“You bet.” And because he was practical and hated disappointing people, he added, “No guarantees but I think it would be a great fit.”
When he left the center, drove toward home, he felt better than he had in a while. More grounded. Less … scattered. Lately, he’d felt like his brain was Hailey’s laptop—eight hundred open tabs all vying for attention. He didn’t like feeling pulled in different directions when none of them seemed particularly interesting.
When he pulled into his parking spot at home, he checked his phone. Ana had asked about a dinner meeting next week, saying she’d bring the paperwork to sign there. It was too good an offer to be put off by having to socialize for one dinner. The money from this deal could give them the cushion they wanted for other investments.
With a smile, he got out of his vehicle and thought about what he could trade Hailey to get her to come with him. This might not be what was meant by friends with benefits, but he had a feeling she’d be willing to make a deal.
13
Wes’s apartment was awesome. She’d been 100 percent accurate when she assumed the space would be enviable. “I love it. It’s a great size. Oh look! You have a little patio,” Hailey said, sliding the door open and stepping onto it.
“There sure is a difference between the word ‘studio’ in New York and here in California,” he said behind her, a smile in his voice. She liked that she could recognize that even without looking at him.
Other people were out on their patios as well. Vehicles moved along the street, and music came from multiple places. She leaned over the railing, hanging on tight but trying to fold her body just … a … little … more.
Wes’s hands gripped her waist, shocking her in a duality of different ways.
“Please don’t,” he said, tension woven into each word.
He’d stepped back to the doorway, his gaze down, when she turned around. With a grin, she put her hand over her heart. “You scared me. I was just trying to see if I could see my shop.” And she hadn’t expected the zing of pleasure at the feel of his fingers digging into her hips.
He looked up, meeting her gaze. “You scared me. I can see it if I lean over but you’re about a foot too short.”
The worry she saw in his eyes, the tension that still riddled his shoulders surprised her. He was serious. She’d actually scared him. Like he thought something would happen to her.
Going on instinct, Hailey stepped closer. “I’m okay. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He shook it off, gave her an almost-smile. “It’s fine.”
This close, she’d caught the scent of his cologne and of pure Wes and she had to remind herself that neither of them wanted more than just friendship. Hailey had been lonely enough in the past few years that she knew there was no “just” about it: friendship was a gift. One she’d sorely been missing. They went back inside.
The patio was off a living room that led to a sweet little kitchen. The other end of the apartment had a bedroom, den, and gorgeous bathroom. She went toward the kitchen, started unloading some of the supplies she’d brought.
“I thought I had everything,” Wes said, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned on the opening between the kitchen and living area.
“I know, but I wasn’t sure if you ate what you bought.” She reached for a drawer then looked at him. “Okay if I make myself at home?”
He gestured to go ahead with his hand. “You thought I ate two cans of diced tomatoes and a pound of brown sugar?”
It was easy to tease him. “Hey, I don’t know what your secrets are.”
His laughter made her happy. “Now I want to know yours. What do you want me to do?”
“Wash your hands.”
While he did that, she found a cutting board, pans, the olive oil, tomatoes, garlic, onions, brown sugar, and balsamic.
She pulled on an apron with BY THE CUP on the right top corner. “Okay. Grab a can opener—you can drain those tomatoes, then dice the garlic. Do you have a press?”
Wes shook his head. “Nope. But I’ve got knives. You want a glass of wine? I have red or white.”
“Red, please.”
There was a lot going on in her brain. She hadn’t cooked dinner for a man in a long time. She’d never taught one how to make her grandmother’s marinara. She felt that jittery buzz of excitement she’d normally attribute to attraction, but it was more. Or something else entirely. Hailey didn’t have a lot of experience with the whole guy-girl friend thing but she was curious if this undercurrent of … what? Energy? Electricity? If it was normal.
“How was the rec center?” She turned the dial on the stove, poured some olive oil into a sauté pan as he chopped the garlic. She grabbed the onion and chopped it on the other cutting board.
“I was surprised by how excited the kids were. I think I expected some of them to need a solid push but I guess it’s different when they all want to be there. Not like a regular school class where they have no choice.”
“What did you teach?” The oil spattered in the pan so she grabbed the cutting board from him, swept the garlic in, loving the sound of the sizzle.
“Mmm. Love the smell of garlic,” he said.
“Me, too. You can slide the onions in. I keep the heat high at first but you need to be careful it doesn’t burn.”
The onions added bonus sizzle. Hailey stirred them with a wooden spoon, picking up the can of tomatoes while he told her about coding, creating apps, and developing software. One of those areas that was fascinating but beyond her understanding.
“You don’t want the juice?” he asked when she poured in the second can.
“Personal preference. If you want a juicier sauce or are adding meat, then yes. I tend to do this because I like a hearty marinara. Your voice sounds happy when you tech talk.”
Wes stopped rinsing the tomato can. “‘Tech talk.’ I should coin that phrase. Like a TED Talk but different.”
“It’s literally a different language for me.”
“As is this for me.” He gestured to the pan.
She wondered if he’d had people cook for him. Not here but in New York. “I don’t want to learn coding,” she said. She knew her limits and had no problem staying within them.
“That’s fair, but you’re going to play at least one video game before you’re allowed to leave tonight.”
She continued to stir, adjusted the heat. “Are you trying to turn me into a gamer?”
“It’d be nice to go on a winning streak. I’m used to playing with my brothers. Going up against a rookie will be good for my ego.”
“Until I kick your ass. I’m a quick learner.”
“We’ll see.” He passed her a glass of wine. She knew dinnerware. She had an affinity for it the way some women loved jewelry. Turning the glass, she tipped it slightly, looked for the suspected W stamp on the bottom.
“Something on your glass?”
Waterford. “Nope. Just admiring your good taste.” Taking a long swallow, she tried to push down the unease that came along with thinking about his wealth. She’d broken down, broken her own rule, and googled the hell out of him. He wasn’t just well off. He was old-family-empire-like-the-Hiltons rich.
“My grandmother’s taste. She gave each of us a set of two. They were her mother’s.”
Hailey set the glass down then pushed it farther from the edge. “You might want to give me a plastic cup next time. I can be clumsy.”
“I haven’t seen much evidence of that.”
All it takes is a high-value family heirloom to bring it out in me. She remembered meeting Dorian’s parents. A nervous swing of her jacket had nicked one of his mother’s sculptures in the entry hall. She’d never lived it down.
“Why don’t you get the water going for the pasta.” Changing the topic felt easier than addressing it. “I start with a drizzle of balsamic, a tablespoon of brown sugar. I add all the regular spices you do to any other Italian dish and then adjust to taste.”
She held up a spoonful for him, her hand underneath it. When he bent his knees to accept, she got caught in his gaze for a second again. It was like looking at the sky on a perfectly clear day.
“Holy shit that’s good.” He licked his lips.
Hailey grinned. “It takes less than twenty minutes to whip it up. Next time one of your dates works out, you could make this.”
He gave her a one-sided smile. “Or, since we’re becoming good friends, you can make it for me in exchange for me helping you master the art of video games.”
She turned the burner down to simmer, laughing. “You’re a full-on gaming nerd, aren’t you? You love all this tech stuff; have you designed your own?”
When he didn’t answer her, she turned to look at him. He was giving her such a funny look that she asked, “What?”
Had she missed something? Was he a renowned gaming designer and she was clueless for not knowing? Was he the Nora Roberts of tech? The Nora Ephron of action-packed games?