“Is that your official medical recommendation?”
He nods, his expression grave. “Absolutely. This is foryourhealth and safety. I say this with zero self-interest at all.”
“Please. You just don’t want to sleep in this bed again.”
He grimaces, shifting his weight like he’s trying to get comfortable. “I’m not gonna lie, Ives. The bed is a problem. Next weekend we do the sleepover at my house. And the weekend after that. And the weekend after that.”
“Actually, I’m going home in two weeks,” I tell him, the reminder dampening my mood. “I forgot to mention.”
“You are? What for?”
I sigh. “I have to help my parents sort through the basement for a garage sale. It’s going to be the definition of torture.”
“I’ll come with,” he says like it’s nothing. “Be an extra pair of hands. I’m great at lifting shit and putting it places. World-class shit lifter, some might say.”
I laugh at how easily he invites himself. I know he means it, too. “As much as I would love to make you lift all the shit, my parents would freak if I brought you home. My mom would burn the house down in a fit.”
His brows pull together. “Why? Parents love me.”
“Oh, they do, do they?”
“Mhm.”
“Well, you haven’t met Robert and Angela Combs.”
He scoffs. “I could win them over in an hour.”
I shake my head, my mind conjuring up a disastrous mental image of Wes trying to chat up my parents. “It would be cruel of me to take that bet.”
Wes sighs, the corners of his mouth turning down. “Well, crap. What am I going to do without you for an entire weekend?”
“I don’t know. The same stuff you did before we met?”
“Cry myself to sleep, it is.”
I roll my eyes—he really is too much sometimes—and sit up. I have no idea what time it is, but judging by the light peeking in through the blinds (and Ava’s little performance), I’d say past ten. Definitely later than I expected to sleep in with a giant in my bed.
Reluctantly, we get up and get moving. I keep my gaze trained up as Wes rolls out of bed and tugs on his jeans, and then I throw on a sweatshirt to cover up my lack of bra. Our bubble bursts as soon as we leave my bedroom, and my mood plummets as thoughts of the forum come flooding back. Wes assures me he’ll handle it today, but first he has a gym date with his housemates, and it’s too late to cancel, not that I’d ever ask him to.
Standing beside the front door, he squeezes my shoulders. “Try not to dwell on it, okay? Don’t give them that power over you. They don’t deserve it.”
“I’ll try,” I tell him, even though I don’t see how it’s possible tonotobsess over it. He gives me a look like he sees right through me but just wraps me in a hug and plants a subtle kiss on top of my head. Then, he leaves me alone with my thoughts, promising to check in later.
The idea of staying cooped up in my room for another day makes me restless, though, and I don’t have the courage to venture out on my own, so I text Quinn to see what she’s up to. She’s instantly apologetic about blurting everything to Wes, but I assure her it was for the best and I’m not upset. We makeplans to get lunch and then study in the library afterward, and I suddenly feel a little better about the day. At least I have a distraction.
I work on my math assignment until noon rolls around, and then I meet Quinn at the sandwich shop in the center of town. We pick a table in the back of the restaurant, as removed from prying eyes as possible, but unfortunately, it’s not quite removed enough.
“I swear, if these nosy bitches don’t mind their business,” she mutters, glaring at a couple girls who have been shooting me conspicuous looks. I try not to care, I really do, but I can feel my shoulders hunching in as I subconsciously try to make myself smaller.
“Just ignore them,” I tell Quinn.
Her grip tightens around her fork, and she mutters, “Overlooking stupidity has never been my forte.”
Wanting to distract her from making a scene or causing any significant damage with that fork in her hand, I ask, “So, how did you and Remy meet again? I don’t think you ever told me.”
Her face lights up at the mention of her boyfriend, the nosy bitches forgotten. “A party first week of school,” she says. “We started hooking up. Just a casual thing, you know? Well, obviously, he fell for me immediately.”
I smirk at her confidence. “Obviously.”
