Recklessly (4 page)

“Because I don’t. I wanted children. I wanted marriage, too, but I feel like…I just…I just feel… stuck, son. And your goddamn father—”

“Then don’t be stuck, Mom,” Wes insisted as he winced, taking her hand. “You know Abel and I have your back. Always. We’d still love you if you ended things with Dad. Nothing would change.” Fuck. Only in their bizarro universe did
kids
explain to
parents
why divorce was better for everybody.

“But I’m stuck either way, Wes. At least
here,
I know what I’m stuck with.”

He scoffed, almost not believing what he was hearing.
Told you, Abel, this has always been a little selfish.
It was worth being unhappy because at least she knew what kind of unhappiness she was getting? Divorce would mean choosing an unknown situation and she couldn’t risk that?
What the hell?
Bile rushed up into his throat, all fiery and bitter, a lot like he was feeling right now.

“…Your
fucking
father…”

Wes clenched his jaw until his teeth hurt as frustration and sadness curled through his stomach. In a whisper, he said, “Mom—”

“…Stuck with your—”

“Mom! You should go back to bed. Please?” he said, raising his voice, and it snapped her out of whatever angry trance she had been in. She took his hand when he offered it, and with her leaning against him, he walked her to the guest bedroom. As soon as he shut the door, a bleary-eyed Abel was at his side on his way back to his room from the bathroom.

“Mom is having one of those nights. I’m going out for a little bit,” Wes said before his brother could ask. He slipped into his room and changed clothes in his closet, jumping into a pair of dark jeans and a black polo shirt. He needed air and alcohol. He snatched his keys off the kitchen counter.

“Wesley,” Abel called after him, “You can’t take on their crap too much, you know. You just can’t.”

Yeah, he shouldn’t have been shouldering their problems. Beau and Sylvia Elliott had probably been harboring spite for one another long before that second pink line appeared on her pregnancy test. And he agreed with his mom. He did have a pretty great life and it should’ve outweighed everything else, but Wes still turned and shrugged at his brother when he reached the front door. Because he agreed with his mom about something else, too.

It felt too late to escape.

Chapter 2 Vice (noun) \vīs\ moral depravity or corruption

He ended up at
Vices
, maybe because he was a regular or maybe because he hoped Lana would show up by miracle of his dirty thoughts about her, and they could get to know each other. Either way, the distraction would be enough to clear his head for an hour or two. Wes sat at the bar in front of his favorite bartender, Susan, the one who always made his drinks just right, and ordered a vodka cranberry before swinging around to scan the crowd.
Vices
was lively; it was just after midnight. A few passing guys stopped to chat with him, and he took a picture with a surfing fan. Some women were dancing to a pop-country track on the jukebox, and there was the constant
thwack
of pool balls colliding in one of the rooms adjacent the main hall.

              “I never see you here on a Saturday night,” Susan said.

              “And I shouldn’t be,” Wes replied, swinging back around. “But my parents are visiting.
My
parents are visiting.”

              Susan gave him a knowing look and a sympathetic smile. “Your shots are on the house tonight, kid.”

              “You’re lucky you’re married, Sues,” Wes said with a wink.

              “But I’m not, so what does that get me?” Wes watched two bangle-covered arms thread through his on either side and curl around his chest.
Kiera.
A woman he had hooked up with pretty routinely in the past, but things had fizzled back to just friendship a while ago. He wasn’t really looking to drown his sorrows in sex. Wasn’t his thing. If he was in a better mood by night’s end, though…perhaps. He held her arms tight against his chest and she leaned in to his ear.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

“Hey! I’m about to leave, though. Come with?” she said, before her lips settled on his neck. He started to speak, but his ears perked up at the sound of familiar laughter, the kind that made him smile.

Hers.

Lana.
It seemed to rise up over all the noise in the place.

