Switched: Flirt New Adult Romance (4 page)

I. Hate. Clubs.

For one, I can’t drink because I’m only eighteen. And I’m not someone who can fake it either, because I’m so petite I’m automatically carded, like for some reason all short people are not adults. This really gets old; I wonder if Mary Lou Retton had to deal with this shit.

Two, I hate people who are drinking and then start hanging all over you like you’re the wall that’s supposed to hold them up. And they think they are totally hot, when in reality they haven’t shaved in days and the tight shirts only reveal the fact that alcohol has given them a keg, not a six-pack.

Three, I have to watch Reagan trying to get guys to dance with me when I’m the world’s worst dancer. They eye her curves, flawless skin, and long hair, and then when she says, “My friend over there …,” I can see the disappointment in their eyes when they take in my total-opposite-of-Reagan body. It’s like,
Come on, guys, not everyone wants a giant goddess. Some people like the short pixie girls with crazy hair. I’ve got spunk written all over me
.

“I think my left arm is shorter than my right.” Grace sticks her arms out and wiggles her shoulders back and forth, comparing them.

Julia and I chuckle behind our drinks. “Someone’s had a bit too much,” Julia says to me, setting her empty glass down and twisting her long black hair into a bun.

“Hey, hey, I’ve only had …” Grace raises her eyes to the ceiling and ticks off her fingers. After five or six, she shrugs. “Hell, I don’t know. But I think I’m drunk enough to sing now. Where’s Ray?”

She scans the room, body swaying a little too much for the beat. Julia grabs hold of her arm. “Come on, Tilt-A-Whirl.” She looks over at me. “Are you going to finally join us?”

I shake my head so hard it may fall off. Julia laughs and takes Grace out to Reagan on the dance floor. I lean back against the bar, waiting for an opportunity to get Reagan by herself so I can dig. Julia and Grace usually meet us on girls’ nights, and I love that the whole
We’re seniors, you’re freshman, so we can’t look at or talk to you
doesn’t transfer from high school to college. And they just happen to know how to get around Bitchy Brenda when we sneak back to the dorm at three in the morning.

The girls file onto the stage, Grace about to topple off it, but Julia grabs her and forces her onto the stool Wesley usually uses when he plays his guitar here. Grace giggles and moves her short blond bangs from her forehead. They’re all handed microphones, and Reagan counts them out.

“One, two, three, four …”

Julia starts the tune, humming in the background and making music with her mouth I never thought was possible just from vocal cords, but after six months of this, I’m used to the first shock of it. Grace, even drunk, puts on some sweet backup vocals, while Reagan takes the lead. Reagan’s used to the spotlight, and I’m used to her having it. Not that I’d put myself up there even if I could hold a tune. That’s not happening ever. I have a hard enough time handing any of my professors a paper without saying a word to them. I just don’t like being on display, or opening myself up for any type of feedback.

They rock it, and get all these whistles and claps when they’re done. I join in, smiling, as they hop off the stage. Grace falls into some guy’s arms, and she’s off to dance, Julia joining in nearby so some ass doesn’t take advantage of her roommate.

Reagan slides next to me, chugging some water.

“Bathroom break!” I call over the music, then pull her to the much quieter restroom. Once the door closes, she pulls out her lip gloss and reapplies, then hands it to me.

“Anyone you like so far?” she asks as I smack my lips together. “Or have you even talked to a male tonight?”

“No.” I smile, though, hoping she thinks I’m not as miserable as I really am. “You?”

“I’m with Talon, silly.” She bumps my hip and pulls out her hairbrush.

I grin again, letting it fully take up the space on my face. I need dirt, because shopping gave me nothing except she likes pink lingerie. I’m so not telling Wesley that. “Let’s pretend you’re single for two seconds. What would be the type you’re looking for?”

Not the most subtle ways of doing this, but oh well.

“Hmm … that’s so hard! Because I can only think of Talon.”

