by Tasha Ivey
I zip my toiletry bag and step back inside my room to find Wes still lying on my bed. Mr. Hilarious has my bra draped over his eyes like a sleep mask. “You’re an idiot,” I say, snatching it away and stuffing it in my bag.
He gasps in mock offense and pretends to cry. “Why are you so mean to me?” He dabs at the corner of his eyes with my panties before his fake sobs are overcome with deep laughter.
I hold out my duffel bag with a deadpan expression until he drops them inside. As much as I want to hate him, as much as I want to be angry with him, I just can’t. I like this Wes. The playful, teasing one. This Wes doesn’t have a permanent furrow in his brow like Tall, Dark, and Moody or Sexy Suit CEO does. This Wes looks younger, happier.
Before I can say “I’m ready,” he’s already anticipated it, jumping up from my bed and smoothing the comforter down before holding his hand out for my bag.
“Let’s do it.”
We almost get completely out the front door when I remember something. “Just a sec,” I call out as I run back in to my bathroom, reappearing only seconds later.
“I forgot my face wash,” I announce as I turn the corner. Instead of just Wes, I’m also met with my neighbor across the hall. As always, she’s adorably cute in her short cotton shorts, the lack of length further amplified by the fact that her legs must be twice as long as mine. And I swear her boobs are at least twice as big. I can admit she’s hot, even though I absolutely can’t stand her.
“Well hello, Cal. Looks like there’s a slumber party tonight. Can I be invited?” She trails a finger down Wes’ chest. He silently watches with one eyebrow raised.
“Sorry, no. Maybe another time, Sienna.” No catfights in front of Wes. He’d enjoy that way too much.
She sticks out her bottom lip at him. “Aww. But I really wanted to play Truth or Dare with him. Fifteen minutes, and I’d have him naked. He looks like a lot of fun.”
“Looks can be deceiving.” She doesn’t know what he is to me, and she’s blatantly flirting with him. Just like she did with Tanner. Yeah, so I have a short fuse, but I’m done playing nice. I can’t stop myself from throwing in something for a little added effect. “You should know all about that. You look kind and sweet, but you act like a whore.”
When Wes starts choking, she gapes at me in disgust. “Well, you know what, Callie? You can say whatever you want, but anyone could see you’re not with this guy. He’s way too much man for you.” She turns her attention to him. “So what are you? Brother, babysitter, boss? Or are you just a friend? Tanner fell prey to that one, too, you know, but he got bored with her.”
Wes’ eyes narrow at her before he turns to me. “Chocolate chip pancakes?” The anger coming to a full boil just under the surface of my skin immediately slows to a simmer. He’s not asking what I want to eat. He’s asking if I want to do to her what we did to Makenna. A little ruse to make her think more is going on than what truly is.
“Love some.”
“Me, too.” Wes reaches out to take my hand. “I’d say it was nice meeting you, Sienna, but I’m not a liar. So I can’t lie when I tell you that I could never be bored with Callie. I’m not any of the options you gave me, so I’ll tell you what I am. Hers.”
Before she can say anything, he drags me into him, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, he kisses me. Deeply. I melt into him, molding my body against his, feeling his grip tighten around me. Until I hear Sienna’s door slam.
Wes lifts his head from mine, his lips still wet. “Seriously,” he jokes, “I could go for some chocolate chip pancakes.”
I roll my eyes. Irritated that he killed the mood, until I realize that there wasn’t ever supposed to be a mood to kill. Friends. No benefits. Crap, this is hard. “Well good, you can make us some. Let’s go.”
MAKENNA WAS RIGHT. Wes’ place is about thirty minutes outside of the city, halfway to his parents’ house. I didn’t know what to expect, but it suits him. Its brick has many shades of brown, which match nicely with the stone accents running the length of each corner. There’s a small concrete porch with a wooden bench that holds some potted plants—his mother’s touch obviously. But it’s not big or showy, as I expected it to be. It’s quite small, actually. Simple. And in the middle of nowhere.