              “Hey, excuse me a sec, Ki.” Wes jumped to his feet. “Get her anything she wants, Sues. I’m paying for that one, though. Be right back.” Wes strode into one of the poolrooms and spotted Lana prepping a shot at a table surrounded by guys. Finally, he was getting a peek at the sculpted legs he had fantasized about, which were on display below a tiny denim mini skirt, as she leaned and drove the pool cue forward. She definitely looked even less like a biker chick right now. Her hair was up in a messy bun, and she was wearing a tight, pink V-neck top with her skirt, and sandals. The guys around her erupted into laughter when the cue scraped the table’s surface and the ball took an inconsequential roll forward.

              “Lan…easiest shot in the world,” one of the guys teased, tossing his pool cue back and forth between his hands.

              “Can’t concentrate with you guys staring at me like that
,
Rick,” she explained.

Wes yanked his gaze away from Lana to study the guy, Mr. Pool Stick, when she walked over to him and swatted at his chest.
Fuckin’ Rick.
He frowned, even growled a little, and tried to ignore whatever was tightening up his stomach at the moment. It was a sense of competition, he quickly determined, and he wouldn't be able to control it much longer. He sized up
Rick
as he and Lana laughed in their private conversation. Eh. The guy was
all right
in the looks department, but no Wesley Elliott.

              “Lana,” Wes said. He spoke louder than he needed to, even with the present noise level, just so he could capture every eye in the place. He was such a slut for attention, and he accepted this. She turned and he prepared for his heart to simply stop functioning as her mouth gradually slid into a smile. Goddamn, she was so fucking beautiful.

He gestured at her with the tilt of his head, signaling for her to come over. It was a blatant display of machismo, but Wes wanted every other man to know
he
was there for
her
.
Yeah, fuck you, Rick,
he thought when she abandoned that conversation and strolled over to him instead. 

“Tuesday already?” she asked playfully as she pulled him into a hug. Her body seemed to sink into his, fit it even, her soft areas pressing into his hard ones. She couldn’t feel the hardest part of him, though.
Thankfully...or maybe…yet
, he thought.

“It can be,” Wes said in a casual tone as he looked over her shoulder, and once he and the disgruntled Rick made eye contact, Wes eased his lips into a taunting smile, a suggestion that Rick accept the grief of continuing the pool game without her.

“Good. Come with me. Now.” Her tone wasn’t wholly demanding, but it wasn’t a request either; it simply rendered every other option less valuable in his mind. Her assertiveness in the moment, as fleeting as it was, though, turned him on, sending flashes of heat across his skin. Wes loved a woman who knew and did exactly what she wanted. And if that was
him
at some point tonight, and he was back to being a ray of sunshine, he’d give her whatever she asked for.

He flashed a triumphant parting look back at Rick once more, just to make sure his point stuck, as she led him away. Lana cut through the bar and went straight for the exit, and they walked until they were at a darkened restaurant storefront with a taco truck parked at the curb. There might have been more people in line than actually in
Vices.
When they finally reached the window, she ordered two burritos and two waters, and they found a spot along the curb to sit. He was so captivated by her legs—they were powerful looking, like a runner’s or a dancer’s—and he couldn’t stop staring when she stretched them out into the street. He wondered how flexible they were, how much they quivered when...

Don’t even finish the thought.
His erection twitched and he tried to adjust himself without touching the front of his jeans.
“Fuck,”
Wes muttered as he bit into the burrito, shaking his head.

“Huh?” Lana set her plate aside and brushed her hands together as a manner of cleaning them before she took a sip of water.

“I can pay you back,” Wes offered, and he started to yank his wallet from his pocket, but she grabbed his wrist, and they both froze, gazes locked.
Firm grip.
And he liked her touching him, that was for sure.

“Don’t worry about it.” Lana licked her lips before she smiled, her fingers stroking up his forearm. When she reached his elbow, she twisted his arm to examine the jumbled, intertwining tattoos cloaking his skin. Most were meaningful, but some were from hiding his intoxication really well in the tattoo chair, and others were less special and mostly just to fill in blank space. “How many do you have total on your arm?”

“I stopped counting after the twelve biggest ones,” he said proudly as she stared in awe. “It might be like twenty-five or something. There are a few tiny ones. I have some infinity symbols, some good luck charm stuff ‘cause I’m really superstitious when I’m surfing in contests…”

“How long did it take to cover completely?”

