If it was possible, I’m sure Wesley’s face could cook an egg. He goes so red I’m starting to imitate him, just because I made him embarrassed, and I don’t know how or why. We’ve said a lot worse before.
“Wesley, I’m kidding. I don’t think Reagan will move in after one date.”
“I know. It’s just … I think I need your help with something.”
“Okay.”
“Well, speaking of this date, I’m not sure if I should, you know, kiss her.”
“And you want my opinion?”
He nods.
I fling my head back and laugh at the ceiling. I’m being super insensitive, especially since the guy is totally nervous about it, but I can’t help it.
Wesley tickles my knee and tells me it’s not funny, but he’s not red anymore, so at least I eased some of the nerves out of him with my insensitivity.
“I’m sorry, I just didn’t expect that.” I shove his hand off my knee. “You want to know if I think you should kiss her?” I ask again, to clarify. Wesley has been reeking confidence since we started this whole thing. Now that Reagan’s noticing him, he seems to have flipped a one-eighty.
“Well, yeah.”
“What would you normally do on a first date?”
He rubs the back of his neck, the muscles in his forearm suddenly very noticeable. “That’s the thing. It’s Reagan. I’ve known her for so long, it doesn’t feel like this is a first date. Feels like we’re starting on the tenth or eleventh. And if it’s the tenth or eleventh date, I should have kissed her already. Add all that to the fact she is Talon’s ex, and I feel like I may end up fumbling all over her if I try, because I’m so used to keeping my distance. But with my track record, I’ll probably end up doing that anyway.”
Wow, he said that a little fast. But I get it. I feel the same way about Talon. I’ve fantasized about him kissing me a million times, but the thought of it actually happening turns my insides into a pile of rusty nails. “Wait … track record? When have you ever dated a friend’s ex?”
“Not that.” Suddenly he finds the bottom of his pajama pants super interesting, because his eyes refuse to go anywhere but there. “I’m talking about kissing itself. Apparently, based on what I’ve been told, I’m … uh, not that good.”
“Someone told you that?” Who is this girl and what the hell is her problem? Wesley may tell a joke or two, be a little bit ridiculous at times, but he’s a nice guy.
He nods, still not taking his eyes off the hem of his pants. “I guess I don’t know where to put my hands or something.” His hands twitch as he says it, and I get this urge to steady them with my own. I don’t, but that makes my hands twitch too from holding back.
“Well, where were they?” I ask. “Your hands.”
“Hell if I know. I wasn’t really thinking about it.”
“They weren’t glued to her boobs were they?” I ask with a laugh, and his eyes finally pop up to meet mine.
He gives me a smirk. “I’d remember that.”
“What do you remember?”
“Uh … she was drunk. She was on top of me. We were in a room full of people. I don’t know, it was a party.”
“Were you drunk?”
“No. I don’t think I’ve ever been more sober.”
There goes my reassurance for him. Drunk kissing is piss poor. And really slobbery.
He takes one look at my expression and says, “I know. I must really suck ass if a wasted girl says I have no clue what I’m doing.”
I twist my tongue in my mouth and chew on it for a second. “What did she say was wrong exactly?”
“I believe her exact words were, ‘You’re cute, but you have no idea how to please a woman,’ then she hopped off my lap and disappeared.”
My lips press together to hold in my laughter. It really isn’t funny. Kind of sad, actually. But I can’t stop the tiny chuckles, and I turn them into coughs as quick as I can.
“Laugh it up, Mickey,” he says, pushing my legs over and scooting closer on the couch. “I think my ego was blasted into oblivion that day.”
“Probably good for you.”
“Except now I’m like a twelve-year-old dreading spin the bottle. Even if I should kiss Ray, I’m too damn nervous.”
Does he even know how cute this is? Maybe it’s my own fetish—nervous guys. And that’s bizarre, since it’s Wesley I’m suddenly having these thoughts about. Ack! I better calm his nerves stat.
“It was just one girl, right?”
