by Danah Logan
"Monroe!" Dean calls out, and when I turn, I realize he is on his way to the stool set up for him next to the mic. My stomach rolls, and I fight the urge to turn around and run for the mountains—literally.
I close my eyes for a brief moment. Deep breaths. You can do this. Just pretend you are back in the break room.
Yeah, not working.
Slowly, I set one foot in front of the other. When I reach my position, I swivel on my heels and find Kiwi staring at me. Of course he knows I sing, but he also knows I don't do it publicly. Mags leans in and whispers something, but he ignores her.
The music cuts off, and everyone turns toward us. My arms are folded across my exposed stomach, and my fingers clasp the hem of my shirt. I clench the material in my fists. I can do this. I used to dance pretty much naked in front of filth.
I can do this.
I turn to Dean. "What song?"
"I figured we'd perform the track you sang the day I ran into you. I learned it, which is why it took me this long." He winks, and I fight to hit him again.
Of course he decided to play that one. My fucking luck. It's the song that has been stuck in my mind whenever I think about Weston Sheats. The lyrics I associate with him whenever I hear them.
I bob my head, unable to form words. Dean starts strumming a few notes, and everyone goes eerily quiet. I draw in slow breaths. I can do this.
He pauses for a beat, and then the melody of DIAMANTE's "Obvious" fills the room. I let go of my shirt and place my hands on the mic. I focus on a spot on the opposite wall. I put every bit of emotion into the lyrics, and as we reach the second verse, I can't stop myself. I find him instantly, the one person I should not be looking at. I fumble, but then regain my composure and continue. His blue eyes are on me, but they seem darker than normal. Blazing with… The room fades into the background. It's just him and me. I'm baring my soul to the man I've cared about since I found out what happened to him, how his friendship with Lilly cost him everything. Something I can relate to all too well.
I sing the last words, and as Dean lets the melody drift away, reality crashes in.
The entire bar erupts in applause, and I peer at my friends for the first time. Kiwi radiates pride. He's pushed me to do this for years, but the more he pushed, the more I pulled away and retreated into my shell until he gave up. Mags has her hand in front of her mouth, her cheeks wet with tears.
I need to get out of here.
I spin on my heels and run down the hallway to the employee lounge. We have a bathroom in there so the staff doesn't have to use the same one as the customers, and I beeline straight for it.
Out of breath, I place my hands on the sink and drop my chin. Why did I do this? And that song of all the possibilities. How can he not know that every word was for him? Down to the other girl in his phone: Denielle Keller.
I bite the inside of my cheek until a metallic taste fills my mouth. Don't cry.
Suddenly, the door behind me opens, and my head snaps up. My vision is cloudy, but I don't have to see him to know. My eyes find Wes's in the mirror above the sink. He closes the door without breaking eye contact and slowly moves into the room until his front is almost touching my back. Heat radiates off his body, and I fight the urge to lean into him, to let his tall frame swallow my shorter one.
"King?" The way he says my name…a shiver runs down my spine. It's a question, yet it's not.
I hold his gaze, unable to form words. It takes all my concentration to continue bringing air into my lungs.
"You followed me from TMH," he states with a blank expression.
I jerk my head up and down.
"You threatened me with a knife." He shows zero emotion as he lists the things that would make me a psychotic stalker in anybody's book.
Another nod. Where is he going with this?
"You know who I am."
I draw in a sharp breath. He's not talking about him being MPU's star player, and I press my lips into a thin line, having no idea what to say.
Suddenly, his hands lightly touch my sides, right above the hem of my jeans, and a jolt of electricity runs through me. The sensation of his fingers on my bare skin is almost too much. I haven't been touched by a guy in so long—and this is Wes.
My body reacts of its own accord, and I press my back to his front.
He angles his head, studying my reflection. "Are you interested in me because of my friends?"
I gasp and try to move away, but his grip tightens, and his fingertips dig into my flesh. Heat begins to pool in my core, my lids fluttering closed.
"They are not your friends anymore," I whisper before I can stop myself.
Oh God, what did I just say?
I don't dare to move. Now I really sound like a stalker. What the actual fuck? How else would I know that he no longer speaks to Lilly and Rhys? I wait for him to shove me away, demand answers, ask how I know so much about him, or simply leave. He does none of that.
"You sing."
My eyes pop open, and my lips part. Uh.
"You sing," Wes repeats when I stare at him slack-jawed. Why is he not calling me out? My heart beats through my chest, and I grip the rim of the sink.
"Not in public." I'm surprised at the steadiness in my reply, and a small smile creeps onto my face.
The corner of Wes's mouth twitches, and he steps closer into me, his fingers slowly moving from above my hips to my exposed stomach. I'm not sure if I'm happy or not about having turned my work shirt into a crop top. It gives him easy access, and at the same time, I'm terrified of how my body reacts to his. I'm all but panting as he leaves a scorching trail with his fingertips. I don't even want to think about what's going on inside my pants.
Thank fuck I didn't go commando today.
My eyes flutter closed, and as his pinkie stops right over the button of my jeans, I moan. If he keeps that up, I'm going to come without him even touching any of my sensitive spots.
