separate ways. Or try to.
Every time I see him, my heart rebels against me. I’ve told it time and time again that I can’t fall for Weston Croix, but it continually laughs in my face. Like hands on its knees, cackling type of crying laughter.
Like somehow my heart knows better than my head.
I’d taken the day off, the maintenance giving me the all clear to start moving things back into our apartment at The Gardens, a couple weeks early. They have tossed out most of the furniture because of the water damage, and the new furniture I’d ordered would arrive today.
Addison plans to meet me here later to help with the unpacking and moving around. For now, I’ll get a head start on moving around the items left over. Unlike my heart.
The delivery truck dropped off an eggshell blue chaise lounge half an hour ago, and it calls to me. Grabbing my piping hot cup of tea, I curl up on the lounger. Scrolling through my texts, I read through all the ones he’s sent me since I broke it off.
WESTON: You can’t avoid this forever.
WESTON: We need to talk about this, Wyn.
WESTON: Do you miss my lips against that pretty pussy? I miss the way you taste.
WESTON: My cock is rock hard. If only I had someone here to help me out with it. *winking emoji*
WESTON: Why aren’t you talking to me?
WESTON: You know what, maybe you aren’t worth it…
WESTON: Look, maybe I came on too strong. That’s on me but avoiding me and refusing to talk about it is a problem too.
WESTON: You’re the ice queen to my castle in the middle of nowhere. My Chief.
WESTON: I told you I was falling for you and you don’t even do me the courtesy of even responding to a single text?
WESTON: I need the taste of berries and vanilla on my tongue. I want to smear the fuck out of that ruby red lipstick, suck on that pouty bottom lip until you remember that it fucking belongs to me.
WESTON: TEXT ME BACK. WE NEED TO TALK. SOON.
The itch under my skin begs me to respond just once, but I don’t. Instead, putting his name in the internet search bar, I look up everything I can find on Weston Croix. Yale graduate, journalism major, heir to the Croix family legacy. Pictures of him flash across my screen. He’s pictured with an older gentleman who has the same sharp facial features. Two pictures catch my attention - one of him and his father, the other is him with a woman. The same woman stays around for almost a year and a half according to the dates on the articles.
I wonder who she is and why she’s no longer in his life. A green monster rises in my chest, feeling the jealousy rip through me, but I push it back down.
There are no pictures of his mother. I see pictures aging from young to adult, but nothing of an older woman with his facial features. Not even pictures of a woman with his father, Charles Croix. I wonder if that’s what he meant when he mentioned the important women in his life leaving him. I want to ask, but I have no right to know now.
I stare at his face, taking in the features. Those golden hazel eyes that sparkle when he’s being charming. Twinkle with thought as he ponders his next move. Dark with lust and desire when we are in the heat of intimacy.
Eyes tell you a lot about a person. Giving you a way to see pure emotion into the soul and to know someone’s true feelings.
It’s how I know that anything created between Weston and I will be dangerous, electrifying. We are fire and ice. Combusting every time we come into contact with one another. Once he owns me body and soul, there will be no letting me go. I can tell he watches me. Reading my actions like a roadmap on his journey to find my heart. He wants to lay siege to it.
Capture it like a pirate taking over a merchant vessel. Claiming it. Looting his bounty.
Moments from this morning invade my brain and I can’t help but let them take over. Telling him it was a mistake had been a lie because the truth was harder to shoulder. I want him. Need him.
He’s the only one who calls for my heart to beat. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’d already stolen it out from under me. At this point, maybe fighting it is an unwinnable game.
I am eternally grateful for Addison. She’s been here for me every step of the way through my anger, fear, sadness. Never telling me what I need to do or reprimanding me for doing the wrong thing, even if she doesn’t agree. Instead, she’s been a silent pillar for me to vent.
I’ll be getting one or two more deliveries showing up later today, so I pull out my laptop and work while I wait.