“The drunk one.” He nods. “The only one who had the guts to say anything to me.”
“It’s only one opinion.”
“That I know of.”
I huff out a breath through my nostrils. “Stand up.”
He gives me a look but does it anyway. I get up too and pull him to a more open space in the living room so we don’t trip over anything. I’m not going to kiss him, but I am going to try to ease his mind.
“Okay, so pretend I’m Reagan.”
The look on his face makes me burst out laughing. His eyebrows knit together and his mouth pops open while his hands shoot up like I’ve got a gun to his chest.
“I’m not going to make you kiss me.” Hello, awkward. “Chill.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Helping you, like you asked. Reagan is aggressive. I don’t think you’ll have to worry about kissing her. I think you have to worry about her kissing you.”
“Shit.” He runs his hands over his face. “I didn’t even think about that.”
He’s adorable. I can’t stop thinking it. The more he shakes and the redder he turns, the more it’s like an aphrodisiac. Couple that with his delicious gummy bear scent and I’m thinking, Talon? Who’s Talon?
I want to bang my head on the wall for being too horny. Maybe I’ll pretend he is Talon. I’m being Reagan. Yes! I can do that.
“Hey,” I say, pulling his hands into mine to stop them from shaking. “Take a deep breath. This stuff should be natural. Just go with what feels right.”
The second he sucks in a breath, I lunge on him. He sort of trips backward, but catches himself on the wall. My arms lock around his head, clinging on to him, since my feet are barely touching the floor. Our noses are as close as they can get without touching, and I don’t think he’s released that breath he took.
“Reagan’s aggressive, remember?” I say. Total excuse, and I’m wondering what possessed me to get so close to him. It just happened, and now I’m here in his face and holding back a sigh. A Talon sigh. What the hell is going on with me?
I’ve just got to pretend he’s Talon. He’s pretending I’m Reagan. That’s what it is. We’re just good friends helping each other out.
His Adam’s apple moves up and down, then his mouth pops open. Okay, I’ll give him credit on the always-make-sure-your-breath-is-prepared thing, because the chocolate chip mint ice cream he must’ve had smells so good, I almost toss in the idea that we should actually kiss, instead of fake like we are.
“Uh …,” he stutters, which brings me back to the real world.
“So,” I say, mustering that confidence I had a second ago when I threw him against the wall, “don’t think. Pretend we’re lip-locked. Where would your hands go?”
“You want me to touch you?” His voice cracks and his stiff arms twitch against his sides.
I try really hard not to laugh in his face, because unlike his minty breath, I’m sure mine smells like the turkey sandwich I had for dinner. “I’m touching you, aren’t I?” I move my fingers around in his hair before giving it a tiny tug. “Don’t. Think. Just react.”
His right hand goes instantly under my raised arm, then runs down my side and rests on my hip. He hooks a finger through my belt loop, and our bodies are pressed so close together I’m pretty sure I’m a part of him. And I know I should be pretending he’s Talon. I mean, he’s pretending I’m Reagan, but holy wow. This is Wesley, and he’s being so damn sexy I have to blink a few times to make sure it
’s actually happening.
“Um … was that okay?”
“Uh-huh.” Oh goodness, Kayla. Calm your breathing! “So, um … now what are you going to do with your other hand?”
He sort of hesitates, shaking his hand out before sliding it up my back. I’m panting in his face now and really hoping he doesn’t care I don’t keep my breath as fresh as his. Great. Now I’m really thinking about kissing him. I’ve never seen him so nervous, and damn it if that quality doesn’t turn me on.
I shiver against him as he traces my spine up to the back of my neck. Then … damn … his fingers take hold of my hair and my nose slightly touches his.
“That was …” I gulp. I have to find a good adjective here. “Amazing”? Yes. “Hot”? Hell yes. But how embarrassing is that? What word do I go with?
“Good?” he finishes for me.
“Yeah.” Understatement to the zillionth degree.
He smiles, and I catch a refreshing whiff of chocolate mint. “Well, I can’t get to your boob. I had to go with something else.”