His rumbled laughter vibrates against my back. He leans down, and his warm breath fans over my neck. "What would you call what you did then?"
My mind is completely blank as his thumb strokes up and down underneath my navel, and I turn my head ever so slightly so my cheek touches the side of his face. Of course he doesn't know that I basically sang for him.
Dear Lord, how long have I wanted to be near this man?
"Dean didn't give me much of a choice," I remark with my eyes still closed. I should be embarrassed by how breathy I sound.
"There is always a choice, MOAB Girl." His lips swipe along my neck, and I whimper.
A goddamn whimper.
What is he doing? There is no question about him sensing my out-of-control pulse where his lips hover over my skin. If I had worn anything but black jeans today, you could, without question, see how he affects me. My panties are soaked, and all I want is for him to continue. Let his hand glide all the way into my jeans and slip a finger deep inside of me.
One of his hands disappears from my stomach and takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning me farther in his direction.
My hand leaves the sink and covers his that's still splayed out on my abs. His fingers spread apart, and I automatically interlace mine with his, Wes mimicking the movement and squeezing my hand.
His mouth hovers over mine, and all I want is for him to press his lips to mine and kiss me.
"Who are you, King?"
No!
This is the one question he shouldn't have asked. Dread fills my veins, and my eyes spring open. He stares down at me with a hooded yet curious gaze.
I drop his hand like he's burned me and step sideways out of his embrace. Pressing myself against the wall, I attempt to get as far away as possible in the small space.
"Don't touch me again!" I sound borderline hysterical. I probably look completely deranged.
His expression hardens, and he shoves his hands into his front pockets. Tilting his head, his stare bores into me, and he drawls, "And why is that?"
; I could cry. I want nothing more than to move into his arms again, let him touch me, but instead, I take a deep breath. I don't want to be numb, not when it comes to him, but I have no choice. Do. Not. Feel.
As I exhale, I hiss, "Because I want nothing to do with you."
I pivot on my heels and leave the bathroom. Tears are already welling up, and I'm going to have to explain to Grizz once more why I bolted mid-shift. I grab my purse, which is still sitting on the table in the lounge. As I'm about to exit into the hallway, I hear one word echo after me.
"Liar."
CHAPTER TEN
Liar.
Wes called me a fucking liar—and he's one-hundred-percent right. Fuck!
I'm sitting in my usual seat in the far back of Professor Steward's criminology class, but can't concentrate on a word he's saying—which frustrates me even more. The prof stopped me on my way in and asked where I was last week, a gesture that meant more to me than he could possibly understand. It feels good to be missed. I may not be one of his students, but we've shared several conversations before and after class about his lectures.
A while ago, he offered to put me in touch with the administration department managing the financial aid. I could be a real student, but with no idea how long I'll be around, I declined. I'd hate to let Steward down.
It's been five days since the incident. Five days in which Mags has not shut up about not having had a clue that her best friend could sing. One hundred and twenty hours in which Kiwi has told me countless times how proud he is of me. Seven thousand two hundred minutes since I bared my soul to Weston Sheats. Four hundred thirty-two thousand seconds since I felt his hands on me and then pushed him away, declaring I wanted nothing to do with him.
Liar.
I've replayed everything a gazillion times in my head: the sensation of his fingers on my bare stomach, his lips feathering over the sensitive skin on my neck, the almost kiss. In my mind, Wes never asked the question that brought reality crashing down. In my vivid, Technicolor fantasy, he continued the exploration of my body with his mouth and hands. He unbuttoned my jeans and slipped his fingers into my pussy until I was riding his hand. I may even have played said fantasy out myself—with my own fingers. God, when was the last time I did that? I can't remember. But the thought of Wes and—
Great, I'm sitting in class and am about to come from a freaking daydream. My obsession has taken on a whole new level, and I have no idea what to do.
Professor Steward concludes today's lecture, and everyone begins to pack up. I'm trying to steady my breath and hope to fucking God that no one noticed me panting in my seat. Most of the students have gotten used to me being here and nod as they leave the rows in front of mine.
I stuff my notepad in my bag. Sliding out of my seat, a tall figure lingering outside the doorway registers in my brain. My heart stumbles before my entire body starts buzzing with the remnants from my recent fantasy.
What the hell is he doing here?
I slowly approach the exit and stop in front of Wes. He stares down at me impassively. "MOAB Girl."
I take a deep breath and pray that the heat currently setting my body ablaze is not visible to him. "Tight End."
His lips twitch. "You know my position."
I shrug as casually as I can. "You are well known on campus."
Liar.
He grins at me indulgently, and I wait for him to call me out again. He doesn't.
Instead, he steps to the side and allows me to leave the room. I flatten myself against the opposite side of the doorframe, and I hear a snort from behind me. He's enjoying this way too much.
I start walking without a backward glance. On Mondays, I sit in two lectures, and I have to hurry to make it to the other class on time. Most students wouldn't take these classes in the same year and therefore wouldn't have this issue, but I attend as many lectures as I can or am allowed to. Having missed most of my high school experience, I am now soaking up all the knowledge I can get.
