Switched: Flirt New Adult Romance (19 page)

“So guess what? Coach said I could be starting some games next season if I keep in shape. Pretty cool, huh?”

“Oh my gosh, that’s great!” I reach way down in my empty body for the courage to give him a one-armed hug, filling my chest with teeny-tiny bouncy balls. At least I don’t feel empty anymore. “I don’t blame him. I was just watching the video I took of your last practice, and you were kick-ass.”

“Thanks.” He squeezes back, his fingers lingering a little on my waist. I’m still all full of bouncy balls, but the action makes me feel half good, half bad. It’s gotta be because I’m not used to the idea of him not being Reagan’s boyfriend. When we wrestled in the snow, the touches didn’t ever feel intimate, and now suddenly they do. And I’m not sure how to feel about them. I know how I
should
feel about them, but … gah, I wish my brain would just shut off for a second.

He still hasn’t moved his hand from my waist.

“So, I was thinking we could celebrate this good news on Friday. Sound good?”

Ignore that hand, Kayla. It’s confusing the crap out of you
.

“Yeah, sounds great. I think Wesley gets off at like ten, so we can meet up with him and Reagan at his place again if you want.”

His forehead gets this sexy wrinkle. “Actually, I think those two have plans already. I was hoping it’d just be us.”

My mouth pops open, along with an “Eh?”

He laughs, inching over enough so that his knee isn’t slightly touching mine anymore—now it’s a full-on pressed-together knee touch. “I want to take you out, Kayla. Are you available?”

“W-why?”

I think I may be in some sort of shock, because I can’t seem to be smooth about this.

“Why do I want to take you out?”

I nod.

He gives me that take-away-your-breath smile, only my breath is still here, and says, “Because you’re fun. I like being with you.”

Is this happening? I have to pinch myself. But I can’t find the part of the brain that sends signals to my body for movement. So I sit still, forcing my mouth to come up with something other than gaping at him.

“Um, okay. But I have to make sure it’s okay with Reagan.”

His hand finally goes back into safe territory, landing on the back of my chair. “I figured you’d say that, since you’re a good friend.”
Yeah, right!
“Talk to her, but know I’ve already asked and she said she was fine with it.”

I blink a few times, and he laughs, his knee rocking back and forth against mine. “Will you call me once you’ve talked with her?”

“S-sure.”

“Awesome. Well, I gotta meet up with some of the guys from the team. You can hang with us if you want.”

No. I won’t be able to handle that right now. I need to call Wesley. And talk to Reagan. Then go take a chill pill.

“That’s okay. I’ll call you later.”

There’s that smile again, and usually it makes me want to eat him up, but right now I don’t think I could eat anything without puking.

He gets up, pulling me to my feet at the same time, and walks me to my car. I know he’s talking because his mouth is moving, but I don’t hear any of it. Where am I? Feels like I’ve been plopped into someone’s dream or something, because none of this seems real. And if it is real, why am I not leaping for joy? Screaming from the rooftops about how brilliant I am for pulling off the impossible? Why the hell am I so confused?

And why do I feel like the only one who thinks all of this is a little too good to be true?

Progress Report: January 19

Well, Reagan gave the okay, so I have my first official one-on-one date with Sexy Himself.

I should be happy.

But I’m not.

(And try not to get distracted by his cowlick.)

I can already smell Wesley’s gummy-bear-scented uniform before he even opens the door. And when he swings it open, the smell triples in intensity and I let out one of my sighs.

“Talon’s not here, you know,” he says, and I notice him tugging down his white sleeveless undershirt like he was just putting it on before answering. There are those abs again, and I also catch those lines men have that go straight to, well … their manhood.

“Um, I came to see you,” I mumble, trying to force my eyes to anywhere but his dang stomach.

He waves me in, and ruffles his hair. The cowlick refuses to do anything but stick straight up, so I don’t know why he even tries. He pulls open the fridge and cocks an eyebrow like he’s asking if I want anything. I shake my head and go straight to the couch, keeping my jacket tight around my shoulders.

“What’s up?”

“I feel weird.” It’s the most honest thing I can think to say. I could tell him I’m confused, that I’m scared, that I’m feeling guilty as hell because I’m going out with my best friend’s ex, and that I shouldn’t feel that guilty because not only am I getting what I want but Reagan is okay with it.

