Switched: Flirt New Adult Romance (23 page)

Wesley’s body twitches, and his grip tightens on me as he stretches. As soon as it loosens, and as much as I hate doing it, I roll off the couch. Wesley blinks his sleepy eyes into focus before shooting upright and staring at me. “Uh … morning.”

“Morning,” I say, straightening my shirt and searching for my shoes. I think they’re upstairs, though.

“Sleep okay?” His eyebrows get that cute crinkle between them. He looks like he’s not sure whether he should offer me breakfast or walk me out the door.

I promised myself before I drifted off that there’d be no awkwardness. We’re friends. And last night was … two friends who lost control. Who lost focus.

I smile as I let out a breath. “I would’ve slept better if someone hadn’t been trying to grab my boob all night. I know I’m hard to resist, but we don’t want another wet morning, do we?” I point to the crotch of his pants, which is thankfully covered with the blanket.

Wesley’s confusion wipes away with that dimpled smile. “I’m not responsible for anything that happens in my sleep.” He feels around in his lap. “And don’t overinflate that ego of yours. I’m all dry.” He winks and stands, leaping over the back of the couch and going right for
the kitchen.

Yay for me and my sarcasm! Looks like we can get back to normal. “Please tell me you have Red Bull.”

“What, you think I stock up for you?”

I skip over to the fridge, beating him to it. “That’s exactly what I think,” I say as I open it to four cans sitting in the door.

“By all means, help yourself. I’m going to have a real breakfast.”

He takes out a box of Pop-Tarts, making me snort energy drink up my nose.

“Don’t mess up my clean counters!” he yells, but he’s laughing and I almost reach over to pinch him, but I stop. Maybe that’s one thing that can’t go back to normal. No touching.

But really, we didn’t start touching each other a lot until we started conspiring together. It came so naturally, like we’d been this close as long as we’d known each other.

I wipe my chin and put my can on the counter. “I call the bathroom first,” I say, but only as an excuse to leave. I detour into his room and find one shoe under the bed and the other in it. The night rushes back into my brain, and I tell myself to forget the bathroom—I have to leave now, before the Wesley scent makes me lose control of my hormones again.

Wesley is sitting on counter when I get back down the stairs, his heels banging rhythmically against the cupboards. “You heading out?” he asks when I grab my jacket.

“Yeah. I’ve got about twenty missed calls from Reagan.” That could be true. I felt my phone buzzing all night, but I haven’t looked at it. “Better go before she calls the cops.”

He’s back to the eyebrow crinkle. “Yeah, okay.”

I gulp, trying to leave on a lighter note and make a joke out of what happened last night. “I don’t think you have to worry about kissing her anymore. Not once did you sneeze in my face.” I smile, but he doesn’t smile back.

Well, so much for that.

Then before the air gets so thick I’ll have to swim through it to get to the front door, I say, “Talk to you later,” and leave.

“Where the hell have you been?”

I knew it was coming the second I read those missed texts. Reagan is alternating between shaking me and hugging me, and I’m so exhausted I hang limp in her arms.

“I’ve been calling all freaking night and not a word. Called Julia and Grace, and they had no clue where you were. And don’t tell me you were with Talon because I know you weren’t. He
called here wondering if you were okay. I called Wes and no answer, but I think it was because I was the one calling … never mind, that’s not important. Where were you?”

She pulls back, keeping her hands on my shoulders. I want to fall on her and cry again, but how can I do that with her? She’s the one I’m hurting and she doesn’t even know it.

“I was with Wesley.”

Her eyebrows shoot upward, and she pulls me to the bed. “Spill.”

“I crashed at his house. We both felt a little weird after our dates so I went to talk to him about it.” That’s about as honest as I can be right now. I could tell her about the kiss, but then she’ll think it meant something. Or she’ll ask why we kissed in the first place, and if she does that, I’ll have to blurt out the entire plan and take Wesley down with me. I won’t do that to him.