Yeah, me too. “Say you’ve never met Talon or seen anyone like him. And you’re out
there on the dance floor. Who would make your stomach bubble? In a good way.” We laugh, and she tosses her freshly purple-highlighted hair over her shoulder.

“You can’t tell Talon, agreed?”

I nod, nearly bouncing on my feet. In all honesty, I miss our girl talks like this. They’ve become nonexistent since the boys invaded.

“I’ve always liked blonds.” She bites her lips as if she’s just said something super dirty. I get it, because Talon has the darkest hair I’ve ever seen. The kind of hair
I’ve
always liked.

“Really? Like blond blond, or sorta blond?” Because Wesley is dirty blond. So points for him.

“Any kind of blond. Which is so weird, right? Because …” She lets the sentence drop, and we both know she’s thinking about Talon and his lack of blond locks, but we don’t say anything. “I also really like tall guys. But what girl doesn’t, right?”

I add another point to Wesley’s chart. I think he measures about six-three. Giant man compared with itty-bitty me. When we first met I actually believed I would only come up to his belly button, but it’s more like the middle of his chest.

“What about eyes? Facial hair? Muscles?” I grin, getting a little giggly over the conversation. And I can’t even blame alcohol. “Are you an ass girl? Stomach? Arms? Lips? Eyes? Last time I checked was in high school. So what’s college Reagan’s poison?”

She bursts out laughing, clutching the sink to keep herself upright. I join in, relaxing my stance, which I didn’t notice till now had been super tense.

“I don’t care about color of eyes, but I do like them when they are framed by long eyelashes.” She pauses. “Why do guys always luck out with the long lashes?”

I shrug, and we laugh again.

“And I like the ass. Give me something good to look at when he’s walking away. Or bent over fixing things. Or running down a field …” She drifts off, and I go with her to that amazingly hot butt of Talon’s as he jogs the track around the football field. Who wouldn’t love that view?

After our brief moment in fantasy butt world, she goes into major details. Some like Talon, some not. Some I know already, and some I don’t. And I mentally jot down everything I can. This is perfect. I really hope Wesley has as much for me as I do for him.

Plan is officially in action … as long as no declaration of love is made.

But I’m not sure if I’ll ask again.

Progress Report: December 9

Things Wesley has going for him

I’d inspect his butt to see if he has that going for him too, but I don’t want him to catch me. He’d tease me nonstop for a week.

Things I’ve got going for me

I guess we’ll find out after I talk with Wesley.

(Even if you have to talk about sex.)

“You totally suck at this.”

I fling my fry at Wesley’s head. He dodges, and it smacks the wall behind him. His grin widens, and he plucks the pickle off his burger and waves it in the air as a threat. Oh, if he throws that at me I’ll shove his face right into the ketchup.

“You gonna play nice?” he asks, swinging that nasty mustard-soaked green vegetable by his cheek. His eyebrow is cocked so high, it’s disappearing into his blond hair.

“Don’t even think about it,” I growl, settling my hand above my ketchup packet. When he chuckles and puts the pickle down, I relax back in the booth and pick at my chicken sandwich. “But really, that’s all you have for me?”

I should’ve gone last when we exchanged dirt on our best buds. Because what I gave Wesley was pure gold. He even got all pink-faced and sweaty when I told him Reagan’s reaction to his joke of the day or whatever. Then he kept getting redder and redder the more I told him about how she likes tall, blond guys with cute butts. He even wiggled in his seat a bit, probably wondering if he qualified in all three categories. And I wasn’t going to confirm it, so he’ll have to go home and check out his own ass.

Then after I finished, I sat straight up with a big dorky smile waiting to hear how Talon has secretly wanted a short and sexy wild-haired girl like me. Hey, it could happen.

But here’s what I got: “He likes pepperoni on his pizza.”

I thought Wesley was joking at first, but nope. And now I’m sitting here with nothing but that pathetic piece of info, which I already knew! Ugh. Useless! Wesley is utterly useless!

