CHAPTER 85

jackson

A s expected, West was too wound up to sleep. It took some coaxing and reassurance, but eventually, the two of us lay in bed just talking in the dark. No more than five minutes into the conversation, West’s fingers found their way to my pulse.

“Why the fuck are you asking my favorite color?” he demanded.

“I told you I’d come up with a list of talking points,” I reminded him, grinning, even if he couldn’t see me.

“What do you think is my favorite color?” West countered.

“Black ain’t a color, baby,” I said.

“It’s a fucking color!”

“It’s the absence of light.”

“That’s bullshit,” he scoffed. I could damn near hear the eye roll in his voice. It only made me chuckle.

“That’s Google science,” I replied.

“Do you believe everything you read on Google?” He scooted closer, and his knees bumped into mine. I waited for him to pull away, but he didn’t. The closer proximity made me happy. I’d never push it with him, but I couldn’t deny that I enjoyed whatever physical contact I could get with West.

“You’d believe everything on Google if you had a fucking smartphone.” Yeah, I poked at the bear with that one.

“I don’t need a fucking computer in my pocket.”

“You have a flip phone!” Him and his damn flip phone. “It’s ancient. There’s one in a goddamn museum somewhere. You need an upgrade.”

“It works just fine. Next question, cowboy. You’re not buying me a phone,” West said. I was going to replace that fucking fossil of a phone. How I planned to do that was just the question.

“Tell me about your tattoos,” I said instead.

“I have them.”

“Fucker.” I both loved and hated his smart-ass answers. “Why the angel wings?”

“Next question,” he snapped.

“West.” I frowned, wondering what the hell his resistance to the question was about. I wouldn’t push it, but I wanted to know.

“When my mom died, she said she’d send an angel to protect me. Obviously, that didn’t fucking work,” he began with a sigh. “So, I got drunk and decided it’d be a great fucking idea to have my own wings. I’d protect myself since no one else was going to fucking do it.”

My fucking heart.

“You shouldn’t have been allowed to get a tattoo drunk.” I decided to focus on the thing that wouldn’t push his buttons—which also happened to be a safety fact. While I didn’t have a tattoo, I’d gotten drunk once and tried. They turned my ass away real fast. Something about my inability to give legal consent or some bullshit.

“A guy I knew did tattoos for anyone under any circumstances as long as he got paid.” Well, that sounded shady as fuck. “He did most of it while I was passed out drunk.”

“That sounds unpleasant.” It bothered me more than I wanted to admit that someone had done that to him. How fucking unprofessional. “Did you get rid of your first tattoos?”

His first tattoos had been two phrases on his inner wrists. But with his full sleeves, they weren’t there anymore.

“No. The asshole covered them up without asking. ”

“That asshole,” I said. Then, just to fuck with him, I added, “Want me to punch him?”

“Yeah, I fucking do,” he replied. “But I don’t have the fucking money to bail you out, so we’d get to see what you look like in orange.”

“Don’t work with my skin tone,” I retorted, chuckling softly.

“Why doesn’t that fucking surprise me.” His fingers trailed up and down my arm slowly. Every pass was agonizing in its own wonderful way—burning a path along my skin that surged through every inch of my body. It never ceased to amaze me how the little things he did affected me. “Do I want to know what colors work with your skin tone?”

I grinned. The only reason I even knew this shit was because of Darla. She said it helped me look good for my interviews.

“Deep greens, reds, browns, coppers…” My voice trailed off. There was no way in hell I was saying the last one.

“Oranges?” West guessed.

“Not a chance in hell,” I retorted. I opened my mouth to say something more, but West kissed me, effectively shutting me up. His tongue slid over mine, the taste of him making me moan.

Everything about him rushed to my head—a feeling I desperately wanted to crash into. But I couldn’t. It was selfish. I had too much shit on my plate with the rodeo to be fully present if he spiraled because of something we did.

“West,” I whispered, breaking away from him.

“I don’t want anything else,” he muttered against my mouth before I could say a word. “I just want to kiss you, cowboy.”

I wouldn’t argue with that. I traced the curve of his bottom lip with my thumb and felt his hold on my forearm tighten. Not to stop me but rather with anticipation. My fingers trailed over the coarseness of his beard and tangled in the curls at the back of his neck as I claimed his lips with mine.

I took my time—savored him.

Tasted him.

Shared his breath.

His fist wrung in the front of my shirt and dragged me closer, holding me against him.

“I…” West faltered, his breath fanning across my face as I waited silently. “Jackson, I… ”

There was a part of me that had a strong feeling about the words he wanted to say—the words he probably didn’t know how to say. Words I’d wait forever to hear from West and never once be bothered if I never heard them.

“I know, baby,” I told him softly and kissed him once more. If he was ever ready to say them, I’d be ready to hear them. Until then, just laying in the dark kissing him and knowing some part of West loved me was more than enough.