"What? No! I said I'm just pissed."
"Oh," I laugh. "I thought you said you just—"
"Yeah, no, I didn't."
"Good, it would be a concerning issue if you did. Anyway, you should get some rest and pick things back up tomorrow."
"I won't be able to sleep," he says.
"I think you will," I assure him. Why does he look so sad? I want to hug him and rub his back, shush him a little.My freaking biological clock needs to shut the hell up. He's a grown man."It's just an Instagram post for right now. I wouldn't lose sleep over something like that."
"That post was spot-on. I'm all those things. Did you know that?"
"Don't believe everything you read online, Wesley. Trust me … that'll save you some stress lines right there."
His hand darts up to his forehead like I just told him a massive wrinkle just appeared on his face. "It's true. I'm a no one. I just pretend I'msomeone, so people will think I have a real following."That's also sad.
I pull his hand down from his head. "You don't have stress lines. I was just saying you should stress less."
I'm not sure I understand the purpose of obsessing over social media. These followers are all represented by a random name or word, and they're somewhere behind a monitor or their phone. I find it hard to consider losing sleep over online commentary, but I don't exactly care about being in the spotlight.
"I promise everything will turn out okay. Just try to think positively." Ha. I'm giving people advice about being positive.I am positive I am good at not following my self-given advice.
"How should I do that?" Wesley asks.
"Think happy thoughts. I do it all the time. Or, do something that makes you happy. That will help too." I'm a liar. I don't think happy thoughts all the time. If I did, I wouldn't have to be training myself to do so in the mirror every morning.
While realizing how big of a hypocrite I am, I somehow become wrapped up in Wesley's arms. "Whoa," I say, feeling winded. His nose is less than an inch from mine and I could swear there are tiny sparklers catching on fire inside my chest. He's tall, but the height difference between us is kind of perfect, like I fit or something. "I think this would make me happy, but not if you slap me, so I'll stop if you want." I hardly know him, but I feel like it doesn't matter.
An answer doesn't percolate because I can't think straight enough to know right from wrong, but it's not because I've had too much to drink. It's because his arms are strong and are holding me tightly, giving me an embrace I've needed for a long time. He smells like spice and pine, and his breath has a rum scent that's melting into my lips. "I won't hurt you," I whisper.
"I don't know what that means, but if you say you won't hurt me—I feel the need to get a little closer." He leans in and claims my lips, kissing me so softly, a chill runs down the back of my spine. Flutters swarm my stomach, and I haven't gotten a feeling like this since my first kiss when I was just a teenager in high school. The sparklers in my chest sizzle but now I feel like fireworks are exploding behind us.
I'm lost in my head, feeling dizzy from a lack of focus, but my feet are planted on the ground, frozen in place and I can't get myself to move from his desirable hold. Wesley's hands sweep up my back, and his fingertips slip through the long strands of my hair to cradle my head. Our kiss grows deeper and hotter as his tongue sweeps along the side of mine. He tastes sweet, and the cold air on my wet lips send icy tremors through my body. I can hardly breathe by the time he pulls away. "Oh man," he says with a sigh.
"Did I do something wrong?" I mutter.
"No, you're just right. You feel more than just right. It's like we fit or something."
"We hardly know each other," I remind him, but I'm reminding myself too.
"I know that kiss was the best thing I've felt in longer than I can remember, and … I don't know; something inside of me wants to keep you for myself."
"Should this scare me?" I whisper. "I still have pepper spray. Don't forget."
"I would be more scared to take the subway home alone," he teases. "You should get some actual pepper spray, by the way. It would keep you safer than just screaming you have it."
"I know, I know," I drone.
"Madelyn, I want to make sure you're safe tonight. We can call an Uber and I'll ride with you home and just come back here after."
"I don't want you to do that. It's late."
"Okay, well however you want to go wherever you want to go, I'm making sure you get there in one piece. You're welcome to crash with me. I'll take the couch. It's not a big deal."
I want to agree to everything I think he's insinuating, but I know better. I don't go home with a guy the first day we meet because that leads to trouble or, it did the one other time I thought it would be a good idea. Now, I have to weigh the dangers I face—a long escorted ride home, which may lead to more, or kissing this man here, which could also lead to a little more.
"What are you saying?" I'm not inviting myself over to his apartment, so my options are slim, and I'll be heading to the subway soon if he doesn't spell it out in more words than "crash with me'."
