West

by Michele G Miller

  “West?” she asks as her fingers skim my arm. While expected, the contact tears a chink in my armor and I grab her by the waist. I drag her into my chest, breathing her in as her soft hair tickles my cheek. I force myself to look over the top of her head and into the dark tree line beyond us. I force myself to follow my rules from our text conversation the other night as my hands slide to her forearms. I will not steal her from Stuart Daniels.

  But right now the smallest request from her will break my resolve.

  “Look at me.”

  Shit. I’m not in the driver’s seat any longer where my body is concerned, and I lower my head to look into her soft blue eyes. Her lips part, hesitating as we stare at each other. Her body brushes against mine as she stretches on her toes. When her eyelids lower and her mouth moves closer, I shout a million swear words in my mind.

  Tightening my grip on her bicep, I push her away and hold her at arm’s length. “No.”

  My brusqueness causes her to stagger backward and she averts her gaze as she attempts to pull away. Regretfully, I tug her back into my chest. Staring down at her, I bring my right hand up to touch the side of her soft, flushed cheek as pure lust streaks through me.

  “One of these days, Jules Blacklin, I’m going to kiss you again, but it’s going to be when you’re mine—” I pause at her wide-eyed Bambi innocence. It drives me insane. I run my thumb across her bottom lip; there’s no way she can’t see the hunger in my eyes. I study her face as I finish telling her exactly what I want. “Because when I start kissing these lips, I don’t want to know he gets to kiss them after me.”

  Jules’ entire body softens at my words. I admitted the truth, I admitted how much I want her. I want her all for my own and maybe forever and—damn, damn, damn! What are you doing, Rutledge?

  “You know what? I shouldn’t have come,” I blink, pulling away. “You need to go back to your boyfriend, Buffy.”

  “We broke up.”

  I go still. My jaw aches as I clench it and I long to punch something. “Do you want to repeat that?”

  “I said we broke up,” she repeats, and I swear there’s a smile in her voice.

  I can’t control my movements, I simply look over my shoulder, searching her body language for some sign, some clue telling me what to do. She’s standing right in front of me, letting me know she’s free, and I can’t seem to grasp it.

  I can’t seem to process the idea that she would leave Stuart Daniels. For what, me? That can’t be right. I’m a worthless fool, an idiot. I’m scared shitless by these monsters in my head constantly telling me I’m going to screw things up. I’m scared of Jules Blacklin; scared of being with her and scared of not being with her. I don’t want to want her but God help me, I do.

  “Why?” I ask once I’m facing her completely. This one word encompasses so many questions. Why did you call me? Why did you two break up? Why would you want me? Why do I feel this strongly about you?

  Jules pales and her jaw drops as she looks at me. She can’t believe my reaction. I imagine my facial expression is a mirror image of hers. “I told you underneath that house. I don’t love him. Not the way he deserves.”

  Not the way he deserves? What is it she thinks he deserves? She didn’t seem to care about her feelings quite so much before the storm, so why now?

  “That didn’t stop you before,” I remind her.

  “Really? Do you have to be such a jerk about it?”

  “I’m not—”

  “Yeah, you are. What’s with the tone? The sarcasm?” she asks, her shocked face morphing to anger.

  “I’m just speaking the truth. I’m not going to sugarcoat everything for you, cheerleader. That’s not me.”

  “I’m not asking you to sugarcoat anything, West. I’m merely asking for a little compassion.”

  “Oh, that’s rich. You want me to have compassion for you? For what?”

  “I just broke up with my boyfriend of almost two years.”

  “And?” I ask tightly as Jules kicks the ground in frustration. Crossing my arms over my chest, I ask her what I really want to know. “What the hell does this have to do with me, anyway?”

  “I did it for you.”

  Wrong freaking answer. I’m unsure of what I’d hoped she’d say, but that certainly wasn’t it and an angry fire burns in my chest. “I didn’t ask you to dump your boy toy, Buffy.”

