Chapter 12
TWELVE
Standing on Wes’s front porch, I debate whether to knock or ring or text him, I’m here.
It shouldn’t be this complicated, but for some reason my brain takes the small things and blows them out of proportion.
All day, tiny bombs going off in my head, overcomplicating what I wear and eat.
How I walk and talk. What I do or think.
This time, fate intervenes, and the decision is taken out of my hands when the door swings open, Wes filling the doorway with equal measures of light and mass.
He’s wearing navy sweatpants along with a fitted gray shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders and clings to his sculpted arms. My mind completely blanks, and all I can think is holy muscles, which is a horrible thing to think because I know I’m staring.
“Whatcha doing out here, Ives?” he asks. “It’s freezing.”
I finally manage to tear my eyes away from his body, shifting my bag higher on my shoulder. My face warms, and it takes a moment to formulate words. “I was just about to knock.”
Wes grins like he knows I’ve been standing out here in the cold for way longer than socially acceptable and steps to the side. “Well, come on in before you freeze to death or catch pneumonia. I can’t have my practice buddy getting sick, now, can I?”
I move past him into the house, noting the garbage bags strewn about, most of them filled with plastic cups and beer cans. Half of the streamers have fallen from the ceiling, and Wes’s smile turns sheepish as he kicks away a deflated balloon with his bare foot.
“Sorry, the place is still a disaster. Kaden cleaned up a little this morning, but Ben’s too hungover.”
I eye him curiously. “Are you hungover?” I didn’t see him drink much last night, maybe a beer or two. Even so, he wasn’t acting any different than usual, but it was his birthday. I would think most guys would want to get plastered.
He shakes his head. “Nah. I only had a few beers. I don’t like feeling that out of control. You?”
“Oh, I wasn’t drinking last night,” I tell him. When he blinks in confusion, I remember the can I carried in my hand most of the party. “I was holding a decoy seltzer,” I explain. “Quinn’s idea.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize. Do you not drink ever? Or…”
I hesitate. Do I not drink ever? The jury’s still out. “I was the designated driver.”
“Very responsible,” he praises.
“That’s me,” I say, my eye snagging on the banner still hanging from the ceiling.
It jogs my memory, and I reach for my keys again.
“Oh, I have something for you. I left it in the car. One second.” Setting my backpack on the floor, I hurry back outside and grab the bakery box from my back seat.
I stopped on the drive over, knowing I couldn’t show up empty-handed on his actual birthday.
Wes is waiting by the doorway when I return, ready to usher me out of the cold. Once he closes the door, I hold out the baby blue box, tied with a delicate white ribbon. “Happy real Birthday.”
“You didn’t have to bring me anything,” he tells me earnestly, but I simply shrug. Baked goods were the least I could do. He’s always bringing me snacks during class, after all.
Shaking his head, he opens the box, revealing three immaculately iced cupcakes. “Strawberry, mint chocolate, and peanut butter,” I explain, pointing at each.
He stares at the sweets before looking up at me, his face unreadable. “You remembered my favorite ice cream flavors?”
“Of course I did.” When he doesn’t say anything else, I shift on my feet, suddenly anxious. “I hope they translate into, um, cupcakes.”
His mouth breaks into a slow smile, dark eyes flickering with something I can’t quite put my finger on. “Absolutely, they do. Thank you, Ivy. That was…really fucking sweet of you.”
I blush at his words, I can’t help it, and fight the urge to look away. “You’re welcome.”
“Let me put these in the kitchen for later, unless you want one now?”
I quickly shake my head. “Oh, no. Those are all for you.”
“We’ll see,” he says, disappearing around the corner. When he returns, he motions to the staircase. “Want to head up to my room? Otherwise, we’ll have to work in this mess.”
“Sure,” I say, before I can think it through.
This is it. The ultimate test. You better be right about him.
My heart pounds with every stair I climb, and as we enter the room on the right, my vision tunnels in on the queen-sized bed pushed up against the wall, mocking me.
“Do you even fit in this bed?” I blurt without thinking.
He snickers. “Barely. Sometimes I sleep at an angle.”
I nod, standing there awkwardly, staring at the bed he sometimes sleeps in at an angle. There’s not much space in this room, what with us and the dresser and the bed and the desk, and I don’t know where to sit. Panic buzzes beneath my skin, uneven and frantic.
I don’t want to sit on the bed.