I’m used to the noise of the city, the constant rumble of voices and footsteps of people in my building. But here, I hear the wind tickling the leaves on the trees. Crickets beginning to chirp. A crow cawing in the distant forest edge. I know it’s not the right word to explain it, but for the first time in a long time, I hear what can only be described as silence.
I open the back door of the jeep to get my bag, and Wes has already gotten it from the other side. He has also, I notice, hidden the pink elephant from view. “It’s so nice out here. So quiet and serene.”
“I like it. I bought this place right before I graduated college, not all that long ago. But I’m enjoying it while I can. I’m putting it up for sale.”
I follow him up the narrow concrete path, leading up to the front door. “Why? It’s perfect out here.”
“You know why.” He pauses to lock his gaze onto mine. “She knows where I live, so I’m moving, probably closer to work. Temporarily, I might move back home. I’m not sure.”
I don’t know what to say about it. It’s not like he’s ever openly discussed his mother with me, and the look on his face tells me it’s not going to happen right now either. “Oh. I guess that’s understandable.”
The door swings wide, and he waits for me to step inside first. Despite its small size, I expected it to look much like his parents’ house. Picture perfect, immaculately decorated. But it’s far from it. It actually looks more like what my house would, if I had one. It’s clean and very minimalistic. There’s not much on the walls, no knick-knacks. Really, the only sign that someone lives here is a bookshelf that’s loaded with family pictures.
No pictures of any children, though. Nor do I see any toys.
He shows me around the other rooms. The kitchen is tidy—not one dish left in the sink—and the dining room doesn’t look used at all. The living room has a rich brown suede couch and sofa, coffee table, two end tables, a flat screen mounted to the wall, and a bookshelf. That’s it. The first room down the hall is an office, which is neatly organized with only a small pile of mail sitting at the corner of the desk. There’s also a nice bathroom across the hall, featuring both a garden tub and built-in tile shower.
Wes steps into the first room and drops my bag on the bed. “Anything you need, just let me know. I wash the bedding weekly, whether anyone sleeps in here or not, so the sheets are clean. If you like a lot of pillows, there’s more in the closet, along with some extra blankets. The closet is mostly empty, so there’s plenty of room if you want to hang any of your clothes. Same goes for the dresser. It’s all yours.” He points over by the window. “There’s a little desk over there, too, if you want to use it to do your homework. Or if you need to spread out a little more, you know where my office is.”
“Thanks. You have a nice place.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “The tour is over. You’re not going into my room. It’s just . . . weird.”
“Okay,” I deadpan. He thinks he’s being cute by quoting me, so I can play this game, too. But now curiosity is plaguing me. Seeing his bedroom might actually give me some clues into what he’s really like.
“It’s no fun when you don’t play along.” He grabs my hand and drags me across the hall. “My mom is the epitome of the word hostess, and she’d kill me if I didn’t give a proper, inviting tour. This . . .” He sweeps his hand in front of him. “. . . is my bedroom. And I have nothing to hide, so I’m not going to give you the no-touch rule.”
I walk further inside. It’s just as neat as the rest of the house, but it’s cozy. The bed is huge—I’m guessing a king—and it looks like I’d need a step ladder to climb up there. Not that I’m thinking about being in his bed. And I’m really not thinking abo
ut him sleeping naked in it. Nope. Not even a little bit.
There’s a bay window on the back wall that looks out into the thick crush of trees behind the house, and an oversized chair faces it. It looks like the perfect place to watch the sun set or read a book. The closet door is standing partially open, and I look back at Wes for permission to go inside. He nods. I flick on the light and it’s like looking at both sides of his split personality. A row of suits is on my left, and jeans and t-shirts are on my right. His shoes are even organized by the same method. It’s a little creepy, but all I can really think about is how much it smells like him in here. It’s like his pheromones are so thick in here, they’re seeping into my skin.
“Do you actually live here?” I come out and find him leaned against the door jamb. “It doesn’t look like anyone does, certainly not a man.”