I’m totally out of the weird Wesley haze now! What an ass. I smack the back of his head, making him jolt forward, and we knock foreheads. Oh, we are the smoothest people ever.
One of his hands stays on my hip while the other goes up to rub his face. “Guess I deserved that.”
Yes, but thank heavens he lightened the mood. That was freaky scary. I pull back, dropping flat on my feet, and wait for his arms to release me, but they don’t.
“So …” He smirks. “As a Reagan expert, my hands … good?”
Hell yes. “Good.”
“Guess I’ll have to test the rest out on her.” Instead of letting go of me, he brings me back to his face. “Unless you want to help out some more.”
Normal Wesley is back full force, but I think there’s some leftover attraction drug, because I almost take him up on his offer, even though I know he’s totally joking.
I shake my head, forcing a laugh. “I think I inflated your ego enough for one night.”
“You did.” He drops his hands. “Thank you.”
Clearing my throat, I take a few steps back, and like he breathed his nerves into me, I start rubbing the back of my neck. “I’m going to go. Let you get some sleep.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
He helps me into my jacket and doesn’t bother putting his own on. Guess that means we’re making this goodbye short, since it’s not exactly summer. Not that I care about stretching this out.
“Well, good luck this weekend,” he says, rubbing his arm when I flop into my car. I can’t believe I never noticed how Wesley’s muscles are just as nice as Talon’s. They’re different—Talon is bulkier and an obvious football player, while Wesley is leaner, toned. He’s more of a skinny muscular. I like the lines and curves it gives his arms. He should wear sleeveless shirts more often. Or maybe he shouldn’t, since it’s causing me to think very weird things. Yeah, he needs to cover those things up immediately.
“Kayla?”
“Oh!” Yes, definitely needs to keep himself covered. “Yeah, good luck to you too.”
He laughs and leans over the door. I refuse to inhale and get a whiff of those gummy bears.
“Thanks, but I asked if you’d call when you get home so I know you got there okay.”
Where was I when he asked this? Oh, probably analyzing his arm muscles. My eyes flick to them again, and before I can go into the muscle funk, I press my eyelids shut and shake my head. “Um, yeah. I’ll text or something.”
“Thanks.”
“Uh-huh.”
He gives me a weird look as he shuts the door, like I’ve got an expression on my face that he’s never seen before and he’s trying to figure it out. I give him a smile and wave as I put the car in drive. Then I screech out of the lot, determined to put as much distance as possible between me and his muscles and scent.
What the hell just happened?
Progress Report: January 20
I still feel weird. I went to Wesley’s to feel better, or relax, or something, but instead I’m all confused. Have I always found him attractive? Or was that only tonight? It’s like it happened in a flash of a single thought. Like I was in one of those claw games, and someone plucked me up and threw me into a different universe. One where I find Wesley attractive. One where I’ve always thought that. One where I like Talon, but not like that. And now I’m wondering where I was for the past eighteen years. If I’m even in my same body because my thoughts are crazy different. How do I get back to the universe I was born in?
It’s seriously killing my buzz about this date with Talon. Because I’m not even thinking about that. I’m thinking about how Wesley is going out with Reagan, and what if they kiss? What if they start dating? And what if they move in together and get married and have kids … and why the hell do I care?
I need something to refocus my mind, to get it back to where it’s supposed to be. On Talon. My soul mate! Any minutes with Talon have been precious minutes of my life. I can take all the mental videos and then replay them as a montage with cheesy music before I fall asleep. Like the opening of some CW show.
That should work, and I can add Friday to that montage soon. Maybe with a kiss!
Yes, focus, focus, focus on Talon.
Talon’s blue eyes.
Talon’s big muscles.
Talon’s nice ass.
Talon’s smile … with no dimple.
Talon’s laugh … that doesn’t make his eyes crinkle in the corners.
Talon’s lack of cowlick.
Shit … I’m going to bed.
