Switched: Flirt New Adult Romance (14 page)

If only I was as open as she was about anything romantic. I’d have opened up about Talon way before they even started dating, and then maybe things would be different. But that didn’t happen, and it sucks. I need comfort food stat, but I can’t find it in me to move from the spot.

I pick at the glitter polish on my toenails and let silent tears stroke my cheeks. Then I cry even harder because I’m freaking crying over something I can’t talk to anyone about. Can’t tell my best friend, my crush, my mom or dad … I don’t know if I’m crying more because I’m sad or because I’m sad about something I shouldn’t be sad about.

My phone buzzes on the armrest, and I figure it’s a spam email or Facebook notification or something stupid that doesn’t matter. But it’s a distraction, so I look at it.

Not an email. A text. From Wesley.

You awake?

I rest my chin on my knee as I type back.

Of course
.

I hope he doesn’t want to talk about this via text, since it’s a paper trail. But I suppose it’s
better than him actually being here and seeing me cry like a huge baby over it.

Will you let me in?

I nibble on my tongue before putting the phone back on the armrest. Making sure my eyes are as dry as I can possibly make them, I pluck myself off the couch and tiptoe to my front door. I take a peek through the peephole and see Wesley standing on the porch, fiddling with his phone and shivering in his big green coat. Don’t know why, but it makes me smile that he’s here.

I slowly unlock the dead bolt and pull the door open enough for him to slide in. He shakes his hair free of snow and unzips his coat. I don’t even hesitate about jumping into his arms when he opens them to me. Normally I would—hesitate, I mean—but it hides the fresh wave of tears creeping up behind my eyelids. I
can
talk to Wesley, but I’m not sure I want to. Holding each other seems to be working just as well, since we can’t really talk ourselves into feeling better about what’s going on.

My arms lock around him underneath his coat, and I never realized how much I
really
like the gummy bear smell Wesley has. It’s oddly comforting. Like
he’s
my comfort food. Which is so ridiculous I end up snorting a laugh through all my tears.

“Something funny?” he asks, and I don’t even have to look at him to know he’s grinning like an idiot over the top of my curls.

I shake my head, trying to be subtle about inhaling the scent of his cotton T-shirt. “Not really. Just thinking.”

“Yeah. Me too. Can’t stop thinking, in fact. That’s why I showed up at your door at three in the morning.”

Is it three? I honestly had no idea other than I’d been up way longer than everyone else. “What would you have done if I was asleep?”

“Knew you wouldn’t be.”

What a cocky ass. I pinch his side as I pull away from him, but at least my tears have been replaced by laughter. I’m so glad he’s back to normal.

Wesley shrugs out of his coat and follows me back to the fireplace. I flop on the floor so he can have the couch to himself in case he wants to sleep, but he plops down next to me, sitting cross-legged while I fold my knees under my chin again. The nail polish is almost completely gone from my toenails, so I dig at the little that remains.

The fire crackles and becomes the only sound in the room—besides Wesley’s breathing, which is a little off, to be honest. Like he jogged here. He’s not panting, but it’s definitely not normal. I want to look at him, but what if he’s crying? I do not do well with crying people. Which is stupid, since I bawled into his belly button. And Reagan is so full of drama she’s either crying a river or laughing up a storm. But guys crying? I can’t help but think that’s sexy. And I can’t be thinking Wesley is sexy.

“I always wanted a fireplace growing up.”

Okay, so I’m delusional. Because when I finally look at Wesley, he’s not crying at all. His eyes are glossy, but it’s probably because of the fire reflecting in them. He’s sort of smiling and his fingers are curled around his shoelaces.

“Fire on Christmas is a tradition in our house,” I say, going back to picking at my nail polish. “Mom was so excited for an actual fireplace when we moved here. Before that, we used a barbecue pit in the backyard. My butt probably could have served as an ice pack every Christmas.”

He laughs and stretches his legs out in front of him, sliding a tiny bit closer to me. “Nice of your dad to do that for her, though.”

He says it like he’s happy I have the dad I do, and not like he’s jealous about it, even though he grew up without one. That’s something I can add to the Wesley list … if it’s needed anymore, I guess. He’s never casting blame or making people feel uncomfortable for having things he’s wanted. Even with Talon, who has the girl he wants. Wesley treats him no differently than he did before Talon and Reagan started dating.

“Oh, it was Mom who always started the fires herself while Dad was cooking our big dinner. She said she wanted to contribute somehow, and making a fire became her thing. Besides, Dad couldn’t start a fire to save his life.”

Wesley slides over again, and a whole different kind of heat warms my body. He raises his eyebrows in a
Please continue this oh-so-boring story
, only he doesn’t seem to think it’s boring at all.

I smile to myself and watch the fire, remembering Mom organizing the wood this afternoon. “One Christmas, when Mom was going through chemo, she was too sick to start the fire. My dad spent three hours trying to get the thing going. At the time I didn’t know what the heck the big deal was, since she couldn’t get out of her room to see it, but I didn’t dare ask him. He was like a man possessed, and I thought he’d for sure blow up our living room. But when he finally got it going, I’d never seen him so happy.”

Wesley gets so close, his hip touches mine. His arm rests on the floor behind me, and for some really idiotic reason I let my head fall to his shoulder. He spits out a few of my wild curls that flew into his mouth, and we both laugh.

“Did your mom get to see it?”

“Sort of. He ran upstairs to get her and carried her down, but right as they got to the room, it went out. I’ve never heard my dad drop an effer, but that was a day for a whole bunch of firsts.” I pause, and realize I haven’t stopped smiling since Wesley started this conversation. This time I slide closer to him. “Dad thought that would be our last Christmas with her. He said something about how he was a fire failure and she couldn’t go because we needed our fire every
year.”