“About …?”

“Talon asked me out.”

“Yeah.”

“And you asked Reagan out.”

“I did.”

I jut my chin out, like hello! Doesn’t he get it? But he just sits there staring at me, his hazel eyes a bit heavy.

“And it doesn’t seem weird to you that they’re okay with everything? I mean, it’s been less than a month since they broke up, and I know it was mutual and crap, but would you be okay
with your best friend going out with your ex?”

He rubs his chin, his fingers scratching the stubble along his jaw. “Yeah. It is a little weird. Maybe we pulled this off much better than we thought.”

“I guess so.”

“It’s funny to me, ’cause I didn’t think we did much.”

I laugh, shrugging out of my jacket. “You were the one who said subtlety was best.”

“I am a genius some days.”

“Only some. Not all.”

He reaches for his heart but ends up yawning, so his hand makes a trip to cover his mouth instead.

“Long shift again?”

He nods. “I really need to find that roommate.”

“Well, if things go well with Reagan, maybe
I’ll
be looking for one.”

If it was possible, I’m sure Wesley’s face could cook an egg. He goes so red I’m starting to imitate him, just because I made him embarrassed, and I don’t know how or why. We’ve said a lot worse before.

“Wesley, I’m kidding. I don’t think Reagan will move in after one date.”

“I know. It’s just … I think I need your help with something.”

“Okay.”

“Well, speaking of this date, I’m not sure if I should, you know, kiss her.”

“And you want
my
opinion?”

He nods.

I fling my head back and laugh at the ceiling. I’m being super insensitive, especially since the guy is totally nervous about it, but I can’t help it.

Wesley tickles my knee and tells me it’s not funny, but he’s not red anymore, so at least I eased some of the nerves out of him with my insensitivity.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t expect that.” I shove his hand off my knee. “You want to know if I think you should kiss her?” I ask again, to clarify. Wesley has been reeking confidence since we started this whole thing. Now that Reagan’s noticing him, he seems to have flipped a one-eighty.

“Well, yeah.”

“What would you normally do on a first date?”

He rubs the back of his neck, the muscles in his forearm suddenly very noticeable. “That’s the thing. It’s Reagan. I’ve known her for so long, it doesn’t feel like this is a first date. Feels like we’re starting on the tenth or eleventh. And if it’s the tenth or eleventh date, I should have kissed her already. Add all that to the fact she
is
Talon’s ex, and I feel like I may end up
fumbling all over her if I try, because I’m so used to keeping my distance. But with my track record, I’ll probably end up doing that anyway.”

Wow, he said that a little fast. But I get it. I feel the same way about Talon. I’ve fantasized about him kissing me a million times, but the thought of it actually happening turns my insides into a pile of rusty nails. “Wait … track record? When have you ever dated a friend’s ex?”

“Not that.” Suddenly he finds the bottom of his pajama pants super interesting, because his eyes refuse to go anywhere but there. “I’m talking about kissing itself. Apparently, based on what I’ve been told, I’m … uh, not that good.”

“Someone
told
you that?” Who is this girl and what the hell is her problem? Wesley may tell a joke or two, be a little bit ridiculous at times, but he’s a nice guy.

He nods, still not taking his eyes off the hem of his pants. “I guess I don’t know where to put my hands or something.” His hands twitch as he says it, and I get this urge to steady them with my own. I don’t, but that makes my hands twitch too from holding back.

“Well, where were they?” I ask. “Your hands.”

“Hell if I know. I wasn’t really thinking about it.”

“They weren’t glued to her boobs were they?” I ask with a laugh, and his eyes finally pop up to meet mine.

He gives me a smirk. “I’d remember that.”

“What
do
you remember?”

“Uh … she was drunk. She was on top of me. We were in a room full of people. I don’t know, it was a party.”

“Were
you
drunk?”

“No. I don’t think I’ve ever been more sober.”

There goes my reassurance for him. Drunk kissing is piss poor. And really slobbery.

He takes one look at my expression and says, “I know. I must really suck ass if a wasted girl says I have no clue what I’m doing.”

