Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
I wake up sweating, though this time it’s not surprising.
Somehow, I turned toward Wes in my sleep, and now my arm is wedged between my chest and his, my head tucked under his chin.
Our bodies are pressed close, but the comforter is stuffed between us, preventing skin-on-skin contact.
Wes must have kicked it off during the night.
I try to be quiet as I shift away from him, my limbs stiff and achy from the minimal range of motion, but I’m not careful enough. He stirs with a groan, his hand flexing against my hip.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” he whispers, eyes blinking open. They’re half-hooded, but he gives me a lazy smile, like waking up next to me is a wonderful surprise. My stomach flutters, and I smile back.
“Hi. How did you sleep?”
“Surprisingly well considering this bed is made for hobbits.”
I snicker, though my laughter dries up when he rolls onto his back and stretches his arms out with a sigh.
I can’t help myself. I chance a glance at his bottom half, relieved to find the sheets are covering everything this time.
Still, my cheeks warm at the thought of what might be happening under there, and I force myself to stay calm as he rolls back to face me.
He mimics my position, arm tucked under his cheek, and we stare at each other across the pillow.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, eyes roaming unabashedly over my face, something tender in their deep depths.
“So are you,” I tell him, the dim light of my room making me brave.
Feeling safe in our early morning bubble, my eyes do the same as his, tracing lines and exploring features and committing his face to memory.
He’s even more handsome than usual, dark lashes fanning across his cheekbones with every slow blink, his hair bed-mussed and wild over his forehead.
My eyes linger too long on his full bottom lip, my mind replaying that perfect kiss from yesterday.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks softly, and my eyes snap back up to his.
Once again, my blush must say it all, because a secret smile tugs at the corner of his lips.
He opens his mouth to say more, but the sound of consistent knocking from the next room makes him pause.
His brow furrows, and then a girl’s high-pitched moan cuts through the noise. His eyes widen. “Is that…”
“Ava with her flavor of the week? Probably.”
We go quiet, listening to the exaggerated wails and relentless headboard bangs.
“Is she always this loud?” Wes whispers. I nod, pressing my face into the pillow to muffle a snicker. “She sounds like a dying cat.”
“What, you don’t find that attractive?”
He smirks. “If I was an adult film producer, maybe. She sounds like she’s auditioning for the starring role.”
“Just wait for the climax. It will make your ears bleed.”
“You mean it gets worse than this?” Suppressing a laugh, I nod, and sure enough, Ava does not disappoint. I cringe into my pillow at the sound of her fake orgasm (because surely that can’t be real), and Wes shakes his head in disbelief. “Jesus.”
“Told you.”
“That settles it. You need to come live with me. Staying here puts you at risk of rupturing your eardrums. How will we watch movies? And don’t say subtitles. I can’t stand subtitles.”
“Is that your official medical recommendation?”
He nods, his expression grave. “Absolutely. This is for your health and safety. I say this with zero self-interest at all.”
“Please. You just don’t want to sleep in this bed again.”
He grimaces, shifting his weight like he’s trying to get comfortable. “I’m not gonna lie, Ives. The bed is a problem. Next weekend we do the sleepover at my house. And the weekend after that. And the weekend after that.”
“Actually, I’m going home in two weeks,” I tell him, the reminder dampening my mood. “I forgot to mention.”
“You are? What for?”
I sigh. “I have to help my parents sort through the basement for a garage sale. It’s going to be the definition of torture.”
“I’ll come with,” he says like it’s nothing. “Be an extra pair of hands. I’m great at lifting shit and putting it places. World-class shit lifter, some might say.”
I laugh at how easily he invites himself. I know he means it, too. “As much as I would love to make you lift all the shit, my parents would freak if I brought you home. My mom would burn the house down in a fit.”
His brows pull together. “Why? Parents love me.”
“Oh, they do, do they?”
“Mhm.”
“Well, you haven’t met Robert and Angela Combs.”
He scoffs. “I could win them over in an hour.”
I shake my head, my mind conjuring up a disastrous mental image of Wes trying to chat up my parents. “It would be cruel of me to take that bet.”
Wes sighs, the corners of his mouth turning down. “Well, crap. What am I going to do without you for an entire weekend?”
“I don’t know. The same stuff you did before we met?”
“Cry myself to sleep, it is.”
