by Mae, Cassie
Okay, so I’m delusional. Because when I finally look at Wesley, he’s not crying at all. His eyes are glossy, but it’s probably because of the fire reflecting in them. He’s sort of smiling and his fingers are curled around his shoelaces.
“Fire on Christmas is a tradition in our house,” I say, going back to picking at my nail polish. “Mom was so excited for an actual fireplace when we moved here. Before that, we used a barbecue pit in the backyard. My butt probably could have served as an ice pack every Christmas.”
He laughs and stretches his legs out in front of him, sliding a tiny bit closer to me. “Nice of your dad to do that for her, though.”
He says it like he’s happy I have the dad I do, and not like he’s jealous about it, even though he grew up without one. That’s something I can add to the Wesley list … if it’s needed anymore, I guess. He’s never casting blame or making people feel uncomfortable for having things he’s wanted. Even with Talon, who has the girl he wants. Wesley treats him no differently than he did before Talon and Reagan started dating.
“Oh, it was Mom who always started the fires herself while Dad was cooking our big dinner. She said she wanted to contribute somehow, and making a fire became her thing. Besides, Dad couldn’t start a fire to save his life.”
Wesley slides over again, and a whole different kind of heat warms my body. He raises his eyebrows in a Please continue this oh-so-boring story, only he doesn’t seem to think it’s boring at all.
I smile to myself and watch the fire, remembering Mom organizing the wood this afternoon. “One Christmas, when Mom was going through chemo, she was too sick to start the fire. My dad spent three hours trying to get the thing going. At the time I didn’t know what the heck the big deal was, since she couldn’t get out of her room to see it, but I didn’t dare ask him. He was like a man possessed, and I thought he’d for sure blow up our living room. But when he finally got it going, I’d never seen him so happy.”
Wesley gets so close, his hip touches mine. His arm rests on the floor behind me, and for some really idiotic reason I let my head fall to his shoulder. He spits out a few of my wild curls that flew into his mouth, and we both laugh.
“Did your mom get to see it?”
“Sort of. He ran upstairs to get her and carried her down, but right as they got to the room, it went out. I’ve never heard my dad drop an effer, but that was a day for a whole bunch of firsts.” I pause, and realize I haven’t stopped smiling since Wesley started this conversation. This time I slide closer to him. “Dad thought that would be our last Christmas with her. He said something about how he was a fire failure and she couldn’t go because we needed our fire every year.”
“And she’s still here.”
I nod against his shoulder. “Yup. She’s still here.” And cancer free. “But now every year they light the fire together.”
He settles his head on top of mine, and I move my eyes from the fire to his shoes and up his legs. They stop at his stomach as I watch him breathe. It’s amazingly relaxing. My eyes start to drift closed.
I move my body so I’m more comfortable, because I know I’m about to pass out. My head falls onto Wesley’s lap, and I stretch my legs out on the floor. I let out a contented sigh, which makes no sense because it sort of sounds like my Talon sigh, but he’s nowhere in sight.
“Hey, Wesley?”
“Hmm?”
I want to tell him how I’m feeling. How this night totally sucked and he made me forget for a little while. How he took all the pain away, and that’s what good friends do. How I hope I did that for him too, even though all I did was reminisce about my cheesy and romantic parents. And how when I talked about my mom’s cancer, he never once made me feel like it was making him uncomfortable. How we at least have each other, and it’s not as bad as I thought—I like having him in my corner.
But none of that comes out.
“Thanks.”
He doesn’t say anything, just starts playing with the curls on my head. Within minutes, I’m out like a light.
Step 15:
Sex Is Not the End of This!
(Stay focused, damn it.)
I’ve heard of morning wood but have never seen it firsthand. I mean, I was an only child and never had sleepovers with boys. I’m sure my whole appearance screams virgin, even though that’s not exactly by choice. So when I move my face to snuggle farther into Wesley’s lap, I get the shock of my life when I see that straining against his jeans and pressing against my nose.
Please still be asleep …
“Uh …”
“Oh crap.” I bolt upright and cover my burning face. “I’m so, so, so sorry. I didn’t mean … I was still sort of asleep,” I blabber, shaking my head and wishing I could teleport to anywhere but here.
I spread my fingers to peek through them, and I see that Wesley’s face is as red as mine. He’s looking down at his pants like the thing is sticking out of the fly and not just pressing against it. And when I notice the dark, wet spot, that’s when I really start to freak out.
