I type out a response.
Me:Yes, I know. I’ll be there on Saturday.
Mom:Noah and Scott are coming Friday.
My jaw clenches. If she justaskedme to come on Friday, I would, but every question has to be hidden deep behind a dark curtain of passive aggression.
Me:Ok, I’ll come Friday then.
Mom:Scott’s bringing Olive, so I’ll make up the basement.
I grind my teeth together. I can’t remember the last time I slept in my actual bedroom.
Me:That’s fine.
She doesn’t respond after that, but I’m not surprised. I set my phone aside, flick on my bedside lamp, and focus on getting dressed for my early class.
My heart’s in my throat on the trek to the Foundations building. I have no clue what to expect from Wes. An awkward hello. The cold shoulder. Maybe he’ll sit on the opposite side of the room today, which would be fine. He can do what he wants. It would be totally fine.
Sure, it would.Keep telling yourself that.
I slump in my seat as the minutes tick by, forcing myself not to glance at the door. Before long, I hear the unexpected creak of Wes folding himself into the desk beside me, and he shoots me a, “Hey, Poison Ivy,” like everything’s fine. Like I didn’t ditch him at midnight on frat row after he spent an hour of his time trying to help me find my roommate.
And then he does the absolute last thing I expect him to do.
He reaches over my desk and places a freaking muffin right in front of me.
“Do you like blueberry?” he asks. “My housemate made them.” Eyes wide, I stare at the pastry on my desk, deciding once and for all that I misread the situation that night. I closed off, shut down, jumped to conclusions. I thought he was trying to take advantage, but as much as it pains me to admit, I was wrong about him. “He must put crack in them, or something, I swear. I’ve never had a muffin this exceptional, and I knew you needed to try one.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I can’t look at him yet, guilt eating away at me, and it’s seconds before my eyes drift up and over, landing directly on his. “Thank you,” I blurt.
Wes flashes me a grin, leaning back in his chair a bit. “You’re welcome.”
“I mean for helping me. On Saturday. And for the muffin, too, I guess.”
He nods again. “You’re doubly welcome.” He doesn’t appear at all upset by my behavior or my hasty escape. In fact, he actually seems…pleased. Pleased I brought it up? Pleased I apologized? Pleased I accepted his offering? I’m not sure.
When his gaze becomes too much, my eyes drop back down to the muffin, fixating on a blueberry until my vision becomes unfocused. “I-I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean—I’m sorry?—”
“Ives,” he cuts in, and I look up again, straight into his eyes. Another nickname. My heart stumbles over a beat. “Don’t sweat it, okay?”
“Okay,” I breathe.
His grin stretches wider, but before he can say anything further, Markham clears his throat at the front of the room and begins his lecture.
Although my fingers fly across the keys, my focus is divided between the lecture and Wes. I pick up on the scrawl of his pencilon the pages of his notebook. I hear him swallow as he takes a sip from his giant silver thermos. I catch him snicker when Markham cracks one of his lame, practiced jokes. I notice the shift of his body as he tries to get more comfortable, even though the desks were designed for normal-sized people, and it’s most likely an impossible feat.
“How was it?” he whispers when there are ten minutes left in class and I’ve nibbled the last of the blueberry muffin. I stiffen, suddenly self-conscious that he’s been watching me eat this entire time.
Brushing my fingers on my jeans, I glance over at him. Well, at his shoes. It’s always easier for me to work my way up to the gorgeous face. Eventually I do, but I wilt under the weight of his attention, and the word gets stuck in my throat when I manage to speak. “G-good.”
I flinch and stare at my hands, but he doesn’t acknowledge the stutter.
“Just good?” he asks, and when I look up again, he’s giving me a knowing grin.
The corner of my mouth twitches up because that really was a damn good muffin. “Addictive. Crack-infused for sure.”
He looks amused by my description. “Told you. Any requests for next time?”