I also can’t tell her about Talon, because I don’t know what it means with him either, or if I even feel anything anymore. I want to. I want to feel the way I felt a month ago. I just don’t know how.

“He said he felt weird?” Reagan asks, a slight frown twisting the corners of her mouth. I should’ve had more Red Bull, if only to speed-talk through this conversation.

“It was more me. Don’t worry about it.”

My cheek gets slammed into her big cushy boobs. She cradles my head and strokes my curls like my mom does when I’m at home. “I hope it’s not because of me. I told you things are over with Talon.”

Of course it’s about her! Everything lately has been about her. When both guys were piles of mush at her feet, right through when I came up with this stupid plan to break her up with her boyfriend, it was all about doing it without hurting her. And even now I can’t revel in my success because I kissed the guy she’s crushing on, and I went out with a guy I can’t find it in me to want anymore because of her.

I love Reagan, I do. I love her for being my girl I can talk to. For sneaking into R-rated movies with me. For when we’d go to the lost-and-found at random places and claim the stupidest things. I love her for being my shoulder, my ear, my conscience. She’s my best friend who is more of a sister.

But right now, sitting in her comforting arms, I hate her. I hate her for knowing how I felt about Talon and dating him anyway. I hate her for being so
okay
with letting him go and moving on so fast. I hate her for going out with Wesley before she had an answer to her question, the one I still haven’t answered. Do I like him? Does it matter? Because she went ahead and did what she wanted anyway.

I hate her most because she can do things I can’t seem to do. She can speak her mind, act on her impulses, follow her heart. Despite everything, she finds happiness. I hate her for every reason Wesley listed as why he loves her.

I shrug from her arms and put my face between my knees. Her hand makes soothing circles on my back while she tells me over and over that she’s sorry. I wonder if she even knows what she’s sorry for. Or if she’s saying it because she has no idea what to say.

The few sips of Red Bull kick in, and I shoot from the bed. My hands are shaking and I search the room for something to clean. There’s nothing really, because both Reagan and I are the same in that personality trait. So I yank all my sheets off my bed and grab a laundry basket. Reagan watches in silence while I flip my mattress, fluff my pillows, and dig through our change jar for quarters.

Because laundry will solve everything!

“Kayla?”

I’m halfway out the door, my arms already aching from the overstuffed basket. “Yeah?”

“What if we went back to hanging out, just the four of us? Like, no dates, no relationships. Just buddies. Would that be okay?”

She looks sad. And I hate her for that too. She’s making me feel guilty for my feelings. Like they’re somehow wrong.

“I think that’s a good idea.”

Another lie. Add it to the pile of dirty laundry I’m about to stick in the washer and watch spiral. Because I can’t be just friends with the guys. I’m in love. I think. The emotions I’ve got in my body when I think about them are the strongest I’ve ever felt, and I know love makes people crazy. And I’ve never felt more insane.

Pretty sure I’m in love.

Problem is, I’m not sure which one of them I’m in love with.

Progress Report: February 1

Wesley’s avoiding me. I’m not sure if he’s doing it on purpose or if he’s working or what. But he doesn’t text me or call, and every time I drive by his place his van isn’t there. I don’t go visit him at work either because the last time I did, I bumped into Talon outside and we went in together. As friends, like it was no big deal, but Wesley looked like he wanted nothing more than to shove my suicide yogurt in Talon’s face. I thought the whole thing was about me, and some messed-up part of my brain thought that was awesome. But I found out later that Reagan’s been hanging around Talon more, so that’s what must be bugging Wesley so much.

It should bug me too, but it’s not. In fact, I finally got everyone to agree to get together this Friday night after Wesley’s shift. Well, I suggested it to Reagan and she got hold of the guys.

I’m hoping we can press rewind and go back to before the breakup. Because I messed up. I tried to force things when I should’ve let them happen naturally. So no more trying to seduce Talon. No more practice kisses with Wesley. I’m just going to
be
. And let the rest figure itself out.