He did not just …
“That’s not me!” he shouts, holding his hands up and shaking his head. What the heck does he mean, that’s not him? Who else could it be? “I think you drooled. That’s not … I didn’t …”
If we could both teleport, I know we’d choose this moment. But all I can do now is laugh. Wesley’s face relaxes, but he’s still swearing up and down that I drooled all over his pants. I believe him, but it’s so ridiculous and slapstick funny, I end up rolling on the floor while he pokes my sides and threatens to tickle my feet if I don’t stop making fun.
“Oh good. You two are awake.” Dad comes in with two plates of his yummy mountain man breakfast burritos and sets them on the side table. Wesley whips a throw blanket over his lap, and I let out another giggle. I’ve never seen someone move so fast. But at least the boner is hidden now. “Kayla, when you’re done eating, can I talk to you for a minute?”
I resist rolling my eyes. Dad’s looking at Wesley like he could either hug him or shoot him but hasn’t decided which yet. I get how this looks, but come on, Dad. Me and Wesley? No way, no how. Just the thought almost makes me burst into fits of laughter again.
Biting back my smile, I reach over to grab the delicious five-hundred-calorie breakfast and pass Wesley his. The poor guy’s face is still super red even after Dad leaves the room.
“You okay there?”
He nods and starts picking at his food. I’ve never known Wesley to not dive into anything on a plate, so I know he’s lying. This can’t be about me or my dad, because normal Wesley would laugh his ass off with me. No, this is about Reagan and Talon. I’m sure of it.
And he helped me last night.
“I have a theory about sex. Want to hear it?”
His fork slips to the floor as he shoots me a look like I shocked him out of his socks. “Um, what?”
“You know, sex. The whole reason you were over here at three in the morning.”
“It was your drool! I haven’t done that since—”
“I’m not talking about that,” I interrupt with lightning speed. I really don’t want to know about Wesley’s last wet dream. “I was only saying maybe last night wasn’t the end of this. We can still get them to see—”
“Stop right there, Kayla.”
“Why?”
“Because I know what you’re going to say. And let’s face it—they weren’t going to break off a yearlong relationship because they grew closer to us. We failed. We move on. End of story.”
Never in my life have I heard Wesley sad. He’s the one who’s always cheering everyone else up. But when he puts his plate on the floor next to him without taking a bite, then folds his arms and stares at nothing in particular, I feel like I need to smack him upside the head for not being himself. I need him to be himself.
Instead of abuse, I set my food down and kneel in front of him, mimicking his closed-off posture. “You want to hear my theory or not?”
“It won�
��t make a difference.”
“Damn it, Wesley! Will you just humor me?”
That gets a half smile out of him. “Fine. Do tell me this theory you have about sex that will change what happened last night.”
I ignore his patronizing. “Sex isn’t always the cure-all, you know. I think if there’s a problem in a relationship, sex doesn’t fix it—it makes it way worse.”
He cocks his head to the side and relaxes his shoulders. “Actually, Kayla, that’s not a bad theory.”
“I got it off one of those teen soaps I used to watch.”
He laughs. “Which one?”
“I don’t remember. The point is, we shouldn’t give up. Minor setback, really.”
I thought this would cheer him up, but he’s back to being all tense and scary. Totally not regular ol’ Wesley.
“Well, I guess we better go as planned today, then.”
“Um, yeah.”
His lips purse, and he gives me one short nod. I wish I knew what the crap was going through his head, but I don’t ask. He stands and the blanket falls from his lap, revealing the nice big drool stain I left on his jeans. I start laughing again.
He throws his hands in the air. “It’s drool!” Then he plops back on the floor and digs into his breakfast, giving me a nice good look at the food on his tongue before it goes down his throat.
Welcome back, normal Wesley.
“I know you’re a college girl, but you’re still my daughter and living in my house right now.”
“I know, Dad. Seriously, nothing happened. It was Wesley.”
“A boy.”
“Who’s like a brother.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“Who’s they?”
“All the girls who don’t want to admit they have a crush on someone. Especially to their father.”
“Dad, you did not just say ‘crush.’ ”
“What do you want me to call it? Infatuation? The hots? The man of your—”
“Stop.” Because I will puke all over him if he keeps going. “And please start watching more ESPN.”
“I’m just looking out for you.”
“I know.” I pat his arm. “But you have to trust me, okay?”
“That’s what they all say.”