“And she’s still here.”

I nod against his shoulder. “Yup. She’s still here.” And cancer free. “But now every year they light the fire together.”

He settles his head on top of mine, and I move my eyes from the fire to his shoes and up his legs. They stop at his stomach as I watch him breathe. It’s amazingly relaxing. My eyes start to drift closed.

I move my body so I’m more comfortable, because I know I’m about to pass out. My head falls onto Wesley’s lap, and I stretch my legs out on the floor. I let out a contented sigh, which makes no sense because it sort of sounds like my Talon sigh, but he’s nowhere in sight.

“Hey, Wesley?”

“Hmm?”

I want to tell him how I’m feeling. How this night totally sucked and he made me forget for a little while. How he took all the pain away, and that’s what good friends do. How I hope I did that for him too, even though all I did was reminisce about my cheesy and romantic parents. And how when I talked about my mom’s cancer, he never once made me feel like it was making him uncomfortable. How we at least have each other, and it’s not as bad as I thought—I like having him in my corner.

But none of that comes out.

“Thanks.”

He doesn’t say anything, just starts playing with the curls on my head. Within minutes, I’m out like a light.

(Stay focused, damn it.)

I’ve heard of morning wood but have never seen it firsthand. I mean, I was an only child and never had sleepovers with boys. I’m sure my whole appearance screams virgin, even though that’s not exactly by choice. So when I move my face to snuggle farther into Wesley’s lap, I get the shock of my life when I see
that
straining against his jeans and pressing against my nose.

Please still be asleep …

“Uh …”

“Oh crap.” I bolt upright and cover my burning face. “I’m so, so, so sorry. I didn’t mean … I was still sort of asleep,” I blabber, shaking my head and wishing I could teleport to anywhere but here.

I spread my fingers to peek through them, and I see that Wesley’s face is as red as mine. He’s looking down at his pants like the thing is sticking out of the fly and not just pressing against it. And when I notice the dark, wet spot, that’s when I really start to freak out.

He did not just …

“That’s not me!” he shouts, holding his hands up and shaking his head. What the heck does he mean, that’s not him?
Who else could it be?
“I think you drooled. That’s not … I didn’t …”

If we could both teleport, I know we’d choose this moment. But all I can do now is laugh. Wesley’s face relaxes, but he’s still swearing up and down that I drooled all over his pants. I believe him, but it’s so ridiculous and slapstick funny, I end up rolling on the floor while he pokes my sides and threatens to tickle my feet if I don’t stop making fun.

“Oh good. You two are awake.” Dad comes in with two plates of his yummy mountain man breakfast burritos and sets them on the side table. Wesley whips a throw blanket over his lap, and I let out another giggle. I’ve never seen someone move so fast. But at least the boner is hidden now. “Kayla, when you’re done eating, can I talk to you for a minute?”

I resist rolling my eyes. Dad’s looking at Wesley like he could either hug him or shoot him but hasn’t decided which yet. I get how this looks, but come on, Dad. Me and Wesley? No way, no how. Just the thought almost makes me burst into fits of laughter again.

Biting back my smile, I reach over to grab the delicious five-hundred-calorie breakfast and pass Wesley his. The poor guy’s face is still super red even after Dad leaves the room.

“You okay there?”

He nods and starts picking at his food. I’ve never known Wesley to not dive into anything on a plate, so I know he’s lying. This can’t be about me or my dad, because normal Wesley would laugh his ass off with me. No, this is about Reagan and Talon. I’m sure of it.

And he helped me last night.

“I have a theory about sex. Want to hear it?”

His fork slips to the floor as he shoots me a look like I shocked him out of his socks. “Um, what?”

“You know, sex. The whole reason you were over here at three in the morning.”

“It was your drool! I haven’t done that since—”

“I’m not talking about that,” I interrupt with lightning speed. I really don’t want to know about Wesley’s last wet dream. “I was only saying maybe last night wasn’t the end of this. We can still get them to see—”

“Stop right there, Kayla.”

“Why?”

“Because I know what you’re going to say. And let’s face it—they weren’t going to break off a yearlong relationship because they grew closer to us. We failed. We move on. End of story.”

Never in my life have I heard Wesley sad. He’s the one who’s always cheering everyone else up. But when he puts his plate on the floor next to him without taking a bite, then folds his arms and stares at nothing in particular, I feel like I need to smack him upside the head for not being himself. I need him to be himself.

Instead of abuse, I set my food down and kneel in front of him, mimicking his closed-off posture. “You want to hear my theory or not?”

“It won’t make a difference.”

“Damn it, Wesley! Will you just humor me?”

That gets a half smile out of him. “Fine. Do tell me this theory you have about sex that will change what happened last night.”

I ignore his patronizing. “Sex isn’t always the cure-all, you know. I think if there’s a problem in a relationship, sex doesn’t fix it—it makes it way worse.”

He cocks his head to the side and relaxes his shoulders. “Actually, Kayla, that’s not a bad theory.”

“I got it off one of those teen soaps I used to watch.”

He laughs. “Which one?”

“I don’t remember. The point is, we shouldn’t give up. Minor setback, really.”

I thought this would cheer him up, but he’s back to being all tense and scary. Totally not regular ol’ Wesley.

“Well, I guess we better go as planned today, then.”

“Um, yeah.”

His lips purse, and he gives me one short nod. I wish I knew what the crap was going through his head, but I don’t ask. He stands and the blanket falls from his lap, revealing the nice big drool stain I left on his jeans. I start laughing again.

He throws his hands in the air. “It’s drool!” Then he plops back on the floor and digs into his breakfast, giving me a nice good look at the food on his tongue before it goes down his throat.

Welcome back, normal Wesley.

“I know you’re a college girl, but you’re still my daughter and living in my house right now.”