Stripped Bare (Stripped #1)(74)

He laughed, pressing the side of his face into my hair. “Fuck. You got me.”

I slid my arms around his waist and grinned up at him. “Knew it. But I still can’t believe she didn’t hate you.”

He smiled, winked, and pulled me in for a long, deep kiss. When he released me, I felt dizzy, but he only had one thing on his mind—and, for once, it wasn’t sex.

“I’m hungry,” he said. “Let’s get food.”



This hadn’t been in my plan, but I should have known that it would happen.

The twenty-minute drive between San Diego and Imperial Beach passed in a blur. West had insisted on renting a car although my own car was perfectly fine. I chalked it up to his alpha male complex and needing to drive everywhere himself.

Either way I looked at it, I was going to meet his grandparents. And I was freaking out.

Like I-want-to-jump-out-of-the-moving-car kind of freak out.

It seemed like the only option. His meeting my mom had been an occupational hazard of coming to the wedding with me, and yesterday had been a giant mistake. He should have stayed in the bathroom, damn it.

Though knowing that my mom wanted me to marry him and have his babies made it a little easier. It was the closest she’d ever get to telling me that she liked him. That or she accepted that we’d have beautiful babies.

I glanced at him. We would have beautiful babies.

Whoa now. Why was I thinking about babies with West?

Damn it. Mom had gotten into my head.

Now, I wanted his babies. Why did I want his babies? We weren’t at babies.

Then again, we weren’t at meet the grandparents, either, but there I was, entering Imperial Beach, getting ready to meet his grandparents. Since his parents had died, this was meet-the-parents territory.

I wasn’t ready for meet-the-parents territory. It hadn’t mattered that he would meet my mom because I hadn’t thought she’d like him. She didn’t like anybody.

I wanted to throw up.

“You look like you want to throw up,” West commented, quickly cutting his eyes to me.

“I want to throw up,” I confirmed. He’d read my mind again. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

“Will it make you feel better if I tell you my grandfather is likely to try to hit on you?”

I turned in my seat, grabbing my ankle as I moved it onto the cushion, and shook my head. “I don’t meet parents, West. Or grandparents. Or anyone.”

“Because you’re a commitment-phobe?” He raised an eyebrow. “Is that what Dr. Google told you?”

“For one, yes,” I confirmed. “And, for two, it’s because my relationships never last that long.”

“But they meet your mom.”

“Not by choice, but because she shows up unannounced on a regular basis. Like you experienced yesterday.”

He bobbed his head in agreement. “That was a shock. Luckily, she didn’t seem too bothered that you hid me in the bathroom.”

“I didn’t hide you. I was trying to protect you.”

“From your mother? Mia, she couldn’t even speak to me at first.”

He didn’t need to remind me.

“Yeah, well,” I said, “you’re not like other guys I hide in my bathroom, okay?”

His blue gaze slid to me. “You hide other men in your bathroom?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I’ve never done it in my life. That’s not the point. The point is you’re not like other guys I’ve dated.”

“I guessed that. Most guys you’ve dated—and no offense, angel, but I’m starting to think ‘dated’ is a loose term for your previous attempts—probably let you go when you get all freaky about a relationship.”

I would have been pissed off if I hadn’t thought saying that I’d dated them all was playing fast and loose with the word dated. More like...sampled. Like wedding cake.

Yep. That was it. Most of the guys I’d ever dated had been samples. I was waiting for the three-tier-knock-your-socks-off cake.

And I think I’ve found him.

“That’s unfair,” I argued, coming out of my head. “Those guys are the reason I get all freaky about a relationship. If they didn’t do stupid shit like tell me they’re gay or cheat on me or make me pay for dinner, I wouldn’t need to be freaky about relationships.”

“I don’t do cheating, I have no attraction to men whatsoever despite my business, and I promise to never make you pay for dinner.” He’d easily reeled them off. “Does that make you feel better?”

“Oh, that’s just the tip of the iceberg,” I muttered as he pulled into the driveway of a gorgeous little house.

The front yard was the complete opposite of West’s—where his was barren desert with cacti serving as décor, this was a mishmash of bright color and gorgeous greenery.

“Whoa.”

“Nan loves her yard,” he said, fondness in his tone. “Granddad, however, has not only a black thumb, but black arms.”

“Like you and your cacti, then.”

“Exactly like me and my cacti, which I happen to be very fond of.”

“Why? Because they essentially water themselves?”

“Ahh, she learns so fast.” He grinned and kissed my cheek. “Come on. Let’s go in.”