She didn’t know. But the hiatus train rolled on.
“I am the homeowner, actually.” Bethany shook his hand firmly and let go. “And you are?”
“Slade Hogan.” His teeth almost blinded her when he smiled. “Can’t lie, I’m glad I picked today to show up early. That almost never happens.”
“Crazy.”
He laughed even though she hadn’t made a joke. “You probably recognize me from Insane Porches? It ran for two seasons.”
“Oh, right.” She didn’t. “I thought you looked familiar.”
“I get that a lot.” He squinted past her toward the house. “Ouch, they really think the crew can get this done in two and a half weeks?”
“Excuse me?” Bethany blinked. “Two and a half weeks?”
Slade shrugged a shoulder. “That’s the term of my contract. Being that I’m a vital part of the show—”
“The show they created on the fly three days ago?”
“Yes.” He stopped and considered her, as though deciding whether or not he’d been insulted. “Anyway, my agent tells me this particular film crew has to resume production of AirBn’Ballers in three weeks, so there is a tight deadline to film this pilot. Not to worry, though, I’m sure you’ve got a capable team.”
“Sure do.”
The sound of an approaching engine turned both of their heads and Bethany almost laughed. Of course Wes took that moment to pull up. Her unlikely foreman climbed out of his truck with all the aplomb of a gunslinger dismounting his horse. He eyeballed Bethany and Slade from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat, tucked his fingers into the loops of his jeans, and traversed the driveway with his long-legged stride. “Morning.”
“Morning,” Bethany replied, mentally berating her hormones for responding to the sight of his freshly shaven jaw, the wet ends of his hair. The morning breeze plastered his long-sleeved, paint-splashed shirt to his body and it really should have annoyed her that he’d shown up to be filmed for television in an old stained shirt. But it didn’t. It made her . . . glad to see him. For some reason. A lot gladder than she’d been to see the hot show host. “This is Slade Hogan,” she said, introducing the man when Wes drew even. “He’s going to host the show.”
Wes raised an eyebrow at Bethany.
She raised one back. Don’t you dare laugh at his name.
Wes sighed.
There was no mistaking Slade’s wince when the men shook. “You planning on pitching in?” Wes asked Slade.
“Me?” Slade laughed. “No. I only hold a hammer for promotional purposes.”
He seemed to be waiting for Bethany to laugh, so she obliged him in the hopes of balancing the awkwardness Wes was working to create. Her hostess mentality didn’t come and go at will, and there was no point in making Slade uncomfortable. Especially when it looked like they’d be stuck with one another’s company for over two weeks.
“I’m sure you’ll find something to keep you busy,” Wes drawled, taking a step toward Bethany. “Something else, that is.”
Silence landed, the men staring hard at each other.
“I’m sure there will be plenty of photo ops,” Bethany said without missing a beat, taking hold of Wes’s arm and tugging him into the scrappy side yard. “Can I talk to you?”
He was still looking at Slade. “Sure, darlin’.”
“No problem. Go ahead.” Slade’s voice was tighter than before. “I have a million calls to make.”
“Better get to it,” Wes said, tugging down the brim of his hat. “Slade.”
With her back turned away from the host, Bethany rolled her eyes like an exasperated twelve-year-old. She cast a glance over her shoulder to make sure they weren’t being watched—and then she jabbed her finger into Wes’s chest. “I am only going to say this one more time. I am not your chew toy. We are not involved and therefore you are not allowed to tell other men to back off. I make that decision! Me!”
Wes snorted. “I did you a favor. Any man with hands that soft will only steal your moisturizer.”
The urge to laugh was seriously inconvenient. “I didn’t ask you to do me a favor, cowboy.”
“Aha! So you’re admitting it was a favor?”
“No, I am not,” she enunciated. “I am admitting nothing.”
Wes contemplated her quietly for a full five seconds. “You really interested in Hammer Promo Guy, Bethany?”
She wasn’t. In fact, she was painfully disinterested. Which was alarming, to say the least. Normally, she would still be working over a man like Slade with charm. Instead, she was arguing with Wes. Again. How did she keep ending up here? And why wasn’t she doing more to avoid it?
“I don’t have to answer that,” she whisper-screeched. “But if I decided I was interested, that would be okay. I’m allowed.”
His jaw flexed. “Let’s say the host was the female version of Slade. You’d just be fine watching me flip my hair around and flirting?”
Bethany battled a smile. “Actually, I’d pay good money to watch you flip your hair around. Can I film?”
“You know what I meant,” he growled. “Answer the question.”
She envisioned herself pulling her car into the driveway and finding Wes putting the moves on some faceless woman, all twinkling eyes and Wrangler-booty swagger. The lining of her stomach turned to acid. “I wasn’t flipping my hair,” she croaked, caught off guard by her own reaction.
Wes stepped closer and their fingers brushed. “Admit you wouldn’t like it.”
Bethany’s headshake was a little too vigorous.
Enough to carry some warmth into his expression. “What you told me at the wedding about your sex life . . . I know I promised I wouldn’t use it against you, so this is totally unrelated.”
She snorted. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.”
“Ah, come on. It’s just the two of us standing here,” he murmured, twining their index fingers together. “If you date guys like that, it doesn’t surprise me you can’t relax and stop overthinking everything. They’re not doing any of the thinking for you.”
God help her, she actually wanted to hear his logic, because she needed all the advice she could get. She’d once had a perfect plan to find someone as driven and successful as herself. That plan hadn’t panned out. Now, she’d kind of just . . . given up. So what would it hurt to consider someone else’s opinion? Even Wes’s? Not that she would let him know she was listening to his spiel willingly. “I had no idea you were an expert on sex and relationships.”
“I’m not. But I’m guessing Slade would be overthinking in the sack, too.” He traded the Texas accent for a distinctly Hollywood millennial one. “‘Why did my latest Instagram post only hit four thousand likes? Did I remember to make my toe waxing appointment? Should I try a side part?’”
Bethany laughed and lightness filtered into her chest. It was . . . nice laughing at things that would normally stress her out, even if she couldn’t make it a habit. Wait. How long had they been holding hands? Out in the open? “Men don’t have to ride bulls to be masculine like you—”