Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I lean against the door and squeeze my eyes shut. How did he find me? When I first heard a knock on the door, I wasn’t going to open it. Then I thought maybe it was Robert from the front desk, but it was too late for him to need to talk to me. Then I worried my car might be getting towed or something, so I reluctantly opened.
I shouldn’t have.
I hear another bang on the door, followed by a muffled, “Ivy. Open the damn door… Please.”
Thepleasedefinitely sounded forced. God damn it. I can’t deny him.
I unlatch the chain lock, and swing the door open all the way, giving Wesley the biggest smile I can.
“Hi,” I say cheerfully. “What brings you to this neck of the woods?” I lean up against the door jamb with my arms crossed, playing it cool.
The scowl on his face rivals all scowls I’ve ever seen on him, and that’s saying something. Wesley looks me upand down, taking in my nighttime attire. Besides my blue-light glasses I have on due to my late night writing, I’m in an oversized shirt that falls down to mid-thigh, and underwear. That’s it. I watch his Adam's apple bob with a hard swallow, then he meets my eyes again.
“Can I come in?” he growls.
“Please.” I move out of the way and wave him in with a flourish. His large frame passes me and I inhale deeply. How does he smell this good, this late at night? “Welcome to my crib,” I toss out.
Wesley steps in and I shut the door. He takes in the room slowly, scanning the walls, then the unmade bed with personal pillows and blankets. I try to see the room through his eyes. My boxes in the corner look unbelievably out of place, and the makeshift dresser on the arm chair isn’t ideal.
I cringe when he sees the snacks I’ve accumulated on my bedside table. Protein bars, a loaf of bread, and a peanut butter and jelly jar litter the surface. All evidence that I made myself right at home.
He makes a slow circle, eventually returning to face me.
“In what world,” he starts.
Oh boy.
“Would you think it was a better idea to stay here… then to tell me what was going on?” he says so carefully and calmly, it’s honestly kind of scary.
I’ve decided I don’t like his tone. Letting the embarrassment fuel my attitude, I cross my arms over my chest, and lift my chin in defiance. “Maybe because I’m a grown woman, and can take care of myself.”
His nostrils flare, and he filters his hands through his hair.
“Why wouldn’t you tell me?” he barks.
I scoff. “Maybe because you could barely look at me the last two weeks. What am I supposed to say, Wes?” I throw my hands out wide. “Hey, I know you’re avoiding me like the plague, but I’ve got nowhere to go. Fancy a roommate?” I ask, my words sharp.
“Wesley,” he says through clenched teeth.
“What?” I ask.
“Wesley… you call me Wesley.”
“Oh for fucks sake,” I say, exasperated.
“Say it,” he commands, eyes narrowed on me.
“You have got to–”
He cuts me off. “Say. It.”
We stand off, neither of us moving or looking away. I cross my arms, and try to strengthen my resolve, but he’s so hot, and he’s so sweet coming here and worrying about me. I don’t want to argue with him. Damn him.
“Wesley,” I whisper, and his expression softens.
“What were you thinking?” he asks, still visibly tense, but his tone is a bit gentler.