“That’s a pretty important character trait,” he says through a mouthful of burger. “He likes things spicy.”

I have to keep my eyes from rolling. “Pepperoni is not that spicy. And even if it is to him, all that tells me is he likes his
pizza
spicy.”

Wesley pats his stomach and eyes his burger as if he’s about to make out with it instead of eat it. “The way to a man’s heart …,” he says in a whisper, then shoves the rest of his food in his mouth.

“You were with him all day, and there’s
nothing
else you talked about?”

I’m totally desperate. My voice is coming out in that weird sigh-type thing that makes it sound like I’m going to cry. So pathetic.

“Uh …” Wesley gives me this blank stare, and I huff and grab my coat.

“Well, thanks for nothing.”

So much for having an accomplice on this thing. I’m not sure how I’ll do on my own, but he’s not getting any more help from me. And there’s no one else I can really talk to about it because it comes off pretty bitchy. I can’t exactly go up and say,
Hey! Help me steal my best friend’s boyfriend. I promise I have good reasons
. Because even though I’ve convinced myself I do have good reasons, no one gives a rat’s ass about that.

Except Wesley. Damn it.

I slide from the booth and shrug my coat on. Stuffing my curls under my hood, I give Wesley the most annoyed expression I possess.

He holds his hands up, hazel eyes widening at me. “Don’t be mad, all right? It’s going to take a while to pull this off without everyone hating each other.”

“You don’t get it.” I fold my arms across the front of my puffy coat. “We have to be quicker about this. Like,
way
quicker.”

His thick eyebrows crinkle together. “Because …?”

I avoided the lingerie during my Reagan rundown, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to avoid the sex thing now. Talk about embarrassing. I’m not even sure if Wesley knows what sex is.

“It’s, well … you know …” I stop and let out a huge breath of air.

He laughs. “Um, no. I don’t.”

I shouldn’t have brought it up. I can feel my face turning the color of my ketchup packet. “Let’s just say Reagan mentioned something and we have a deadline.” I pause, but he continues to give me that stupid what-are-you-talking-about stare. “A major deadline. Like two weeks.”

“You sure you’re not horny or something and it’s making you impatient?”

Ugh. “No. I’m not horny.” Though just thinking about Talon makes me that way. “Can you just trust me on this?”

He shrugs and slides out from the booth. His green coat makes all these static pops as he puts it on. “All right. But only because I have to run. You still planning on coming over tonight?”

I nod. It’s Thursday, which means the four of us go to Wesley’s place to eat way too much, laugh about stupid things, and play Just Dance, since we can’t do all that in the dorms.

Wesley lives by himself in a two-level apartment. He was late getting his forms in, and there weren’t any dorm rooms left for him. Personally, I think he lucked out, since dorm rules suck major. Though he does work his butt off at Yogurtland—he’s there so much, he
permanently smells of gummy bears. So maybe he’s not that lucky.

“Sounds good. See you then.” He gives me a light smile, which actually looks really good on him because he’s not being an asswipe right now. He walks by me to get to the door, while I pull out my cell to check the time. Reagan should be heading to her next class, so I’ve got a few hours to myself this afternoon.

“Oh!” Wesley’s voice startles me so much I fumble with my phone as I peek over my shoulder to look at him. “Almost forgot to tell you. Talon said he needed a ride back home for the holidays next week. Reagan’s got finals, and you know his car—he’d have to spend a ton of money on gas. Since I’ve got finals too, and yours are done, I volunteered you.” He winks at me and swings open the glass door. “Hope that’s okay.”

There’s the asswipe smile, but the bouncy balls in my stomach make me care less. A whole thirteen hours in the car with Talon … alone. This is better than what I gave Wesley. A
million
times better. Maybe I did snag myself a good accomplice.

“I take it back,” I say with the doofiest smile. “You’re not completely useless.”