(Or with two people who just broke up.)

Reagan swings into the room, carrying four bottles of beer. “Time to play a game!”

“Ray, you really think you need alcohol?” Wesley starts strumming the theme to
King of the Hill
on his acoustic. “I think you’re wired enough.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and slides onto the floor next to me. “You can’t play ‘I Never’ without drinks.”

Looks like someone wants to open a can of worms tonight. Talon cocks an eyebrow and reaches over me to grab the sports drinks. His arm brushes against my leg, and I flinch because I’m oh so smooth. He smiles and squeezes my knee when he pulls back, and that fact is not lost on Reagan or Wesley.

“I’ll play, but only if we play with these.”

Responsible Talon. Quality is sexy, yes. But it’s not making my skin flush anymore.

“Fine.” Reagan sets the beer down and cracks a purple-filled bottle from the plastic ring. We all follow suit, and I’m wondering how fun this game can be sober.

“I’ll go first.” Of course she will. “I never … French-kissed on the first date.”

All three of us automatically drink, and like the question lifted the tension blanket, we all burst out laughing. Talon nudges my arm, his lips damp with purple Powerade. “I expected Wes to drink, but not you.”

That goes to show how little he knows about me. Out of the five guys I’ve kissed, three have involved tongue. I shrug, twisting the cap back on my drink. “What can I say? I’m a horny kisser.”

It’s meant as a joke, but the way Wesley chokes on what can only be air because he’s done drinking, I know he doesn’t see it that way.

My cheeks flood to the brim with heat, and I mutter, “I’m next.” Must change the subject, stat! “I never …” Hmm … what have these guys done that I haven’t? Oh! “Got a tattoo.”

Talon and Reagan both raise their drinks while Wesley’s stays capped. He plucks the strings on his guitar for a second, then sets it on the couch behind him. He looks sort of empty and uncomfortable without the instrument, almost as if it’s his emotional shield. His eyes blink
over to me, and with a jolt I feel my face go hot at his dimpled grin, which makes no sense because I look at Wesley all the time.

I return his smile real quick, then move my gaze from him because I’m seriously staring. I catch the exchange of grins between Talon and Reagan, probably silently reminiscing about the night they got their tattoos. Right after graduation—it was the most clichéd tattoo in the world, the yin-yang symbol.

“Talon, you go,” Reagan says as soon as her lid’s back on. Talon smiles and looks at Wesley, whose face has suddenly turned pasty.

“I never got a piercing below my neck.”

Reagan tosses back another sip, showing off her belly button ring to the guys. Not like they haven’t seen it before. But it’s Wesley I’ve got my eyes locked on.
Again
. He’s shaking his head and biting back a grimace.

“Shit, man. You’re going to pay for that one.” He takes a drink, and both my mouth and Reagan’s drop to the floor.

“No way! Where is it?”

She says it before I can. I’m mentally going over his body, my face boiling. I’m trying not to like the idea of anything being pierced, but I can’t help it.

Wesley hangs his head, his blond hair sticking up at odd angles. “Is that part of the game?”

“Oh come on, tell us!” Reagan’s bouncing her butt against her feet, which are tucked underneath her, and Wesley laughs.

“I didn’t pierce any of the goodies, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Does he not realize everything he has below the neck is good?

Hello! Where did that thought come from?

“It’s not your nipples, is it?” My eyebrows are stuck together in the center of my head. He gives me a twitchy smile and slouches back against the couch, his head hitting his guitar. Can he read my mind? Because I’m thinking it can’t be his nipples because I’ve been with him shirtless. But as I try to go back to that night, I can’t remember for the life of me what I saw. I was too distracted by his lips, then by knocking all the stuff to the floor—I don’t think I got the chance to marvel at his skin.

Or see if he has nipple rings.