Chapter 18 #3
He’s typing something out on his phone, and when he glances up at me, his smile falters at whatever expression is on my face.
His eyes stare intently into mine, a glimmer of something just a little wicked sparking in their dark depths.
My body flushes hot, cheeks reddening, and the look on his face is quickly covered up by something teasing. “Remember to breathe, Ives.”
“Oh,” I squeak, coming back to my senses.
I whirl around, his deep chuckle only increasing my mortification.
Seriously. I’d give nothing more than to melt into the carpet right now because what was I thinking, ogling his body like one of his pathetic fan girls?
If a guy did that to me…if a guy did that to me, I’d feel violated.
“Okay, I’m decent,” he says, voice teasing. “You can turn around now.”
I don’t want to turn around. I want the ground to split open and swallow me, but unfortunately, I have nowhere to hide.
Slowly, I turn to face him, unable to meet his eyes. He’s wearing a shirt now, thank god, and I focus on the spot just above his shoulder. “I-I’m so sorry,” I stutter out.
“Don’t be,” he says easily. “After years in a locker-room, my modesty’s long gone.” When I don’t smile, his brow knits. “Hey, why are you so upset? It’s not a big deal.”
“I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I don’t want you to think I’m some stupid groupie only hanging out with you cause you’re hot.”
He blinks, and then his mouth cracks into a slow smile. “You think I’m hot?”
“That’s not the point,” I tell him. “Best friends don’t eye fuck each other’s bodies. Period.”
He chokes. “Did you just say ‘eye fuck’?”
I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean. It’s degrading.”
“Ivy, I promise I know you’re not a groupie or…whatever you’re suggesting here.”
“But—”
“You can ogle my body as much as you want, and I swear to you I will not be offended. I can take my shirt off right now—”
“No!” I blurt. And then narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t you dare.”
He snickers, resting both hands on my shoulders and turning me around to face the door. “Plus, I only have abs right now because I’m fucking starving. You should see me when I’m bloated.”
“Yeah, I doubt it makes much of a difference,” I grumble, but let him steer me out of his bedroom, thankfully dropping the subject.
As part of our “celebration” for getting through the first speech, Wes insists on making me his specialty dish. He’s already stocked up on all the ingredients he needs for chicken piccata, so I stay out of the way while he flutters around the kitchen.
I watch in awe as he works, pounding and breading the chicken before cooking it expertly in a cast-iron skillet. He mixes the sauce from memory, leaving an enormous mess as he goes, but his passion and concentration are endearing to watch.
When the food is ready, he sets the plate in front of me with a satisfied smile and urges me to take a bite.
“Well?” he asks as I put a forkful into my mouth.
I chew slowly, my brows shooting up in surprise.
I’ve never tried chicken piccata before, but the acidity from the lemon, the saltiness from the capers, and the richness from the butter work together somehow, creating the perfect comfort meal for a winter day like today.
“Now I know why you’re so obsessed with this dish. ”
His eyes search my face. “You like it?”
I nod, smiling at him. “It’s really good, Wes. I think you’ve perfected it.”
His face brightens at the praise, and he digs into his own plate. We devour the meal in comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other’s company.
When we’re done, I help him clean up the messy kitchen, and then we settle in the living room to watch The Return of the King.
Do I have homework to do? Sure. Do I care at the moment? Not really. I’m happy just sitting here with Wes, ignoring all responsibility.
Shifting on the couch, I notice an ache in my thighs, courtesy of repeatedly climbing that hill.
Not only that, but my butt’s sore from sliding down it, and after a continuous struggle to get comfortable, Wes opens his arm with a questioning look.
I lean into the side of his body without thinking, legs bent and tucked beneath me.
His arm drapes over my shoulders, fingertips resting against my upper arm, gently grazing the skin beneath his oversized t-shirt.
Back and forth they brush. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth in a hypnotic movement that has my eyes fluttering shut with no regard for whatever’s on the screen.
“You have goosebumps,” he murmurs after a while.
My eyes snap open, and I look down at my arms. Sure enough, there they are, the physical evidence of my pleasure, visible across the surface of my skin. Heat crawls up my neck, though I say the opposite. “It’s cold in here.”
I hear the smile in his voice when he says, “Liar.”
Clearing my throat, I sit up, swinging my legs down so the soles of my feet are firmly planted on the floor. “I should probably head home soon,” I mutter, resisting the urge to lay back against him and forcing myself to stand up. “Can you drive me?”
Wes stands as well, but instead of answering, he pulls me into his body. Mine relaxes into his the way it always does, melting against his muscle. “Stay over,” he whispers into my hair.
I tense, my thoughts turning to his text messages from the night before. My pulse jumps in my throat. “Wes…”
“Please, Ives? Let’s have another sleepover.”
The moment I start to pull away, he lets me, always conscious of my comfort level. Never overbearing or invading. “I shouldn’t,” I say.
“Why not?”
“Because. It’s just not a good idea.”
“But why?”
I shrug, not wanting to delve into all the deep, dark details. Not wanting to go down the rabbit hole of all the worries and contradictions I have when it comes to Wes Tucker.
“If you stay over, I’ll make you waffles tomorrow.”
“Are you trying to bribe me?” I ask with a laugh.
He doesn’t even hesitate. “Of course.”
“Wes,” I groan.
He smirks but thankfully concedes. “I’m just messing with you, though the waffles were a real offer. I can take you home. I’ll get your clothes out of the dryer, so you can change.”
“Thank you,” I tell him as he heads for the laundry room, grateful he accepted my decision without pressing for further explanation.
Once I’m changed and ready, Wes grabs his keys and drives me home.
Throughout the entire car ride, a heated debate takes place in my head as I try to convince myself I made the right decision.
It would have been so easy to stay (so damn easy), but it would have been such a dangerous idea, not to mention the circumstances for sleeping together are nothing like the night we lost power.
Another night like that…another night like that might put thoughts in my head. Dangerous, disastrous thoughts about me and Wes and what we are to each other. About what we could be.
Friends is enough. Friends has to be enough. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
But when he walks me to the door of my apartment and hugs me goodnight, his cheek pressed against the top of my head and his arms holding me tight, my crush acts up again. I can’t help it, and I have to clench my teeth to keep from inviting him to stay the night in my bed.
Not a good idea. Never a good idea.
I know it’s not. And so when he finally releases me, all I say is goodnight. Then, I head inside. I slip into bed.
I spend another night alone.