“Me, too,” Wes cuts in, surprising me, and before I can process what’s happening, he’s steering me toward the door with a hovering hand at my back. “See you later, Rich!” he calls over his shoulder. “We’ll get food some time!”
And then we’re stepping outside, the brisk, winter wind slapping me in the face, a punishment I deserve for making a fool of myself. We walk for a while in silence until Wes exhales a frustrated sigh, coming to a halt and turning to face me.
“Sorry about that guy. He’s a dick, which is why I haven’t seen him this semester. Hell, longer. I have actively been avoiding Rich Simmons for a year now, and I’m better off for it, let me tell you.” When I don’t respond, he frowns, ducking his head to better see my face. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m fine. Just...”
“Embarrassed,” Wes finishes for me, once again reading me like a book. I’m surprised there’s no judgement or disgust in his tone. If anything, he’s sympathetic. “You have no reason to be. Trust me. If anyone’s embarrassed, it’s me. I don’t want you to think I’m friends with that asshole.”
My brows pull together in confusion. “Why would you care what I think?”
Now it’s his turn to be confused. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I?”
“I can think of a few reasons,” I mumble before I can stop myself, and Wes grins, like he realizes I didn’t mean to say that aloud.
“Doubt it. Give me one.”
I swallow. Shift on my feet. “Because. I don’t know. Iamshy, like that guy said.”
“So, I should write you off because of that?” When I don’t respond, he shakes his head. “Ivy, that’s crap, and if you’re comparing yourself to someone like me, you shouldn’t. My big mouth gets me into trouble all the time.”
“It’s just…frustrating,” I admit, my vulnerability exposed. “And the reason I’m going to fail Public Speaking.”
“You’re not going to fail,” Wes assures.
I shake my head at his optimism. “How do you know?”
“Because. I won’t let you. And that, Poison Ivy, is a promise.”
His words are hasty. Careless. He doesn’t know the issues I’m facing, after all—the internal battle I’m fighting every minute of every hour not to have a freaking anxiety attack—and yet, I find them comforting. I findhimcomforting, with those deep dimples and that contagious grin and the constant twinkle in his eye.
It’s more than his attractiveness, though. Now that I’ve silenced the alarms and listened to my gut, I can sense how genuine his intentions are. His big mouth might get him in trouble, but at least he lays it all out there. His honest, authentic self.
I don’t. I can’t. Not since?—
Stop.
Still, I nod my head and let his positivity wash over me, hoping some of it might stick.
Please, let some of it stick.
We goour separate ways until Thursday, but despite his “promise,” Wes isn’t in class.
Once the lecture starts, I can’t stop myself from glancing at the door. I keep waiting for him to push through and bound into the room the way he did the first day of the semester, but he never does. The door remains shut, the seat beside me empty, and disappointment stews in my gut. My mind wanders, wondering if he accidentally slept in, if he’s sick, if he ditched for some other reason.
I wish I had a way to ask him.
Two weeks ago, I would have been thrilled by his absence, but twenty minutes into class, I begin to panic. I don’t think I realized how much of my time was spent focusing on the giant beside me, but he definitely distracted me from obsessing over the actual spoken assignments for this horrifying course. With Wes missing, the full force of my anxiety hits me like a freight train, and it’s suddenly impossible to take a deep breath.
My chest locks up as my lungs constrict, and I suck air through my nose before holding my breath.
Ten. Nine. Eight.
My vision goes fuzzy around the edges.
Seven. Six. Five.
My heart pounds like a jackhammer.
