Chapter 9
NINE
The little bell chimes as we enter the store. Scoopjoy, the closest ice cream shop to campus, is empty, but I predicted that given the weather. Meanwhile, the ramen place next door is packed.
As we peruse the large selection of flavors behind the glass, I focus on my breathing.
My limbs are still shaky from my meltdown, but the fresh air helped clear my head a bit.
So did Wes’s admission about his nerves.
I have no idea how many people he’s told that story to, but I can’t deny I feel a little special he shared it with me.
I never would have suspected someone like him to suffer anxiety of that magnitude.
Deciding on my flavor, I pull my wallet out of my bag and scan the room for the person who works here.
“Put that thing away,” Wes says, glaring at my wallet like it’s a personal affront. “It’s on me. It was my idea.”
Allowing him to pay feels unfair, especially when he’s already doing so much to help me with my speech. “Wes,” I warn, my grip tightening around the leather.
He freezes. He goes so still that it almost looks like he’s malfunctioning. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.”
I blink at him, feeling my brows draw together. “That’s not true.”
Except he’s right. I know he’s right. I’ve said his name a million times in my head, but speaking it aloud is a different beast entirely.
The corner of his mouth lifts into a small smile. His eyes look pleased. “Trust me, I’d remember if you said it before.”
My frown deepens, but before I can respond to him, the employee shuffles out from the back room to take our order. “Welcome to Scoopjoy,” he says, sounding surprised to have actual customers when it’s below freezing outside. “Sorry for the wait. What can I get you?”
Wes offers him the warm smile he gives to everyone. “Hey, man. How’s it going? Can I please get a scoop of strawberry cheesecake, peanut butter chocolate, and mint chocolate chip in a waffle cone?”
The employee nods, reaching for the ice cream scoop. “Sure thing.”
“That’s a lot of conflicting flavors,” I note.
Wes shrugs. “I have too many favorites. Might as well have them all.”
I watch the employee balance the giant scoop of mint chocolate chip on top of the giant scoop of peanut butter chocolate before passing the cone across the counter to Wes. He’s smiling so wide he reminds me of a little kid at Christmas, and my mouth turns up in response.
After taking an enormous bite off the top, one that would be sure to give me brain freeze, he looks to me. “Ives? Know what you want?”
Although I feel guilty about making Wes pay, I recite my order, knowing he’ll probably make a big stink if I don’t. “Can I please have a soft serve twist in a cup with rainbow sprinkles? Thank you.”
Wes’s eyebrows shoot up. “Soft serve twist. Very old school.” I shrug, unable to help the twitch of my lips. “What’s funny?”
“Your chaotic, mix-match of an order is the opposite of my safe, basic one, is all.”
He grins, revealing his set of adorable dimples. “Good thing opposites attract.”
I give him a tentative smile. “Yeah. I guess so.”
When we both have our orders, Wes pays, and we take a seat at a table by the window. I’m amazed that Wes has already disappeared the top layer of his cone, while I’ve barely taken two bites of mine.
“So why rainbow sprinkles?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious. “Why not chocolate, when they arguably have more flavor?”
I think about it for a moment. “It’s a visual thing. I like the color. And it’s more about the crunch than the flavor.”
“Ah, so you’re a texture person.”
“A little.” I shrug. “I’m not super picky, but I don’t like cottage cheese. Or smooth peanut butter—it has to be chunky. And I don’t like sandwich bread unless it’s toasted.”
“Wow, I’m learning so much…” He trails off as his phones starts vibrating against the table, glancing down at the screen.
“Do you need to take that?”
He shakes his head, tapping the button to send it to voicemail. “Nah. It’s just my housemates, probably wondering what I’m up to. They can be extremely nosy when they want to be.”
“Nosy?” I ask. It’s a description I’d normally attribute to women, not men. “Really?”
He nods, rolling his eyes. “Oh yeah. Huge gossips, too. Always up in my business.”
“Does that annoy you?”
He laughs a little. “No, no. They mean well. We’re pretty close, is all. How about your roommates?”
I sigh and take another bite off my spoon. “Ava and Kinsley gossip alright, but I don’t think they mean well.”
“Why’s that?”
God, she is so fucking weird.
I don’t think she’s made a single friend at Stratus.
There’s something seriously wrong with her.
“I overheard them shit-talking me,” I admit to him. “They don’t like me much.”
"I bet they’re jealous.”
I snort. “Of what?”
“You’ve got your own DC supervillain named after you. Who wouldn’t be jealous of that? Which reminds me, are you good with plants? I’ve been meaning to ask.”