  I’ve never seen someone so close to throwing a hissy fit in my life. I almost expect her to stomp her feet when she starts yelling at me. “First, he wasn’t my boy toy, Spike. Second, when I say I did it for you, what I meant was that it’s like I told you. I don’t love him. I haven’t been in love with him for a long time.” Her eyes close as she hugs herself. “I simply didn’t know it until you touched me.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  My angry retort doesn’t stop her. She draws closer and takes my hand, holding it between us. “No, I’m not joking. I don’t know what this is between us, but I can’t stop thinking about you. That’s not fair to Stuart.”

  Seriously, his name again. “Stuart? What about me? You think this is fair to me?” I yank my hand from hers. “Hey, West, I dumped Captain America for you,” I mock. “What the hell is that?”

  “I don’t—” she shakes her head wildly.

  “You can’t put that on me.” I don’t want to be her scapegoat.

  “I’m not putting anything on you.”

  “No?” Sarcasm laces my voice now. She’s liable to hate me for treating her this way but I have to push her to tell me the truth about how she feels. I should be kissing her now that she’s free to be mine and yet somehow nothing she’s said has convinced me that she wants to be with me. So I ask her point blank, “Would you have dumped him if it weren’t for me?”

  “He’s changing schools. Leaving for Houston tomorrow.”

  Ouch. Her reply is a knife plunging though my chest and piecing my heart. “Oh, I get it,” I sputter. “The golden boy is leaving, so why not, right?”

  Her eyes darken. “Are you mental?”

  Hell yes I am. It’s as though I’m watching an accident happen. I know I may see something horrific, but I can’t force myself to turn away. My mouth is flying down the highway with a devil-may-care attitude and Jules is about to get run over. I can’t stop myself from pushing her away, from saying these things when I should take her in my arms.

  I sigh as I run my hand through my hair. “I’m gonna go.”

  “You’re gonna go?”

  She stumbles back against her car as I walk away and throw my leg over my bike. Something within tells me to stop being stubborn and I open my mouth, prepared to apologize, but I pause. The moment passes and I crank my bike, turning from the look of defeat written across Jules’ face as I kick the bike stand and leave.

  I want to beat my own ass as I drive away. I make it as far as the park entrance before I pull over, take out my cell, and send Jules a message:

  West: You need to head home. Please

  Jules: What do you care? You left me here

  West: I care a whole hell of a lot!

  Jules: Then what, West? You flipped out on me. No worries, I’m sorry I misunderstood things so badly

  No, she misunderstood nothing. That’s what hurts. I want everything she seems to be offering me now. What I don’t know is what she wants.

  West: Don’t be that way. I’m an idiot

  She doesn’t reply and I worry about her as she sits there alone in the dark. I’m tempted to drive back when a pair of headlights come into view, heading my way. Her car pulls to the exit, and while I know she must see me, she doesn’t look my way. Instead, she pulls out onto the highway, turning in the direction of her neighborhood.

  I text her one last time before stuffing my phone back into my pocket and following her, making sure she arrives home safely.

  West: I’m a jerk . . . I’m so stupid, I’m sorry

  Eighteen

  Jules never responds to my last text. The f
ollowing morning I’m working overtime, creating a mental list of all the reasons why her lack of response is a good thing, as Dad and I head to A&M for the weekend.

  Our drive is silence punctuated with an occasional random question from my dad and one-word answers in the form of grunts from me. We settle in eventually and I stare moodily out the window while Dad taps his fingers against the steering wheel in time to a country station.

  I don’t care.

  It’s better this way.

  I need to clear my mind of everything.

  These are the thoughts winding through my mind. I’m done with Jules Blacklin, I lie to myself. I can’t explain it—my feelings, her feelings—but I know it’s far better left alone. I’m not the guy she needs. I’m not Daniels. I’m not—

  “West?” Dad’s voice breaks off my thoughts. “You going to answer your phone?”