Wes matches my hurried strides, and I peer at him from my peripheral vision. "What are you doing?" A few days ago, I quite loudly informed him that I wanted nothing to do with him.
"Not sure what you mean." He keeps his eyes forward as he responds.
I stop in my tracks and swivel to face him. He follows my lead, and we're facing off in the middle of the corridor with students passing us on both sides.
"Why are you here?" I gesture between us.
"Why were you at TMH?" he counters with a smirk.
His directness flusters me. I never expected him to engage. Everyone else would run as fast as they could. But then, Wes isn't your average person. His past has shaped him, and he probably is not fazed by much.
"I was picking up drinks for a party." I cock my head, waiting for his response.
He's about to say something when he stops, then pulls his phone out of his back pocket. He glances at the screen, and I fight the urge to pry.
He holds up a finger with his free hand and swipes with the other to answer the call. "Hey, D."
D. Denielle. My jaw locks. I should leave.
"Uh-huh."
Denielle says something, but I can't make out the words. Wes's entire demeanor changes. His almost playfulness is gone, his shoulders drawn back. "Yeah, stood in my fucking living room when I got home. Way to give me a heads-up."
Who is he talking about? I have so many questions, yet I know I have no right, nor should I want to.
I need to go.
More talking on the other end, and Wes rakes his hand through his hair, getting stopped by the hair tie in the back. As he glances up to the ceiling, about to respond, I see it as my chance. I start to bolt, but I'm not fast enough. A hand latches onto my wrist. "Not so fast, MOAB Girl."
I jerk around and gape at him, my gaze shifting between him and the device pressed to his ear.
"D, I gotta go." Pause. "None of your business." Another pause. "No, you knew he was coming, and you didn't warn me."
He? Oh my God, Rhys was here. In Stonebriar. Now his anger makes sense.
"I already told you that's none of your business. Jesus, D—" I take a step back, but Wes's hand tightens on my wrist, and he is shaking his head. I could easily dislodge his hand—one of the first lessons I learned working in my old job—but I don't want to. Instead, I wait. His eyes never leave mine.
"Sure, I'll call you tonight." Denielle says something else, and his features soften. "Love you, too. Yeah, bye."
My chest constricts, and I suck in a breath. Hearing those words out of his mouth…directed at another girl…
Wes hangs up and pockets his phone. He stares down at me as if he wants to say something, but then stops himself.
I inwardly squirm from the way he studies me.
He changes his grip and interlaces our fingers. "Let's go."
As he takes a step, I'm rooted to the floor, gaping at our joined hands. My heart is thundering. What is he doing? What am I doing? I need to stay away from him.
"King?" His tone is gentle. For the first time, there is no smug taunt.
I can't form words. The feel of his rough palm in mine… I swallow over the lump in my throat and meet his eyes.
"I'm only walking you to class."
Is he saying that for my benefit? Why would he need to hold my hand to walk me? Is this a game? What if someone sees us?
I should let go of Wes for so many reasons. None of them matter as he waits for me. Does he expect me to push him away?
I inhale deeply and whisper, "Okay."
He nods, and we turn in the direction of my next lecture simultaneously.
As we make our way down the hallway and out of the building, curious eyes follow us. Girls give me their best elevator glance. Boys who never noticed me suddenly pay attention—everyone knows Wes. He squeezes my hand, and I tighten my fingers around his.
This will end badly.
I'm placing four cocktails on the bar—one cosmo, one appletini, and two strawberry daiquiris. Ga
g. It is a miracle I serve them with a straight face to the platinum-blonde bimbos ogling Wes. He's been camped out at his usual table for the past hour. Shortly after he arrived, Kai also made an appearance. The two are now chatting as if they have always hung out at The Grizz.
I glance over to him as I pour a beer from the tap, and Wes's eyes immediately find mine. My stomach somersaults, but I force the grin threatening to overtake my features down.
Nope, do not show how much today has affected you.
After he had walked me to my class, I expected that to be it. But no, as soon as I came out of the lecture, he was leaning on the wall to the right of the door, arms crossed over his chest, one foot against the wall, acting as if that was the most natural thing in the world.
Noticing him there, I stopped short, as if I'd run into an invisible barrier, making some of the actual students bump into me in the process.
When I didn't move and the curses behind me got louder, he pushed off the wall and wrapped an arm around my shoulder, guiding me out of the way. "Ready?"
Unable to stop myself or ask questions, I let him lead me outside. With the weight of his arm over my shoulders and the heat radiating off his body, my lady parts didn't know what to do: close up shop in a nervous panic or prepare for a possible…for what, really? I felt as if I was being pulled into opposite directions by two Humvees. What was he doing?
Outside in the main quad, I finally regained some control and dug my heels in.
"Stop!" My command was shrill, and several heads turned. Shit.
Wes obeyed but didn't remove his hold, peering down at me.
"I…" I disentangled myself from him and rubbed my palms over my face. Dropping my arms to my sides, I stared past him. What was I going to say? "I…" I started again, then drew in a deep breath. "I told you that I want nothing to do with you. Why won't you leave me alone, Weston?"
Calling him by his full name sounded weird, but I had to put distance between us somehow.