Page 44 of Scoring Lessons

“Are you picking up a new hobby I don’t know about?” I joked.

His smile was soft. My heart stammered at the sight. “It’s for you.” He looked over my shoulder where I’d dropped the bags full of books. “Good thing it got here early, and I built it right away.”

I frowned. “You got me a bookshelf?”

“Every time I walk past your bedroom, I keep seeing the stack you keep in the corner of your room. You needed it.”

“I…” I was at a loss for words. My throat turned dry. My eyes burned, but I held back the set of tears that wanted to escape me over something so stupid. “I can put it in my room if you’d like.”

“This is your place, too, Livvie. I’d like you to add your touch.” His words were velvety soft. “Let’s keep it there.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.” He nodded. “Besides, it’d be a great topic of conversation when the guys come over and see all those guys with their naked chests.” His tone was filled with mirth, his lips stretching into a wide grin.

My laugh was bubbly. My eyes turned misty, but I swiftly ran my knuckles underneath them to keep my composure. If he noticed it, he didn’t show it. “Thanks, Wesley.”

“It’s no big deal.” His smile turned brighter. “I was also thinking we could go out tonight.”

I reared back in shock. “Another lesson?”

“Yup.” He winked. The move was stupid, he was only messing around—as he always did—and yet, the way my skin buzzed was alarming. “But it’ll be a little different. We’re going to a speakeasy that I think you’ll love.”

“Love?” My eyebrows practically raised to my hairline. “Strong words from a guy who probably thinks Robert Pattinson is still my crush,” I said through a small chuckle.

He grabbed the TV remote to stop the game tape, then he stared at me with a blank expression. “Good God. I totally forgot you had a poster of him in your room.”

“It was more like…four.” I cringed.

Wesley barked a laugh. The sound settled right in the middle of my sternum and fluttered like confetti tossed into the air, messy but full of color. “Oh, that’s⁠—”

I grabbed one of the decorative pillows and threw it at him. “Like you’re one to talk! You probably still think you have a chance with Megan Fox.”

He grabbed the pillow before it could fall on Daisy’s face. “I do.”

I crossed my arms as I considered his words. “I kind of believe you, if I’m being honest. You have game, and the innocent, yet manwhore vibes you give is what makes you popular with women.”

“Innocent, huh?” His smile was lopsided, his green eyes shining with glee.

“Whatever,” I muttered with a roll of my eyes. “What should I wear?”

“Something casual. The place is low-key.”

“Since when is a speakeasy considered casual? In New York, they’re the it spot. You usually have to get an exclusive invite or sign your name with your own blood to get in.”

He snorted a laugh. “We’re not in New York, hipster.”

I grimaced. “Never call me that again.”

He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Can I call you New York, then?”

“That’s even worse. You are the literal worst at giving nicknames.”

“I’m not that bad…” He let his words linger, then he rasped, “Am I, Livvie girl?” His eyes pinned mine in place. My blood pressure spiked at the way he looked at me like he knew damn well what he’d done.

I distractedly placed the palms of my hands against my cheeks. They were warm to the touch, and I hated that with every fiber of my being.

“You okay?” His voice was light, almost teasing.