  What? My cell vibrates in the cup holder and my hand shoots out to catch the call before it goes to voicemail. I’m not able to stamp down the hope that it’ll be Jules and find myself slightly disappointed when I see it’s Austin. The ridiculous selfie he saved to my phone fills the screen, and once again I tell myself that it’s better this way. If I think something enough it’ll sinks in and become real, right?

  “What’s up?”

  “Where you guys at?” Austin shouts into the line. The deep bass of music in the background nearly drowns him out.

  “Uh,” I look out the window at the scenery. “Thirty minutes out, I think. Where the hell are you?” My brother is at a party and the clock hasn’t even made it to past noon yet?

  “Sig house, man. Party all day long,” Austin replies. A girlish giggle comes through and Austin murmurs something indiscernible. “West, get your ass over here when you guys get in, ‘kay?”

  “I’m not in the mood, Austin.”

  My side eye catches a glance from my dad. His eyebrows lift as he tries to decipher our discussion. My finger automatically slides against the volume button on my phone, turning it down a notch in case Austin’s voice is carrying to our father. Austin groans and I brace myself for the rude comments I know are coming. I’m not disappointed.

  “Bull, quit your moping and come party. I’m not letting you come down here for the weekend just to sit around and whine about how much you suck again.”

  I’ve steered clear of heavy conversation with Austin since I confessed my feelings for Jules. Of course he took it upon himself to pry a time or two by phone or text, but I’m a pro when it comes to the art of subject change.

  “Have Dad drop you here. We’ll take my car home later.” Austin’s speaking, but I barely hear his words as I debate the idea. A party? “C’mon, man. You’re a Rutledge. I’ve got plenty of pretty co-eds to introduce you to, and if they don’t work, I’ve got a cooler of beer.”

  Babes and booze. It’s been Austin’s motto since I was at least sixteen and most likely before then.

  “Fine,” I relent. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

  Austin shed his booze and girls long enough to meet me at the street when we arrived, vowing to take care of his “little bro” as my dad pinned us both with warning glances. Our dad isn’t naïve; he’s lived through Carson’s college years and of course had his own. He doesn’t lecture us anymore. He merely told us to stay on campus if we couldn’t safely drive back to the house. He drove off shaking his head as Austin made joking comments about securing us ladies for the evening.

  “Nice, dude,” I laugh, pushing him off me as we head for the party.

  The house and yard are filled with people chilling. Reminiscent of one big tailgate with corn hole and ladder ball, some grills smoking up the air and alcohol flowing. After shoving a red cup into my hand, I make the rounds with Austin as my personal tour guide. Each time he introduces me to another sorority girl with tan legs, cowgirl boots, and perfectly constructed curls, I take a sip. Meet girl. Drink. My own personal drinking game. The music gets louder, the conversations dirtier, and the girls friendlier, but my heart isn’t in it.

  Note to self: Jules Blacklin cannot be washed away by alcohol. Still.

  I thought I’d learned this lesson at the barn. Apparently not. Apparently I’m a glutton for punishment.

  I ease onto my side on Saturday morning with a groan. My tongue is thick and dry in my mouth and my head is pounding. I throw an arm over my eyes as I try to think back to yesterday’s barbecue.

  The front door slams closed, hard, and I grumble at the lack of respect that my family has for sleeping. Next the doorbell goes off one, two, three—oh my God—too many times to count. When deep laughter fills the foyer, I get the urge to murder a Rutledge. Evidently my damn oldest brother and Dad think that making a shit-ton of noise to wake me is funny.

  “Lunch is here!” Carson shouts, confirming he’s behind the antics.

  “You two are horrible.” That voice is softer and comes from right outside my room. It’s Mindy, Carson’s girlfriend. She chastises Carson and Dad before she knocks twice. “West? Austin? We’ve got food.”

  Austin?

  Forcing myself to roll to my other side, I find an Austin-sized lump beneath a wad of blankets on an air mattress. The room we’re in is supposed to be mine next year when I attend A&M. The house has three bedrooms, one for Carson and Mindy, one that Austin uses when he wants to get off campus, and one for me. It’s not fancy; in addition to the three bedrooms, there’s a large open kitchen, dining and living room area, and a great back yard with a patio. Simple and perfect for three guys. Considering our combined nine years of college at A&M, it was a smart buy for my parents to make. Often times when Dad and I come for weekend games, Austin stays on campus so Dad can take his room.

