I nod, moving into the living area. Sure enough, itisa disaster. Red cups and empty shot glasses litter every surface, liquor bottles are strewn about, and I wrinkle my nose at a mysterious stain on the carpet that definitely wasn’t there before.
“Seems like quite the rager,” Wes comments, a hard note in his voice. He’s probably thinking about how all this led to me getting used as a punching bag and a scratching post.
“More like a fucking shit show,” mutters Quinn. “One I had zero part in, by the way.”
“Thanks for letting us in,” I tell her.
“No problem. I’m meeting Remy, though, so good luck with,” she gestures toward Kinsley and Ava’s rooms, “allthat.”
“Thank you, Quinn,” says Wes.
“Sure thing, Big Guy.”
Once Quinn heads out, I leave Wes in the living area and hurry off to take the world’s fastest shower. Afterward, I drag a brush through my tangled hair and throw on the first outfit my hands touch—light jeans and a simple blue shirt. Then, I hastily stuff my backpack with schoolwork and snatch my jacket off the desk chair, stepping out of my room. I immediately stop in my tracks, taking in the transformation before me with wide eyes.
The surfaces are spotless, the furniture’s back in place, the liquor bottles are organized, and Wes is standing at the sink, drying a stack of clean plates before setting them off to the side.
“Wes,” I say, shocked. “You shouldn’t have done all that.”
He shrugs, tossing an easy smile over his shoulder as he rinses another glass. “It’s all good. Figured it would make your life easier.”
My heart does that weird flippy thing again, and I rub at my chest subconsciously. But before I can respond, the door toKinsley’s room swings open. She steps into the living room with messy hair, bare feet, and a look aimed to kill. “Who the fuck is doing the dishes? It’s barely ten in the morning, and I’ve got the worst fucking headache. I swear…” Her voice trails off when she sees exactly who is standing at her kitchen sink, and her mouth drops. Literally. She simply stands there, gaping at him like a fish.
“Sorry about the noise,” Wes says with an apologetic smile, but I can pick up on the nearly imperceptible flat note in his tone.
“Oh! No! That’s totally fine,” she gushes, brushing through her wild hair with her fingers like she’s trying to tame it. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize we had, uh, company! You don’t have to do that.”
“Already done.”
“I’m Kinsley, by the way. So, why…” Kinsley trails off, her eyes drifting to me, finally registering my presence. I know she sees the black eye and the bandages on my chin, they’re impossible to miss, but she makes no mention of them. Offers no sympathy or apology, though I don’t expect it. “No way. You’re not…you’re not actually fu—I mean,seeingsomeone on the football team.”
I almost laugh at her choice of words. I know it’s not for my benefit.
“W-we’re just friends,” I manage, but not before the phrase gets tangled in my tongue. My face warms at the stutter, which appears infrequently around Wes. It’s just…so much easier with him. So easy that I’d nearly forgotten my lack of social skills, and I feel myself regressing in real time.
I chance a glance at Wes, only to see an odd expression on his face. He appears almost…disappointed. In what, it’s unclear, but I can’t deny I’m embarrassed he’s witnessing Kinsley speak to me like this.
“Friends,” Kinsley repeats, slowly like she doesn’t believe it. “Really.”
“Best friends,” says Wes, the strange look replaced by one of his patented charming smiles. Without warning, his arm snakes around my back, tugging me gently into his side. Blood rushes to the area where his hand meets my waist, every nerve on edge as I zone in on the inch where his fingers touch the sliver of exposed skin between my shirt and pants. I force myself to relax, command my stomach to stop doing somersaults, and lean into his body. He’s a furnace, and the heat radiating off his skin lessens the chill from my damp hair. “Practically joined at the hip, right Ives?”
“Ives?” Kinsley repeats slowly, like she can’t believe her ears.
As if on cue, Ava’s door slams open, and she storms out, the guy, Patrick, from last night trailing behind her. “What the hell is going on out here?”
They both freeze and stare at Wes, Patrick’s mouth gaping. “Woah. Babe. Wes Tucker’s in your living room. Hey, man. Awesome season. That touchdown waslegendary.” His eyes shift to me, and he flinches at the sight of my face. “Woah! Your eye is gnarly!”
“Hey, man,” says Wes, his hand tightening on my waist in an almost protective gesture. “That’s not cool. You should apologize to her.”
Patrick’s face pales, and his eyes land on me. “Oh, sure. Sorry about that. That was—I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Am I still drunk?” mutters Ava. “Is this happening?”
“We should go,” says Wes, giving my waist a light squeeze before he releases me. Cold air rushes in where his body heat used to be, and I shiver as I shrug on my jacket. We leave Kinsley and Ava standing in the kitchen, still staring at us in disbelief, not offering so much as a goodbye.
“Best friends?” I ask Wes, once we’re back inside the car.
He grins at me. “The spot’s available, if you’re interested.”
