“No rush. I’ll be downstairs whenever you’re ready.”
I don’t respond, listening to the sound of his retreating footsteps. When they’ve disappeared, I stare at myself in the mirror and tell my reflection to get a fucking grip already. The idea of Wes thinking I’m some kind of unstable freak who had a breakdown in his bathroom snaps me out of it. Doing my best impression of a normal, well-adjusted person, I dry my face and head down the stairs.
Peeking my head into the kitchen, I find Wes and his roommates gathered around the table. Last night it was covered with liquor bottles and beer cans, but today it’s stacked with pizza boxes and soda.
Kaden is leaning against the far counter with a slice in his hand, while Ben looks worse for wear, slumped at the table with his head down, forehead resting on his arms. Wes is piling food on a plate, his back to me.
“You’re kidding me,” he’s saying. “They can’t track that back to us, can they?”
Kaden shrugs. “Don’t see how. We didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Well, we did host a party where people were drinking underage.”
“True, but Rich isn’t underage. It won’t be a problem.” Noticing me hovering in the doorway, Kaden dips his chin in my direction. “Hey, Ivy.”
Wes turns, smiling when he sees me. He hands me a paper plate. “There you are. Take your pick of toppings.”
“Thanks,” I say and grab a Hawaiian slice from the box on the top because it’s most convenient. “What were you guys talking about?”
Kaden rolls his eyes. “Rich. That fucker.”
I look to Wes for clarification, and he explains, "He crashed into a campus bench last night driving home from the party.”
My eyes widen. “Oh, wow, is he okay?”
“Who gives a shit?” mutters Kaden.
“He’s fine,” Wes assures. “Well, besides fucking up his bumper and getting in trouble with the school.” I nod and take a nibble of pizza. “Good?”
“Delicious,” I say and take a less tentative bite. I glance at Ben, who hasn’t so much as twitched since I entered the room. “Is he, um, alive?”
Kaden snorts. “Hey, Ben. You still with us?”
With his head still down, Ben gives a thumbs up.
“He’s still deciding if he should eat the pizza,” Wes explains, before devouring half of his slice in a single bite.
“You need something in your stomach,” says Kaden, “though to be fair, sauce and cheese might not be the best option.”
“At least eat the crust, bud,” says Wes. “Bread will soak up all that Jägermeister.”
Ben groans at the mention of alcohol. “Don’t—say—the J-word,” he pants.
“Wonderful,” says Kaden. “Now he’s gonna puke.”
Another groan. “Don’t—say—the P-word—either.”
Kaden and Wes both snicker, while I try not to laugh, and we manage not to bring up those words (or any others that might be triggering) for the remainder of the meal.
By the time I’ve put away two slices—shameful compared to the six Wes tucked away—it’s later than expected. I eye the darkening sky through the window and frown at the wind shaking the trees. “I should probably go home.”
Wes looks disappointed, but he sets his plate aside and gestures toward the doorway. “I’ll help you grab your stuff.”
After packing up my backpack in his room, we head back downstairs. Hesitating at the front door, both of us eye the other with uncertainty. I’m not sure what to say or what to do, but before I have the chance to be awkward Wes steps forward, and those big arms pull me into another exceptional hug. This one’s even better than the one last night because we’re not in a room full of people. It’s just…Wes. Warm, strong, steady Wes, with sunlight for insides and the ability to charm with a look alone.
And he’s huggingmeof all people.
As I wrap my arms around his middle, relaxing into his embrace, I’m aware of his chin brushing the top of my head and his hand pressing against the center of my back, over my jacket. I don’t think I’ve ever hated fabric more in my life.