I twist my tongue in my mouth and chew on it for a second. “What did she say was wrong exactly?”

“I believe her exact words were, ‘You’re cute, but you have no idea how to please a woman,’ then she hopped off my lap and disappeared.”

My lips press together to hold in my laughter. It really isn’t funny. Kind of sad, actually. But I can’t stop the tiny chuckles, and I turn them into coughs as quick as I can.

“Laugh it up, Mickey,” he says, pushing my legs over and scooting closer on the couch. “I think my ego was blasted into oblivion that day.”

“Probably good for you.”

“Except now I’m like a twelve-year-old dreading spin the bottle. Even if I should kiss Ray, I’m too damn nervous.”

Does he even know how cute this is? Maybe it’s my own fetish—nervous guys. And that’s bizarre, since it’s Wesley I’m suddenly having these thoughts about. Ack! I better calm his nerves stat.

“It was just one girl, right?”

“The drunk one.” He nods. “The only one who had the guts to say anything to me.”

“It’s only one opinion.”

“That I know of.”

I huff out a breath through my nostrils. “Stand up.”

He gives me a look but does it anyway. I get up too and pull him to a more open space in the living room so we don’t trip over anything. I’m not going to kiss him, but I am going to try to ease his mind.

“Okay, so pretend I’m Reagan.”

The look on his face makes me burst out laughing. His eyebrows knit together and his mouth pops open while his hands shoot up like I’ve got a gun to his chest.

“I’m not going to make you kiss me.” Hello, awkward. “Chill.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Helping you, like you asked. Reagan is aggressive. I don’t think you’ll have to worry about kissing her. I think you have to worry about
her
kissing
you
.”

“Shit.” He runs his hands over his face. “I didn’t even think about that.”

He’s adorable. I can’t stop thinking it. The more he shakes and the redder he turns, the more it’s like an aphrodisiac. Couple that with his delicious gummy bear scent and I’m thinking,
Talon? Who’s Talon?

I want to bang my head on the wall for being too horny. Maybe I’ll pretend he
is
Talon. I’m being Reagan. Yes! I can do that.

“Hey,” I say, pulling his hands into mine to stop them from shaking. “Take a deep breath. This stuff should be natural. Just go with what feels right.”

The second he sucks in a breath, I lunge on him. He sort of trips backward, but catches himself on the wall. My arms lock around his head, clinging on to him, since my feet are barely touching the floor. Our noses are as close as they can get without touching, and I don’t think he’s released that breath he took.

“Reagan’s aggressive, remember?” I say. Total excuse, and I’m wondering what possessed me to get so close to him. It just happened, and now I’m here in his face and holding back a sigh. A
Talon
sigh. What the hell is going on with me?

I’ve just got to pretend he’s Talon. He’s pretending I’m Reagan. That’s what it is. We’re
just good friends helping each other out.

His Adam’s apple moves up and down, then his mouth pops open. Okay, I’ll give him credit on the always-make-sure-your-breath-is-prepared thing, because the chocolate chip mint ice cream he must’ve had smells so good, I almost toss in the idea that we should
actually
kiss, instead of fake like we are.

“Uh …,” he stutters, which brings me back to the real world.

“So,” I say, mustering that confidence I had a second ago when I threw him against the wall, “don’t think. Pretend we’re lip-locked. Where would your hands go?”

“You want me to touch you?” His voice cracks and his stiff arms twitch against his sides.

I try really hard not to laugh in his face, because unlike his minty breath, I’m sure mine smells like the turkey sandwich I had for dinner. “I’m touching you, aren’t I?” I move my fingers around in his hair before giving it a tiny tug. “Don’t. Think. Just react.”

His right hand goes instantly under my raised arm, then runs down my side and rests on my hip. He hooks a finger through my belt loop, and our bodies are pressed so close together I’m pretty sure I’m a
part
of him. And I know I should be pretending he’s Talon. I mean, he’s pretending I’m Reagan, but holy wow. This is Wesley, and he’s being so damn sexy I have to blink a few times to make sure it’s actually happening.

“Um … was that okay?”

“Uh-huh.”
Oh goodness, Kayla. Calm your breathing!
“So, um … now what are you going to do with your other hand?”