“Speaking of hookups,” she says slowly and in a way that means she’s turning the topic back on me, “I noticed you and the big guy are doing quite a few sleepovers now.”
“Platonic sleepovers,” I correct, feeling awkward.
She blinks. “Platonic sleepovers?”
“We just, um, sleep.”
Her jaw drops. “With a man who looks likethat?How the hell do you keep it in your pants?”
“It’s not that hard,” I lie, though it’s not as convincing as I’d hoped given Quinn’s responding snort.
“Sure,” she says, before shoving a forkful of pasta salad into her mouth. “Sure, it’s not.”
I take a deep breath and blurt out, “He kissed me yesterday.”
That declaration has Quinn’s eyes snapping back to mine. Her mouth breaks into a sly grin as she processes this information. “Well, about fucking time. How was it?”
Heat crawls up my neck, and I duck my head to hide my smile. Because despite my insistence that Wes and I don’t do it again, the kiss was incredible. Just thinking about it now makes my stomach dip and my blood rush in my veins.
Quinn smirks. “That good, huh? Yeah, he looks like he’d be a good kisser.”
My brows pull together. “He does?”
She nods adamantly. “Oh yeah. For sure a guy who knows what he’s doing,” she lowers her voice, “inallareas, if you know what I mean.”
“Quinn,” I warn, though I can’t deny she’s right. Wesdefinitelyhas experience in all the areas I don’t, especially the ones I’m not willing or capable of going right now, and that’s a problem. A big problem.
How long can I expect him to wait for something that might never come?
I can’t lose him.
“Sorry, sorry. I’m just excited for you.”
I debate telling her what happened after the kiss—my freak out, his assurance he doesn’t need more right now, the bucket of cold water I dumped all over his admission that he likes me. But explaining that I’m not ready for something real with the most coveted guy on campus will only lead to more questions, ones I’m not comfortable answering. I don’t evenhavethe answers at this point, everything’s so jumbled up inside my head.
Quinn thankfully changes the subject to Remy’s band, inviting Wes and me to a show they’re playing next weekend in town, and we finish our lunch with no more talk of the kiss.
The rest of the day flies by in a blur of homework. By some miracle, Wes does have the page taken down, but the unwanted attention doesn’t stop there. Monday and Wednesday are particularly brutal, and I’m conscious of the whispers and looks being thrown my way during the three classes I have without Wes.
“She’s not even that pretty,” I hear a girl whisper to her friend.
“I don’t fucking get it.”
“Well, being pretty isn’t the only way to hook a guy. There’s always anal.”
My cheeks burn as the other girl snickers, but I don’t react otherwise. I stare straight ahead, focusing so hard on the lecture I feel a migraine coming on. It would be enough to stir a panic attack if not for the lifeline in my pocket, Wes only a text away. He’s always quick to respond, his cheerful remarks relieving the pressure in my chest.
Somehow, he keeps me sane and in control.
Tuesday and Thursday are smoother. People are on their best behavior when Wes is around, too afraid of getting on his bad side. I wish I had that kind of power, but I’m a nobody compared to him.
No, not a nobody. Now you’re just a whore.
I shove away those thoughts.
Over the next few days, Wes doesn’t bring up the kiss or push me to talk about my freak out. And while he doesn’t kiss me again, I can’t help but hyper-fixate on any sort of affectionate gesture.
After class one day he slips his fingers through mine, holding my hand like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal. And while we’rewaiting to pick up takeout, he throws an arm over my shoulder and pulls me gently into his side, pressing his lips to the top of my head.