“Why don’t you take my desk chair,” Wes says, as though sensing my anxiety, “and I’ll sit on the bed.”
“Cool,” I mumble, like it’s no big deal. Like everything is fine.
I set my bag on the floor and sink into the rolling office chair, watching as he shoves down clothes in a half-opened drawer before wiggling it shut.
I tuck my hands between my thighs and scan the rest of the room, surprised to find it’s not very reflective of him at all.
The gray walls are bare, the furniture indistinct.
Books and binders line the shelving unit in the corner and the bed is well-made with a dark green comforter.
“Sorry, it’s not much to look at,” Wes says, noting my perusal of his space. “It’s also very cramped.”
“You should see my dorm room,” I say. “It’s like living in a shoe box.”
“At least your room is probably decorated. I decorated a bit back when I was in the dorms, but I find having too much clutter around distracts me, especially in a room this tight. Plus, I don’t normally bring friends up here. Not until now, at least.”
My eyes snap to his, and my next words come out in a squeak. “Not until now?”
“Yeah. I mean, we’re friends, right?” The mattress dips with his weight as he sits down.
He leans back against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles, and I fixate on the soles of his feet, my mind reeling.
I knew we were classmates, yes. Acquaintances, sure.
But actual friends? It’s too good to be true.
“Ives?” My eyes flit back to his, only to find him watching me with amusement. “Don’t leave me hanging here.”
I clear my throat, wracking my brain for the right thing to say. “Y-yeah,” I manage and wince. I swallow. Clear my throat again. “Yes. We’re, um, friends.”
His grin widens. “Great.”
“I’ve never had a friend who’s a guy before,” I blurt and then cringe because that sounded super childish and lame and I should just keep my mouth shut sometimes.
He laughs a little. “I don’t doubt it. I bet they all tried to date you.”
I scoff, brushing off the comment, though my mind has other ideas. It latches on to his remark and runs with it.
Does he think I’m dateable or undatable?
Does that mean he doesn’t want to date me?
Why do you care if he wants to date you or not? You almost hyperventilated at the thought of sitting on his bed…
“I’ve never had many girl ‘friends’ either,” he says while my mind still spins. “Friends, of course. Girlfriends, sure. But no overlap.”
“How many girlfriends have you had?”
I thought it an innocent enough question, but he coughs, and his face turns a little red. “Um, a few.”
My chest squeezes at that, and I try not to think about it too hard. “That girl last night was your ex, wasn’t she?”
“Dani. Yeah.” He releases a slow sigh as though Dani’s his least favorite topic of conversation. “I’m really sorry about her, Ivy. That was…” He trails off. Shakes his head. “She has a lot of jealousy issues in case you couldn’t tell.”
I blink at him, caught off guard. Jealousy issues. Is he implying that she was jealous of me?
“How long were you together?” I ask tentatively.
“About two years. I ended things in December, before winter break.”
“Oh, wow. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Best thing I ever did.”
“Why—” I snap my mouth closed, aware that I’m being super invasive right now.
“Why what?” he asks, and I shrug, looking down at my hands. “Why’d I break up with her?”
“You don’t have to tell me,” I’m quick to assure, glancing up. “I’m being nosy. I’m sorry.”
He smirks, shaking his head. “Well, the jealousy thing was the biggest issue. But also, we just didn’t really click.
She didn’t,” he thinks over his words for a moment, “get me, if that makes any sense. It’s like she was obsessed with the whole Doc, football persona instead of who I am as a person behind all that. ”
I blink at him, surprised he’s willing to share something so personal with me, of all people. “Wow. That…that’s horrible, Wes.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t great.” He says it with a shrug, like he’s trying to downplay it, but his eyes tell a different story.
I see a flicker of pain behind them, hinting at how much it hurt him to come to that realization.
“She just liked dating the most popular guy in the room. Liked being the center of attention, you know? But when I was done with football, I was done. I’m ready to put all that behind me and focus on the rest of my life.
The MCAT. Med school. My future’s in medicine, not sports.
I don’t think she could wrap her head around the fact that those days were coming to an end, and she had a ton of opinions about it.
She made me feel pretty crappy about the decisions I was making. ”
I frown, hating the note of dejection in his voice. “I’m sorry.”
His mouth tugs up at the corner. “Thanks. It’s okay, though. On top of all that, we also had nothing to talk about, so it was never gonna be a long-term thing.”