“Are you implying that men can’t pick up after themselves? You don’t know who my mom is. I don’t leave here in the morning without everything in its place. It’s nice to come home to a clean house after working all day.”
“I wholeheartedly agree. I drive Makenna crazy because I’m so anal about it. But you . . . you surprise me. I’ve been thinking it all along; you’re an enigma.”
“Is that a bad thing?” he asks with one eyebrow raised.
I let out a long sigh. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”
I excuse myself, retreating to my room for a while to do my homework, and I do end up in his office. It’s hard to keep myself on task, knowing that I’m in his house, but I somehow find my rhythm. Even though I hate to do it, there’s something therapeutic about doing homework. It’s not really the act of doing it as much as it is completing it. To have that one thing marked off your internal to-do list. And two long hours later, I close my book, finally finished with the work for one class. Two more to go.
After stretching, I straighten up my books and open the door, listening for signs of Wes. A savory aroma wafts down the hall, and my stomach growls in response. I can’t remember if I even ate lunch today. I walk quietly into the living area and see the light on in the kitchen. He’s standing over a pot on the stove, stirring something that smells divine. And let me just say there’s something hot about a man in the kitchen. Especially in those worn jeans he’s changed into.
“Whatcha cookin’?”
“Beef stew. I thought it sounded better than pancakes. You hungry?”
I climb up onto a bar stool at the island and rest my elbows on the cool granite. “Very.” I notice the pitch black outside the windows and look around for the time. “Shit, is it really nine o’clock?”
“Mmmhmm. You’ve been at it a while.” He opens the oven and pulls out a little pan of brownies. “I thought you might like something sweet. I always did when I was studying.”
Add another personality to the long list. It’s Mr. Betty Crocker himself, ladies and gents.
“You thirsty?” he asks, opening the fridge. “I have water, iced tea, beer, soda . . . whiskey.”
“Ha ha. Very funny. I’ll take the tea.”
He grabs two glasses and fills them with ice. “Would you rather eat in here, on the couch, or in the dining room?”
“Your mom did a real number on you, didn’t she?” I joke.
But it falls flat. “I don’t like to talk about her.”
I slap a hand over my mouth. “No! I meant your mom, not your mother. There’s a difference.”
“Sorry. And you’re right. Big difference.” His shoulders relax and his face softens. “My mom always has guests, and she raised us to cater to them. It’s engrained in me. I can’t help it.”
A warm smile stretches over my lips. “Where do you usually eat?”
After waiting on me like I’m completely incapable of doing anything for myself, Wes finally settles into the couch next to me, handing me a warm bowl of stew. I waste no time digging in, while he turns the television on, finally stopping on a popular funny sitcom. The domesticity of it all is oddly comforting. I’m on one side of the couch with my feet tucked underneath me, and he’s kicked back with his feet propped on the coffee table. We’re just eating in front of the television like we’ve been doing it for years.
After we’re finished eating, he tells me that I can shower first, so I make it a point to get in and out quickly. I know he has to work in the morning, so he’ll probably be going to bed soon. I look into the partially steamed mirror while I’m combing out my hair. It’s a shame that I’m the only one that’s going to see this underwear. Or am I? I wanted to get at him, but am I bold enough to do it? To just walk out there in nothing but?
Oh, I’m bold enough, for sure. But what would I be setting myself up for? No. I can’t do it. I’ll just have to hope it’s screwing with his head enough, knowing what’s under my clothes.
But . . . I am wearing the band shirt with my yoga pants. And my glasses. I don’t want my hair to dry all weird tonight though, so I am going to leave my hair down. Totally modest. Not sexy at all. What’s with me behaving myself all of a sudden? He’s seriously weakening my supreme audacity skills.
By the time I come out, he’s already cleaned up the kitchen and straightened the living room back up. But he’s nowhere to be found. I peek into the utility room, into his office. Nothing. That only leaves his bedroom. I pad down the short hallway and turn toward his open door. “Wes?”
He steps out of his closet, shirtless, wearing only his jeans with the button undone. “Yeah?”
