Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter
Twenty-Two
He’s still here.
I wake up, and he is still here.
We’re tangled together on my sectional, Wesley practically lying on top of me—the best sort of weighted blanket—with his legs overlapping mine and his arm thrown across my waist. My head is propped up against the armrest, and his is burrowed, perhaps purposefully, against the side of my chest. One of my checkered throw blankets covers us half-heartedly, from my middle to the tops of my calves.
The sun behind my gauzy silver curtains is bright, and I can hear shrieking kids at the park down the street, so it must be late morning at least.
I usually take Sundays pretty slow. Without Wesley here, I’d probably turn over and fall back asleep. But despite his promise, I’m still so stunned to find him here that I’ve never been more awake.
In time, I relax and gently settle my arms back around him—one across his shoulders, the other around his lower back.
Rays of sunlight slide through the gaps in my curtains, making dust motes sparkle in the light and setting the palest strands of Wesley’s hair to gleaming gold.
It’s wonderfully messy right now, sticking up in swoops and cowlicks all over his head.
His cheeks have the slightest hint of a shadow to them, and I realize I’ve never seen him anything but completely clean-shaven.
A mild thrill runs through me to see him so… disheveled.
I can’t help but will this moment to freeze in time so I can lie in the stillness of the morning and admire Wesley without him knowing.
So I don’t have to wonder what he’s thinking, or what his goals are, or whether I can trust him this time around.
We love to banter and bite and argue, but the quiet is nice for once.
As if he can hear my thoughts—as if, even in sleep, he cannot bear to let me get away with anything—his long eyelashes flutter before he slowly blinks awake.
But he doesn’t say anything at first, as if he, too, can sense how precious this moment is; he just holds my gaze with a sleepy half smile and brushes a strand of hair from my face.
“Hey, you,” he says finally, and the sleepy huskiness of his voice makes something in my chest melt.
“Hey.”
He twines one of my curls around his fingertip. “Coffee?”
“I’ll make some.”
But I don’t move. How could I, when his arm is winding slowly around my ribs, pushing me deeper into the couch? When our bare bodies are still pressed together, and I can feel him hard at my hip?
Coffee does come later, though Wesley does an admittedly excellent job of waking me up before then.
Afterward, the morning is marked by uncharacteristic patches of comfortable silence as we ease into the afternoon.
We share my small kitchen to put together a brunch that’s half pizza, half random shit I have in my fridge (which is mostly empty since it’s grocery day), and he peppers me with questions like What do you usually eat for breakfast?
and, holding a mug from my extensive collection, Where did you get this one?
When we’re done eating, Wesley settles back onto the couch without asking and turns on his laptop to continue his work, as if this is the most normal thing in the world.
As if we do this every Sunday afternoon.
As if he belongs here.
I return to my office to resume working on my game as well. Once I’m finally in a room that he doesn’t also occupy—I will not make eye contact with that section of the desk—it dawns on me that I’ve broken all my rules.
Never bring them to my apartment
Leave before 10 a.m.
Say goodbye, but don’t get friendly
I haven’t just tiptoed over the line in the sand—I’ve leapt over it in abandon, sprinted my way to the other side. Wesley had been the inspiration for the last rule especially, all those years ago, though I’d never admitted that to Mona. Instead, I’d just promised myself to never run like he had.
And now, for him, I’ve thrown all my rules out the window.
I cast a glance over my shoulder and into the living room. Wesley catches my eye and shoots me a smile.
Shit.
And fuck me, but I can’t help myself—I smile back.
“We should do this again,” Wesley says. He stands in front of my apartment door, backpack slung over his shoulder.
“Which part?” I tease.
He runs a palm down my left arm, pausing to press his thumb into one of the peony tattoos right under the crook of my elbow. A single brow arches upward. “All of it, I hope.”
“I’d like that.”
I keep my hand on the doorknob, but I smile under his lips when he kisses me goodbye. He’s halfway down the first flight, each old stair groaning under his weight, when I hear the echoing creak of someone ascending.
There’s really nowhere else to go, nothing to do but wait until Mona is standing on the same landing as Wesley.
“Oh!” she says. Her eyes dart to Wesley’s stunned expression, then up to where I stand in a sleep shirt and no pants in the doorway. “Oh. Oh my god.”
It’s not the first time Mona’s seen me like this—hair mussed, makeup smeared, clothes wrinkled—but it’s the first time she’s seen me like this here. With him.
For a good five seconds, we all just look at one another. And then we speak at once.
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow—”
“Let’s not make this weird—”
“Hah! It was bound to happen eventually.”
Wesley smiles sheepishly, waves to us both, and quickly trots down the rest of the stairs.
Mona turns, very slowly, to me. Her grin takes up the whole lower half of her face. I wish I had something soft to throw at her, but I can’t help the way I start to grin, too.
“I need new rules,” I admit.
She cackles so loudly it echoes against the walls of the stairwell. “Oh, I bet you do.”
No use in turning back at this point.
Instead, I find out over the next few days that Wesley does, in fact, mean all of it.
Later that evening, we join the others for another session of Legends of Lore, though Wesley and I linger in our own private call for hours, long after the others have logged off.
On Monday, we text each other updates as we dive back into work on our games.
This weekend may have revealed many things, but the one I can’t ignore after playing Wesley’s game—and helping to make it better—is how much work I have cut out for me.
Tuesday morning, Wesley meets me at the gym, and he spends so much time pinning me with his heavy stare across the weight room that I invite him over that night to finish the job.
Wednesday and Thursday pass by in a rush, punctuated by more coding marathons and work from my day job that I’d been putting off.
No one asks any questions when Wesley and I show up to D&D at the same time, though I notice the way Mona’s eyes gleam and how Shay carefully bites the inside of her cheek to keep from snickering.
No secrets between them, I guess.
But Colin’s got more important things on his mind. He reaches for Wesley’s phone and cues up a song on the game playlist. Within the first few chords, I recognize it for what it is: a funeral dirge.
“We’re all going to die tonight,” Colin announces cheerfully.
Arthur releases a loud sigh through pursed lips. “I agree.”
Admittedly, I’ve still got a bit of a haze about me when I say, “It’s fine, it’ll be fun. I think we have no choice but to play this more creatively than usual.”
Colin and Arthur exchange a glance. Arthur shakes his head, Colin shrugs, and Mona grins.
“Let’s give it a go, shall we?” she says.