“Nonsense. Since the lovebirds are trying to melt into one person, there’s plenty of space. I’ll sit by them so you don’t have to catch the love bug.” I plop down in the middle and pat the cushion next to me.
“What ifyoucatch the love bug?” Wes asks as he sits as close to the arm of the couch as possible, crossing his long legs.
“I’ll survive. I’ve already had it, and I’m immune.” I give him an exaggerated wink.
WhoamI? Am I reallyflirtingright now?
“I appreciate you sacrificing yourself to protect me. What are the symptoms? You know, so I know what to look for.”
“Oh boy,” I let out an exaggerated exhale, “Sweaty palms, flushed cheeks, chapped and swollen lips, butterflies in your stomach, a rapid heartbeat. Perhaps the most dangerous symptom is thinking about the person all day every day, sometimes even dreaming about them.” I keep my face as serious as possible.
Wes lets out a low whistle. “Wow, sounds very serious. You let me know if you have any of those symptoms. Wouldn’t want you to suffer alone.”
Is… is he flirting withme?
He can’t be.
“Will you two shush so we can start the movie?” Izzy whines.
Wes and I share a knowing look, and I can’t help the small flutter in my belly when he looks at me.
I try my hardest to watch the movie, I really do, but Wes is so close and I can smell him and he smells woodsy and earthy and sogood.In the blue light of the TV, his features are highlighted. The softness of his cheeks, defined jaw, the long slope of his nose, and the faint indent of dimples bracketing his soft, pillowy lips.
He’s outrageously gorgeous. Probably the prettiest man I’ve ever seen.
Halfway through the movie, Wes has shifted from the edge of the couch, closer to me, and now his denim-clad thigh is pressed up against my dress-covered one. I’m trying not to focus too much on that, or on the fluttering in my stomach at the contact. I’ve only known him for a few hours, way too soon for any sort of feeling other than friendship.
At least, that’s what I’m trying to believe.
Maybe it’s the appeal of someone who’s so different from the boys I’ve dated before. He’s not a white shirt and tie, cropped hair, strait-laced Mormon boy who is looking for a wife above all else. Wes’s goals in life aren’t to become the next best Vivint Sales rep or trade stocks for a living. He’s so passionate about music, and obviously about his late mom and grandma. He clearly adores Luke, and he’ssokind. He could have easily just sat on his phone and ignored me the whole night, but he didn’t. He made an effort to get to know me, and let me see a little bit of him. I haven’t felt uncomfortable in any of our silences other than the initial one.
I have a feeling the bad boy act is just that, an act. He looks the part, but I think my assessment of him being a bad boy was wrong.
Wes stands, bringing me back to reality as he turns the lights on. Izzy pouts when Wes reminds Luke of his curfew, and I can’t help but share the feeling.
“I know, Izzy-boo. But I’ll see you tomorrow, and I’ll make sure to text you when I get back and we can do our goodnight routine.” Luke coos as he and Izzy make their way to the front door.
Wes and I make eye-contact and he gives me a puzzled look, arching his eyebrow as if I have the answer to what Luke’s talking about.
I do. I know exactly what their “goodnight routine” entails, and because I do, I have to cover my mouth to stifle a laugh.
“See you tomorrow, Luke.” I say as Luke and Izzy head to the car for their goodnight kiss in private.
“Thank you for chaperoning with me tonight. It was really good to meet you.” I say to Wes as he stands in the doorway.
“No thanks necessary,” he gives me a small smile and his dimple isalmostvisible, “I had a good time too. I’ll see you tomorrow, right? At Matt’s?”
Right. Tomorrow.
“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Night, Elli.” He dips his head in a nod before turning to the car.
“Goodnight Wes.”
Izzy and Wes trade fist bumps and goodbyes as they pass each other, and Wes turns to smile when he hears me giggle at the interaction.
Izzy wiggles her eyebrows at me as I shut and lock the door.