Step 22:
Be Aggressive
(And don’t cause any bodily harm.)
“Kayla!” Reagan laughs as she pulls out the condom I shoved in her makeup bag. “This was a gift.”
I shake my head. “It’s a curse, is what it is. I’m not going to let Talon find a condom anywhere on me.”
She giggles, tossing the condom on the desk between our beds. “This is so crazy, right? You and Talon. Me and Wes. Almost like someone mapped it out and made it happen.”
My fingers slip on the mascara brush, and I end up jabbing my left eye. Of course, add makeup disaster on top of all the other crap I’m dealing with right now, and I’m a real winning date. With my one good eye I quickly make sure my journal is still tucked safely away where no one can see it. Because Reagan sure sounds like she’s reading it, or reading my brain. Either way, it causes my chest to burn like I’ve just finished eating a bowl of chili powder.
“Um, yeah … crazy.”
She glances over at me and laughs, tucking her own mascara brush back in its case. “Aw, Kayla. No need to be nervous. It’s just Talon.” I catch the makeup wipes she pushes in my direction.
“That’s exactly why I’m nervous,” I say, scrubbing my eye free of the black smudge. “He’s your ex-boyfriend, Ray. Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
“For the millionth time, yes!” She takes the wipe from my shaking fingers and swipes it over my face. “You have no idea how ready I am to go out with Wes like this. And how awesome is it that things are working out the way they are? We can all hang out together with zero weirdness because me and Talon are moving on at the same time. And he can’t get mad at Wes or me for dating each other because he wants to date you. It’s like we were pieces to a puzzle that were shoved in the wrong places, and now we’re moving to the right ones.”
All the perfect things to say. Everything I wanted. But why is it now when Reagan talks about Wesley like she used to talk about Talon I want to yank all that purple-highlighted hair right out of her skull?
I shake my head, taking a few deep breaths. Reagan stops wiping and pulls me into a one-sided hug. “You’re going to have a great time. Trust me.”
Yes. I’m going to have a blast.
I will, I will, I will!
I force a smile and hug her back. “You are too.” Because I know exactly what she’s in for tonight … if Wesley
has the guts to do it.
I may puke. Not kidding. I feel so sick I’m thinking of just doing it so he’ll take me home. While my stomach is contemplating whether or not to make its contents appear, my brain fights with itself.
I’m on a date with freaking Talon Gregory. It’s about time!
I’m on a date with my best friend’s ex. I suck.
She’s okay with it. She’s out with his best friend as we speak.
But why does she have to be out with Wesley right now? Why did he ask her out so quickly after the breakup? Is he really all that in love with her? What are they doing? Has he kissed her yet? Or is he going to? Did he bring his guitar? Are they going to sing love songs together? I wonder if he brought gum or mints or something.
“Kayla? You still with me?”
I jolt in my seat, squishing the burger in my hands so hard the mayonnaise squirts out, landing on my new jeans. Talon smiles, handing over some napkins so I can clean myself up. I’m such a spaz. And really stupid because here I am with the love of my life and I can’t stop thinking about what Wesley and Reagan are doing.
I think I have a disorder or something. An implanted device that makes me feel guilty and jealous instead of happy and blissful. Damn that device! Where is the off switch?
“Kayla?”
Oh my gosh, I’m a total dink! What am I even doing?
“Sorry. Spaced out for a second.”
His hand snakes between my knees as he leans down to grab the fast-food bag on the floor. He carefully chucks all his garbage in there, offering it to me afterward. I throw my hardly eaten burger in along with my mayo-covered napkins. My hands are shaking, which is oh so wonderful, so I jam them under my butt to stop them from shaking, but that only makes my knees bounce up and down instead.
“Are you okay? You seem off tonight.”
He’s beautiful. He’s got the look of loving, caring, perfect guy, and I’m ruining it. And I thought I was a nervous wreck when we were on the road trip. I’d call myself cool and seductive in comparison with how I’m behaving now.
I still haven’t answered him, so I say, “I’m fine.”