“Three years. It’s surf or die for me, so I picked up the pace when I realized there was no fucking way I was going into an office every day. And this pretty much guarantees it.” After licking excess sauce from the burrito off his fingers, he pointed to the image of a topless Jessica Rabbit with a mermaid tail matching her signature red dress etched on his hand; the top half of her body, bare breasts and all, was displayed just below his fingers. No matter how long his sleeves, it would always be visible.

So, no Every Man paycheck.

Lana was clutching his hand in both of hers now, staring down at the intricacies of the tattoo design—the coiffed red hair and exaggerated curvatures of her body—and tracing a soft outline with her thumbs. She drew her fingertips across the top of his hand with such slow, gentle strokes that the touch triggered the heightening of his arousal. Okay, he was wrong; maybe her touching him was a bad idea. Now, it felt too sensual for what he was thinking. Wes flicked his eyes over to her chest and down her legs again. Lana, too, had the kind of body that should’ve been immortalized in ink.

“What is the fascination with her?” Lana asked with an eye roll. “No one would actually look like that in real life, you know.”

Wes shrugged and grinned. “It’s the
idea
of her I like. Any chick who is
that
hot—not-even-
on-
the-scale hot, like you—and who marries a guy who’s a soft three, and a major pussy, is really endearing.”

Lana threw her head back and laughed. “Wes…there’s no way you need to be worried about something like that.”

He held a grin at the compliment. “I know, but it gives hope to all the guys who don’t look like me.” He was dead serious but he winked. “And that makes her awesome.”

Lana beamed. “So, you think I’m Jessica Rabbit hot?”

“I think
you
think you’re Jessica Rabbit hot,” he teased.

“Oh…haha.” She pushed out a smile with her next eye roll. “So, is this one your favorite? Your ode to women who like ugly guys?”

Wes chuckled. “Nope.” Gripping his collar, he turned his back to her and pulled his shirt up over his head. His goal had always been just the single arm of tattoos, but each one he added only spurred his need to keep spreading it out just a little more to his chest and back. Lana’s hands coasted up his back, and he shuddered as quietly as he could. With another deliberate caress, her fingers moved across the expanse of his upper back to his right shoulder where he’d gotten an elaborate tattoo of a few of the bones and muscles in that area of his body: a transparent sketch of the deltoid and supraspinatus muscles with the scapula, upper part of the humerus, and a rear view of the clavicle showing through.

From behind, Lana cupped his neck and lowered her chin to the curve. “It’s really easy to get you out of your clothes, Wes…”

The corner of his mouth ticked up a notch. “You don’t
even
know.”

“Why is this one your favorite?”

He shifted to face her, revealing that the tattoo was mirrored in the front, too. “When you’re a surfer, what gets you out to that wave and up on your board is all upper body. The strength of it. It’s your arms and your core. I won’t always look like this, so for now, it reminds me of how strong and powerful I am.” Wes pulled his shirt back down.

“These tattoos are the most you’ve ever committed to anything in your life?”

“No. Surfing’s my wife,” he joked. “And I’m hopelessly devoted, Miss Lana. Do you have any?”

“Wives?” Lana teased. “No, but I do have a tattoo. Just one.” Her cheeks flushed as she brought her shoulders up slowly, and Wes’ curiosity raged when he gave her a quick once-over. It wasn’t readily visible, so with near absolute certainty, he knew it was below the waist.

“Where?”

Lana didn’t speak, only dropped her stare down to her skirt.

“Where?”
he repeated, eyes widening. He set his burrito down, unsure of if he had placed it on the paper plate or the sidewalk. Fuck it; he didn’t care. Lana’s eyes were still focused on her lap. “Like actually
on
it?”

“Below my bellybutton and to the right,” she said, touching the spot, “And it’s really stupid, but I was sixteen…it’s my school’s mascot…a wolverine.”

It could’ve been a toilet. Wes just wanted to see it. Tattoos fascinated him, but he had been imagining the covered parts of her body for at least a day now. A
really, really
long day.