I don’t want to sit on the bed.
“Why don’t you take my desk chair,” Wes says, as though sensing my anxiety, “and I’ll sit on the bed.”
“Cool,” I mumble, like it’s no big deal. Like everything is fine.
I set my bag on the floor and sink into the rolling office chair, watching as he shoves down clothes in a half-opened drawer before wiggling it shut. I tuck my hands between my thighs and scan the rest of the room, surprised to find it’s not very reflective of him at all. The gray walls are bare, the furniture indistinct. Books and binders line the shelving unit in the corner and the bed is well-made with a dark green comforter.
“Sorry, it’s not much to look at,” Wes says, noting my perusal of his space. “It’s also very cramped.”
“You should see my dorm room,” I say. “It’s like living in a shoe box.”
“At least your room is probably decorated. I decorated a bit back when I was in the dorms, but I find having too much clutter around distracts me, especially in a room this tight. Plus, I don’t normally bring friends up here. Not until now, at least.”
My eyes snap to his, and my next words come out in a squeak. “Not until now?”
“Yeah. I mean, we’re friends, right?” The mattress dips with his weight as he sits down. He leans back against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles, and I fixate on the soles of his feet, my mind reeling. I knew we were classmates, yes. Acquaintances, sure. But actual friends? It’s too good to be true. “Ives?” My eyes flit back to his, only to find him watching me with amusement. “Don’t leave me hanging here.”
I clear my throat, wracking my brain for the right thing to say. “Y-yeah,” I manage and wince. I swallow. Clear my throat again. “Yes. We’re, um, friends.”
His grin widens. “Great.”
“I’ve never had a friend who’s a guy before,” I blurt and then cringe because that sounded super childish and lame and I should just keep my mouth shut sometimes.
He laughs a little. “I don’t doubt it. I bet they all tried to date you.”
I scoff, brushing off the comment, though my mind has other ideas. It latches on to his remark and runs with it.
Does he think I’m dateable or undatable?
Does that mean hedoesn’twant to date me?
Why do you care if he wants to date you or not? You almost hyperventilated at the thought of sitting on his bed…
“I’ve never had many girl ‘friends’either,” he says while my mind still spins. “Friends, of course. Girlfriends, sure. But no overlap.”
“How many girlfriends have you had?”
I thought it an innocent enough question, but he coughs, and his face turns a little red. “Um, a few.”
My chest squeezes at that, and I try not to think about it too hard. “That girl last night was your ex, wasn’t she?”
“Dani. Yeah.” He releases a slow sigh as though Dani’s his least favorite topic of conversation. “I’m really sorry about her, Ivy. That was…” He trails off. Shakes his head. “She has a lot of jealousy issues in case you couldn’t tell.”
I blink at him, caught off guard. Jealousy issues. Is he implying that she was jealous ofme?
“How long were you together?” I ask tentatively.
“About two years. I ended things in December, before winter break.”
“Oh, wow. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Best thing I ever did.”
“Why—” I snap my mouth closed, aware that I’m being super invasive right now.
“Why what?” he asks, and I shrug, looking down at my hands. “Why’d I break up with her?”
“You don’t have to tell me,” I’m quick to assure, glancing up. “I’m being nosy. I’m sorry.”
