Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
Standing on the sidewalk, I tug nervously at my dress. The second Wes told me which restaurant we were going to—the popular Italian place in town—I jumped on Yelp. The food looked incredible, but descriptors like Upscale and Classy had me spending three hours trying to decide on an outfit.
“I love the dress,” Wes says, gazing at me with affection as he encloses my hand in his. I resist the urge to tug my jacket tighter around my body, a nervous response to the way he’s looking at me. Like I’m pretty. Like I’m worth something. Like he really likes the dress.
“Thanks,” I manage, my face warm from the compliment, and fully take him in.
He’s wearing a light blue button-up that hugs his broad shoulders and pressed chinos that mold to his muscular legs.
Dark curls flop over his forehead, the strands shiny and soft-looking under the glow of the streetlight, and I wish I could run my fingers through them.
God, he’s attractive.
Before I can return the compliment, a couple walking toward us waves. Wes waves back with his free hand, his other giving mine a reassuring squeeze. “You okay?”
“Nervous,” I admit, squeezing it back.
“You’ve got nothing to be nervous about, Ives.”
I nod like I believe him.
Wes’s mom is a tall, slim woman who immediately reminds me of the picture of Wes’s sister, Audrey. Poised. Beautiful. His dad isn’t quite as broad or big as his son, but he has the same kind eyes as Wes and the same easy smile, only with a few more laugh lines.
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Ivy,” is the first thing his mom says, pulling me into a warm hug that catches me off guard. “I’m Alice.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say a little shakily, hugging her back.
Wes’s dad pulls me in next. “Great to meet you, Ivy. I’m Jim. Wes’s told us so much.”
“Hi,” I tell him, trying to hide my surprise at the friendly gesture. My own dad is the furthest thing from a hugger.
When we break apart, Wes takes my hand again, looking between all of us with a grin. He nods toward the door. “Well? Shall we?”
“Lead the way, sweetheart,” says Alice before looking at me. “Wes always picks the best dinner spots. He has amazing taste in food.”
“He certainly eats a lot,” I say, and then snap my lips shut, worried that came across as rude. “I-I mean—”
Alice laughs. “Oh, honey, trust me. We are aware of how much this one tucks away. Hundreds of dollars in groceries every week and he was still a bottomless pit.”
I smile at her as we step inside, and my shoulders ease down an inch. Maybe this will go better than I thought it would.
While we wait for the hostess to seat us, Wes asks his parents how they’re liking their hotel.
It’s one of the few decent ones in town, and they rave about it.
And then they rave about the café they went to for coffee and the school bookstore they visited during the day.
They rave about the quaintness of downtown and the beauty of the campus.
And though they spent the entire afternoon with Wes, I notice his mom keeps giving his arm little squeezes and his dad keeps patting his shoulder, like they’re so happy to see their son they can’t help but show it.
It’s not long before the hostess leads us to a square table near the window, and I blush when Wes pulls out my chair for me to sit. “Thanks,” I murmur, conscious of his parents’ eyes. He winks in response.
“I love the ambiance here, Wes,” Alice says, her fingers grazing the pristine, white tablecloth. “Very elegant.”
“Yes, great pick,” echoes Jim. “Great pick.”
“I had to find a restaurant that would live up to your standards,” says Wes, before turning to me. “They’re extremely picky. Snobbish, even.”
“Wes!” Alice cries. “Ivy, we are not.”
“Don’t believe a word this boy says,” warns Jim. “He’s probably told you all sorts of crazy things about his family.”
I bite back a smile, amused by the way they joke so easily with each other. “He hasn’t, I promise.”
Wes simply grins.
“So, I heard you two are suffering through Public Speaking together,” says Jim, directing the statement at me.
I wrinkle my nose, unable to help myself at the mention of my least favorite class. “We are. It’s been a stressful course.”
“We heard your speech was flawless, though, Ivy,” says Alice.
My eyebrows shoot up, and I look at Wes in disbelief. “Why would you tell them that?”
Wes shrugs. “Because it was.”
“A B+ isn’t exactly flawless,” I tell him before looking back at his mom. “He’s exaggerating.”
“She was amazing,” Wes states, matter-of-factly. “She deserved an A.”
“No, Wes was the amazing one,” I say to her. “He should give TED Talks for a living.”
Before any more back and forth can occur, the waitress appears, setting a basket of fresh bread on the table and pulling out her pad to take our order.
Having looked up the menu beforehand, I order the chicken marsala with linguine on the side.
It looked delicious from the photos online, not to mention the reviews were outstanding.
Wes orders the chicken piccata, of course, and his parents order two different pasta dishes.
When the waitress leaves, they continue asking me questions as we nibble on the bread. How did I pick my major? Am I liking my classes? Are there any cool projects I’m working on? How long have I been interested in graphic design? Have I always gravitated toward the creative?
They ask me more about school than my parents have ever asked—more than anyone in my family—and while it’s awkward at first, being the center of attention, I eventually start to relax under their spotlight.
