Page 20 of Not That Guy

Because I was a stubborn, determined asshole, unwilling to accept Weston’s gesture of goodwill.

In my mind I still had reasons to be mistrustful and clung to the past, though I was finding that increasingly difficult to justify.

After what seemed like hours, I reached the car door and leaned against it.

I hated to admit it, but Weston was right.

I could never have made it home on my own.

I opened the door and carefully lowered myself into the passenger seat.

The pain in my ribs made it impossible to twist and put the crutches in the back seat of the two-door coupe.

Unasked, Weston handled it without a word.

He slid behind the wheel and leaned over me. I stiffened, frighteningly aware of his nearness. His eyes widened. That previous crackling intensity grew between us in the deafening silence.

“I have to put your seat belt on.” His husky voice shot a bolt of electricity straight to my dick.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I can—”

“No, Brenner. You can’t. Let me.”

My throat dried as his hand grazed my lap. There was nothing to indicate that Weston was being anything other than helpful, yet my body’s confusing reaction put me on edge and made me snappish. He clicked the belt into the slot and withdrew.

“Ready?”

Was I mistaking the strain in his voice? A quick glance revealed his lips pressed in a tight line.

“Yeah.”

The drive to the hotel was silent. He parked and got out of the car, took my crutches, and opened the door.

It hurt like a bitch, but I eased out of the car and stood.

My head took a second to catch up to the rest of me, and I swayed, my vision blurring at the edges. Weston grabbed me around the waist.

“I have you.”

His lips were close to mine, and I had a sudden, shocking urge to feel them. I blinked. “West,” I murmured, and his fingers tightened their grip as his breath hitched. I liked that he was just as off-balance. That cocky smile had vanished, replaced by smoldering heat.

Babbling voices broke the spell.

“Brenner, how are you?”

“Oh God, are you okay?”

A swarm of people surrounded us, but Weston—who I’d assumed would step away—kept a steadying hand on me, and I found myself leaning on him.

“Give the guy a little room. He just got out of the hospital.”

Grady and Manny appeared, along with the rest of my scavenger-hunt team, all with the same concerned expression.

“You feeling any better?” Manny asked.

I forgot and nodded, which sent a shard of pain through my skull, and I groaned. “Shit. Uh, yeah?” I mustered an answer. “But it hurts. A lot. I can’t lie.”

“Yet he still thought he could take the train home, lugging a suitcase.” Weston shook with laughter. “That half-assed idea went out the window when he tried to walk to the car.”

I glared at him. “I thought I could. Don’t be a jerk about it.”

Weston smirked. “I call it as I see it.”

Despite the pain it caused in my head, I rolled my eyes. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll find someone else to take me home.”

“I think it’s a great idea to have Weston take you,” Grady interjected. “If you want, we can help you pack. Are you hungry? The restaurant is open for lunch.”

My stomach lurched at the thought of food, and I took a few shallow breaths. “N-no. But I could use some coffee.”

“Let’s settle you inside and get you what you need.” Without me even realizing it, Weston took control, and I found myself attached to his side as we walked into the hotel and were seated. He ordered a pot of coffee and held out his hand.

“If you want to give me your room key, I can get your stuff together and bring your suitcase downstairs. Checkout is in less than half an hour.”

The coffee tasted like hot perfection. “No. I’ll do it. I didn’t bring much.” The last thing I needed was Weston touching my things.

“Then I’ll help.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Manny said, “Let them do it, Brenner,” surprising me. His gaze was so focused and direct, I sensed he wanted to be alone with me, that there was something he wanted to discuss.

“Fine,” I grumbled, pretending to concede, curious to hear what he had to say. “Can you please get my wallet out of my back pocket?” I asked Manny. “It hurts to twist around.”

He did as I requested and handed the key card to a grinning Weston, who plucked it out of his hand, and along with Grady, left us. I waited until they were out of earshot.

“Okay. What do you want to say that you didn’t want Weston to hear?”

That inscrutable expression returned. “What’s going on between the two of you?”

Heat swept through me. “Going on? What the hell does that mean?” But I knew. Damn Weston, and damn my stupidity for getting myself into this predicament.

“He seemed awfully protective when you were getting tests.”

“Protective?” I sputtered. Heat burned my cheeks, and I hated how my emotions lay so close to the surface. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I don’t think so.”

The conversation needed to be quashed. Immediately. “Weston is being nice because he probably feels guilty for saying some shitty things to me yesterday. Nothing more. Okay?”

“Maybe so.”

But Manny’s skeptical face reflected my growing uncertainty. Was there something brewing between us that neither Weston nor I understood?