  I guess Mindy or someone set up a bed for him in here last night before we came home. Speaking of which . . .

  “Austin?” I cringe as my voice reverberates against the walls of my skull like a bell chiming in a tower. It’s not the worst hangover I’ve had, but it’s not pleasant. “Dude, wake-up.”

  “Mmmm,” he moans from under the covers, his feet fighting with the blankets around his legs.

  “How did we get home last night? You didn’t drive, did you?”

  I’m not stepping foot out of my room until I know I can face my dad. If we drove home under the influence, then there’ll be hell to pay. He’ll be able to tell we were drinking; there’s no way I can play off this hangover. Judging from the growling under the blankets, I seriously doubt Austin can either.

  “Please tell me we got a ride.” I’m thoroughly pissed at myself for not remembering much more than three or four rounds of beer pong.

  “I know I got a ride,” Austin laughs.

  “Like hell you did. Do not tell me you screwed some chick while I was passed out somewhere?”

  “M’kay, I won’t tell you then.”

  “Seriously?” I flinch at the angry rise of my voice. I need some water and pain meds, stat.

  “Nah,” Austin chuckles. Brown hair pops out from the blankets. “I sweet-talked Amy into giving us a ride home. Her friend was way into you. Don’t you remember?” he asks as he rises, balancing on his elbows.

  Crap. I fall to my back and close my eyes. Was I wasted enough to—no way. I think hard, recalling climbing into a vehicle. I remember soft skin, a pretty voice, laughter . . . What was she saying? What did we do?

  A pair of blue eyes and silky red hair pops into my mind and I want to be sick. It figures I would envision Jules at this moment. Damn it, if I hooked up with some random chick and can’t remember it I’m going to be pissed.

  “Nothing happened, don’t worry.” Austin’s voice startles me. I open my eyes to find his face looming near mine and I sit. “You told me you wanted to forget her last night so Amy introduced you to her friend. Beth, I think. Then you wouldn’t shut up about Jules. Beth liked you at first, but by the time they dropped us off I believe she was ready to kill both of us.”

  I drop my head into my hands. “I talked about Jules? To anoth
er girl? While drunk?” So not cool.

  “I know. I really need to take away your man card, dude.”

  Austin leaves the room on that note. That’s never happened before. I’ve never whined about one girl to another. I don’t whine about girl problems with my brothers or Jeff either. Hell, after Carley and I broke up, I wasn’t upset at all. It was the end and we were cool with it. Jules and I aren’t even in a relationship and I can’t keep myself together. I’m in for so much trouble.

  “Must have been some party,” Mindy teases once Austin and I join them in the living room after we’ve cleaned up.

  Thankfully there’s a college game on and it’s holding my dad’s attention as we grunt our greetings and walk toward the food choices. Lots of bread, meat, cheese, and salty chips. Bless them, this is perfect hangover food.

  I make my lunch in silence all the while catching Austin shooting glances my way. Once we’ve piled enough food for an Army on our plates, he tosses a water bottle at me and finally decides to speak.

  “Look, we both know I know a thing or two about being screwed up over a girl.” He speaks in low tones meant for only my ears.

  I think about Lauren. She broke his heart three years ago and he still carries the burden around with him. He says he went from being boyfriend material to hook-up material after her. He doesn’t want to trust a girl with his heart again and I’ve always understood it, related even.

  “West, every time I ask you about the tornado and what happened, you find a way to ignore me. That’s cool, I’m just glad you’re okay, but I hate seeing you so torn up over Jules. And yet I love it.”

  I still at his admission. “Excuse me? You love it?”

  He grins. “Yeah, you can ignore it all you want, but you’re whipped, man. You’re whipped, and you haven’t been passionate about something since you quit football. It’s like I’m seeing the old West again. The real West.”