“Wow, that’s impressive, Ivy,” says Alice, after I explain how my high school art portfolio earned me an artistic scholarship. “Neither Jim nor I have a single creative bone in our body.”
Jim nods, taking a sip of red wine. “She’s right. I can’t draw a straight line for the life of me.”
“Wes actually excelled at art when he was in grade school, but it was never his passion.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I say, sliding Wes a sly glance. “He’s good at everything, isn’t he?”
“Have you been showing off, Wes?” asks his dad.
Wes raises his hands in front of him in a gesture of innocence. “I swear I haven’t. And I’m not good at everything. I just fake it ‘til I make it.”
I snort, shaking my head. “Give me one thing you’re bad at.” He appears thoughtful for a minute. “Oh my god, you can’t even think of one, can you?”
“He was never very good at sitting still,” Jim interjects. “Or knowing when it was time to be quiet. Always running around, talking to strangers. Asking questions. Making conversation.”
Alice nods in agreement. “It’s why we put him in sports. He needed an outlet for all that pent-up energy. Kept him out of trouble. And from annoying his sister to death.”
“They didn’t get along growing up?” I ask, my eyebrows raising. The idea of Wes not getting along with someone is hard to imagine.
“Well, there was a period where they fought all the time. It drove me insane, especially since Wes,” she shoots him a look, “intentionally instigated things with Audrey.”
I look over at Wes, who’s adopted a much too innocent expression. “Wes,” I scold. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” he says between bites of bread. “I was an angelic child.”
“Why am I finding that hard to believe?”
He shrugs, snickering at my skepticism. “All I did was occasionally touch her stuff without permission. Or annoy her when she had friends over. Or pull stupid pranks. Nothing that bad.”
“Oh, really? Because it seems like you were a menace.”
Jim and Alice laugh at my assessment of their son. “You’re spot on, Ivy,” says Alice. “He was. It’s amazing they get along now as well as they do.”
“Do you have any siblings, Ivy?” asks Jim.
I nod. “Yes, I have two older brothers.”
“Ah, so you’re the baby of the family and the only girl? Your parents must spoil you rotten.”
“Yeah,” I lie, so as not to dampen the pleasant conversation. “They do.”
When our meal arrives, the focus moves back onto Wes where it belongs.
He explains to his parents all the progress he’s made on his senior project and the conclusions he’s derived so far, delving more into the research aspects than he has with me prior.
I listen with rapt attention, amazed by his ability to articulate his scientific findings with so much eloquence.
When there’s finally a natural break in the conversation, I excuse myself to use the restroom.
Veering through tables, I make my way to the empty women’s room at the back of the restaurant, pushing into the stall at the end.
I do my business, and I’m about to leave when the bathroom door bangs open, two sets of heels clacking against the tiled floor.
Something makes me hesitate.
“—can’t believe Wes Tucker’s here with his parents,” says a girl, and my entire body locks up. I vaguely recognize her voice but can’t quite pinpoint it without a visual. “Talk about fantastic genes. Even his dad’s hot.”
“Ew, Madison,” scoffs the other girl. Madison. Alexis’s friend. I hold my breath, now even more conscious about drawing attention.
“What, Val? He is!”
“Did you see who’s with them? I’ve got to text Lex.”
Discomfort prickles beneath my skin, but I don’t dare so much as breathe.
“I can’t believe he’s letting her meet his parents. Like, really? Out of all the girls on campus you chose her?”
“Her roommate told Alexis she stays at his house most nights. Guess that’s one way to hook a guy like that.” My face grows hot with betrayal even though I shouldn’t be at all phased. I knew Ava and Kinsley were gossiping about me, didn’t I?
“Do you know Lydia Braxton? She said she hooked up with him once freshman year and it was the best sex of her life. She said the boy is blessed down there. And she said he knows how to use his tongue.”
I swallow as Madison’s words sink in and feel suddenly sick to my stomach. Not just about the fact that Wes hooked up with some random girl (I don’t even want to think about what he did with his tongue), but about the fact that they’re talking so openly about it. So casually.
It’s so violating.
The other girl sighs. “I’m not surprised.”
“They went three rounds in one night and another one the next morning. She said he got her off four times.”
I stiffen, jealousy searing down my spine.
I know it’s wrong. I know I shouldn’t cave to the emotion—I should just be furious at them for gossiping about something so private.
I am furious, but I also can’t help the envy weaving its way around my heart.
I can’t help it because this little piece of information eats at my deep insecurities and pokes at my greatest fears that Wes needs more.
Wants more. That I’ll make him wait too long.
“Ugh. Why do I always hook up with the worst guys? Killian couldn’t even get it up last night he was so high. I need to hook a Wes Tucker.”
“Take a page out of Ivy’s book and steal her boyfriend.”
“God, what a bitch. Honestly, she deserved to get punched in the face.”
“That was hilarious. Too bad Alexis didn’t knock out a few teeth. I told her she needs to work on her form for next time.”
“Alexis wants to do more than punch her. She wants to fucking bury her. It’s why she started that forum in the first place.”