We both freeze, suspended in this moment; although, I’m not sure why. I’ve seen him in nothing but his underwear. He’s seen me naked. So why is the air suddenly so thick? Why does he have to get to me like this?
“Umm . . . the shower. It’s all yours. Goodnight.”
“Thanks. I’ll get you up around six, but feel free to wake me up if you need something. Sleep well.”
I nod, retreating to the safety of my room before my head starts to spin. Before I start to seriously question my stance on adding benefits to our friendship.
I cram my earbuds in and climb into bed, shutting out the world around me. Shutting out the sounds of the water running across the hall, the thoughts of Wes under the steamy spray. But no matter how loud the music, that’s still the last thing I imagine when I drift off to sleep.
IT’S THE WALL-SHAKING thunder that jolts me awake just a little after three in the morning. I knew there was a chance of storms tonight, but that doesn’t mean I could ever be prepared for them. I hate it. Even when I was little, I’d wake up in the middle of the night, and I wouldn’t feel safe until I was tucked between my parents. Okay, so I’ll even get in bed with Makenna on occasion. I’m a big scaredy cat, and I’ll be the first to admit it.
Sometimes it helps if I check the weather on TV, just to be reassured that everything is going to blow over uneventfully. So I roll out of bed and head to the living room, but first, I stop to peek in Wes’ room. The strobe-like flashes of lightening brighten his room, and he appears to be sleeping soundly. He’s lying on his stomach with his arms wrapped around his pillow, and the sheets are dangerously low on his back, exposing just the beginning of the curve of his butt.
Wow.
Tearing myself away, I finally sink into the couch and click the power button on the remote. It takes me a few minutes to find the weather, but I’m wishing now that I hadn’t bothered. The bright green blobs heading in our direction are filled with violent streaks of yellows and reds. And there’s another line of them coming right behind it. Not reassuring at all, thankyouverymuch.
Another roaring boom echoes through the house, and I let out a little squeal, covering my mouth with both hands after I do. I’ll be fine. I just need to go back to bed, pull the covers over my head, and wait it out. I’m a big girl.
I almost make it to my room when I hear his groggy voice call out to me. “Cal, everything okay?”
I peek back into his room. He’s sitting up and rubbing at one eye. The long hair on top of his head is pointing in eve
ry possible direction. “Uh, yeah. Sorry if I woke you up. Storms freak me out.”
He falls back onto his pillow and stretches. “You didn’t wake me. The thunder did.” He pats the empty space on the mattress next to him. “Come on. Hop in.”
“I’ll be fine. I just got up to check the radar, and I’m going back to bed now.” I start to walk out.
“If you don’t get in this bed, I’m going to get up and put you in it.”
I sigh, hoping it comes across to him as defeated, but I know the truth. It’s relief. “Fine.”
I walk to the other side of the bed and judge the height, trying to figure out if there’s any remotely graceful way to get up there. But no. It looks like I’m just going to have to jump like a little dog until I make it.
“There’s a wood rail on the side,” he says into his pillow. “You can use it as a step, shorty.”
Pulling the blankets back, I see it and do as he suggests. Works like a charm. “Goodnight, Wes.” I stay all the way on my side, so there’s practically a mile between us. I know he sleeps naked, so I don’t want anywhere near him. Okay, yeah, I do, but he weakens my resolve too much.
I lie here quietly, listening to the rain tapping the window with an occasional pellet of hail. Normally, I’d be spazzing out, but I can also hear the slow rhythm of Wes breathing, growing deeper and deeper as he drifts back to sleep. It calms me, knowing he’s right here.
Well, I am calm until the thunder crashes again. I don’t know how it didn’t break all the windows in the house. I curl tighter into my pillow just as Wes rolls toward the middle of the bed. His arm hooks around my waist and drags me against him, enveloping me in the safe, warm cocoon of his arms. The blankets have managed to stay between us, thankfully, but I can still feel the comforting heat radiating from his body.
And that’s all I need to forget the storm and drift into blissful sleep.