“My green thumb is nonexistent. Feel free to rethink the nickname.”
“No, no. No takebacks on nicknames.”
“You wouldn’t take back Doc if you could?”
He smirks. “The team gave me that name because of the med school thing. I don’t mind it, but sometimes it feels a little undeserved. The recognition, I mean. My season was weak overall, but I had a few crazy touchdowns toward the end. Did you go to any games first semester?”
My face warms at his question, which must be answer enough because he snickers. “Sorry,” I mumble.
“Being around you keeps me humble, that’s for sure.” I look down at my ice cream, a little embarrassed to be so out of the loop despite his teasing tone. “I’m just messing, Ives.”
“I know.” Glancing up, my eyes go wide when I realize he’s nearly finished with his cone. “Wow, you ate that fast.”
If I’m not mistaken, a little color tinges his cheeks. He clears his throat. “Sorry. That was rude. I tend to inhale my food when I’m not paying attention.”
“Oh, no. It’s fine. Just impressive.”
Feeling self-conscious now that I’m the only one left eating, I take a few bigger bites. “Don’t rush on my account,” Wes says, perceptive as always. “I have another nickname most people don’t know about. Human Garbage Disposal, courtesy of my mom.”
I laugh a little. “Are you close with her? Your mom?”
He nods. “I’m close with both my parents. And my sister, though I don’t see her as often as I’d like to. But yeah. We’re a pretty tight-knit group. How about you? Are you close with your parents?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Um, not really.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I shrug a little. It’s not his fault, after all. I take another bite of ice cream and shiver, catching a chill. “Hey, you’re shaking again,” Wes notes, concern lacing his tone.
“I’m just cold,” I tell him, trying not to think about what happened in the library. “I’m eating ice cream in winter, and it’s freezing in here.” I eye his sweatshirt. “You’re not cold?”
“I have another nickname courtesy of my family. Human Furnace.”
I would smirk if I wasn’t busy clenching my teeth together to keep them from chattering. “Must be nice.”
Wes frowns, eyeing my hunched shoulders, and then he jumps abruptly to his feet.
I barely have time to register what’s happening before he’s tugging off his sweatshirt, pulling it over his head.
As he does, his shirt rides up beneath it, and my eyes widen at the glimpse of toned abdomen and taut skin.
Muscled, taut skin. I swallow, heat rushing up my neck, and quickly avert my gaze as he tugs his clothing back into place.
He sits back down and passes the hoodie across the table. “Here, take this.”
“I can put my coat back on,” I protest, but he practically shoves the thing onto my lap. I eye him skeptically. The fabric of the long-sleeved t-shirt he has on looks too thin to provide any sort of insulation. “Aren’t you cold?”
He points at himself. “Human Furnace, remember? Go on. Put it on.”
Seeing no use in protesting further, I pull on his sweatshirt. It swallows me whole, but it’s soft and warm and smells incredible. Like laundry detergent and a faint hint of citrus. Like Wes, I guess, not that I’ve had much opportunity to sniff him up close.
“It looks way cozier on you,” he notes.
I raise my arms and bunch the oversized sleeves at my wrists, so they don’t cover my hands. “That’s because it’s basically a sleeping bag. You’re twice my size in case you hadn’t noticed.”
He grins and leans forward a little across the table. “I had noticed, actually. You know, you can be kind of a smartass when you want to be. I kind of like it.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not a smartass. Things just slip out, sometimes. Around you.”
His head tilts to the side as he studies me. “Why do you think that is?”
That face. That smile. Those eyes. I shrug. “I don’t talk to a lot of people.”
“So, you’re saying I’m special?”
“In an eat the paste kind of way, maybe.”
He presses his hand over his heart, giving an exaggerated wince. “Poison Ivy strikes again! She lures you in with her beauty and then wham! And after I gave her the literal shirt off my back, too.”
“You practically threw it at me!” I protest, but really my brain’s stuck on the whole she lures you in with her beauty part. He smirks, a playful twinkle in his eyes, and my face grows warm from the attention. My gaze drops to the table as an absolutely inane idea pops into my head.
Is he…flirting with me?
Thankfully, Wes lets me off the hook of making my mouth form words, gesturing at my empty cup.
“All done?” I nod, and he scoops up my trash like it’s nothing, taking it to the garbage can across the room.
I should head back to campus and continue practicing my train wreck of a speech, but when Wes asks, “Want to check out the bookstore next door?” I don’t hesitate to say yes.
I don’t recognize myself.