I roll my eyes—he really is too much sometimes—and sit up. I have no idea what time it is, but judging by the light peeking in through the blinds (and Ava’s little performance), I’d say past ten. Definitely later than I expected to sleep in with a giant in my bed.
Reluctantly, we get up and get moving. I keep my gaze trained up as Wes rolls out of bed and tugs on his jeans, and then I throw on a sweatshirt to cover up my lack of bra.
Our bubble bursts as soon as we leave my bedroom, and my mood plummets as thoughts of the forum come flooding back.
Wes assures me he’ll handle it today, but first he has a gym date with his housemates, and it’s too late to cancel, not that I’d ever ask him to.
Standing beside the front door, he squeezes my shoulders. “Try not to dwell on it, okay? Don’t give them that power over you. They don’t deserve it.”
“I’ll try,” I tell him, even though I don’t see how it’s possible to not obsess over it. He gives me a look like he sees right through me but just wraps me in a hug and plants a subtle kiss on top of my head. Then, he leaves me alone with my thoughts, promising to check in later.
The idea of staying cooped up in my room for another day makes me restless, though, and I don’t have the courage to venture out on my own, so I text Quinn to see what she’s up to.
She’s instantly apologetic about blurting everything to Wes, but I assure her it was for the best and I’m not upset.
We make plans to get lunch and then study in the library afterward, and I suddenly feel a little better about the day. At least I have a distraction.
I work on my math assignment until noon rolls around, and then I meet Quinn at the sandwich shop in the center of town. We pick a table in the back of the restaurant, as removed from prying eyes as possible, but unfortunately, it’s not quite removed enough.
“I swear, if these nosy bitches don’t mind their business,” she mutters, glaring at a couple girls who have been shooting me conspicuous looks. I try not to care, I really do, but I can feel my shoulders hunching in as I subconsciously try to make myself smaller.
“Just ignore them,” I tell Quinn.
Her grip tightens around her fork, and she mutters, “Overlooking stupidity has never been my forte.”
Wanting to distract her from making a scene or causing any significant damage with that fork in her hand, I ask, “So, how did you and Remy meet again? I don’t think you ever told me.”
Her face lights up at the mention of her boyfriend, the nosy bitches forgotten. “A party first week of school,” she says. “We started hooking up. Just a casual thing, you know? Well, obviously, he fell for me immediately.”
I smirk at her confidence. “Obviously.”
“Speaking of hookups,” she says slowly and in a way that means she’s turning the topic back on me, “I noticed you and the big guy are doing quite a few sleepovers now.”
“Platonic sleepovers,” I correct, feeling awkward.
She blinks. “Platonic sleepovers?”
“We just, um, sleep.”
Her jaw drops. “With a man who looks like that? How the hell do you keep it in your pants?”
“It’s not that hard,” I lie, though it’s not as convincing as I’d hoped given Quinn’s responding snort.
“Sure,” she says, before shoving a forkful of pasta salad into her mouth. “Sure, it’s not.”
I take a deep breath and blurt out, “He kissed me yesterday.”
That declaration has Quinn’s eyes snapping back to mine. Her mouth breaks into a sly grin as she processes this information. “Well, about fucking time. How was it?”
Heat crawls up my neck, and I duck my head to hide my smile. Because despite my insistence that Wes and I don’t do it again, the kiss was incredible. Just thinking about it now makes my stomach dip and my blood rush in my veins.
Quinn smirks. “That good, huh? Yeah, he looks like he’d be a good kisser.”
My brows pull together. “He does?”
She nods adamantly. “Oh yeah. For sure a guy who knows what he’s doing,” she lowers her voice, “in all areas, if you know what I mean.”
“Quinn,” I warn, though I can’t deny she’s right. Wes definitely has experience in all the areas I don’t, especially the ones I’m not willing or capable of going right now, and that’s a problem. A big problem.
How long can I expect him to wait for something that might never come?
I can’t lose him.
“Sorry, sorry. I’m just excited for you.”
I debate telling her what happened after the kiss—my freak out, his assurance he doesn’t need more right now, the bucket of cold water I dumped all over his admission that he likes me.
But explaining that I’m not ready for something real with the most coveted guy on campus will only lead to more questions, ones I’m not comfortable answering.
I don’t even have the answers at this point, everything’s so jumbled up inside my head.
Quinn thankfully changes the subject to Remy’s band, inviting Wes and me to a show they’re playing next weekend in town, and we finish our lunch with no more talk of the kiss.