“The crushed-out daughters?”
He laughs and tugs me in for a hug. “I trust you. But … no more boy/girl sleepovers while you’re here. And if you’re having them elsewhere, I don’t want to hear about it.”
He won’t have to worry about that. Onetime occurrence. With Wesley anyway.
“Okay.”
His arms drop and he goes back to his laptop. “What are your plans today?”
Total Talon recon. If I can avoid Reagan long enough to get to him. That’s Wesley’s job today. Keep her away from Talon and me. And hopefully he’s still okay with it, especially with his weirdo mood swing this morning.
First I have got to get in the shower. I have Wesley’s gummy bear scent all over my hair. Not that it’s a bad thing, but I can’t be smelling like him when I’m going to see Talon.
“Um, not much. Hanging out with Reagan and the guys.”
Dad nods and starts typing something. He’s officially not paying attention to me. Once that screen goes up, his mind gets sucked in.
I shake my head and slide down the hall in my socks to my room. While I’m undressing and wrapping the towel around my body, I rehearse what I’m going to say to Talon today. I mean, I wonder if he knows that I know about his epic night. I mean, they weren’t exactly paying attention to me and Wesley. But what if he did and he brings it up to apologize or something? No, I can’t talk about that with him. I’m sure he’ll tell Wesley like Reagan will tell me, so that should really be enough.
Oh wow. I didn’t even think about that. How sad for Wesley! I’m sure guys are more crass with this stuff. Though Reagan can get pretty graphic.
I pull at my blond curls as if that will take away all the sex thoughts, and I say out loud, “Favorite present, Talon? It was mine, wasn’t it?”
No, that’s stupid. But I suppose it could be worse. Like a twenty-minute pizza conversation.
What I really want to say to him goes more along the lines of, “Talon, I’m in love with you, and I have been for a long time. I know you’re with Reagan, but I had to tell you how I feel.” But that sounds like every single chick flick out there. And I know that in the movies the girl always end up with the guy, but I’m not freaking Sandra Bullock. I’m more like her little sister who missed the puberty train.
Checking over my shoulder to make sure I locked my door, I carefully pull open my towel and examine myself. Which is the worst idea ever. I’m supposed to be building my confidence, not overanalyzing all my flaws. I quickly wrap myself up again. I’m being stupid. Talon won’t reject me because of my body. It’s one of the reasons I like him so much. He’s not a shallow, perverted pond. He’s the deep, sensitive ocean.
And it’s his commitment to Reagan that will send me to rejection city if I tell him too soon. If I get to tell him at all.
I take a deep breath. Stick with the plan, Kayla. Nothing has changed.
Nothing has changed.
Nothing.
I wipe the single tear from my face and walk straight-backed to the bathroom. Dropping the towel on the toilet lid, I start the water and let it wash away all my doubts.
Step 16:
Kick Your Friends’ Butts When They Don’t Text You Back
(Even if they’re doing it all over town, they better have a minute to send a smiley face or something.)
Talon should’ve been here hours ago. I’m all packed and ready to head back to school, but he hasn’t texted or called or anything. I’m getting squat from Reagan too. Maybe I should head over to Talon’s and honk the horn. I mean, Wesley and I drove. How else are they going to get back to school?
I’m pacing the kitchen, constantly checking my phone, when my doorbell rings. But it’s not Talon, it’s Wesley on my porch.
“What are you doing here?”
“Hey to you too.” He shrugs past me, showering snowflakes from his head onto mine. “I can’t find Talon or Reagan. Thought maybe you’d heard from them.”
I shake my head. “Not a word. You think they’re still at Talon’s?”
As much as I hate to think it, maybe they’re going for an all-day sort of thing. I mean, the huge-ass box of condoms sure suggests high expectations.
“No. I went over there already. Talon’s mom said they left early this morning in her car and she hasn’t heard from them since.”
My hand is on my coat in a second. I’ve never had sex, so I have no idea if it makes people forgetful, but we were supposed to have been on the road hours ago, and it’s not like either of them to not tell their best friends they’re going to be late. A trickle of panic goes through my chest as I wonder if maybe something worse has happened.
I shout as loud as I can up the stairs to my parents, “I’m headed out for a bit! I have my cell!” Then I turn to Wesley and nod him out the door.
I’m shaking so badly I can’t get my coat on right. This really isn’t like them. I actually expected a call from Reagan during the after-sex cuddle time. And if they’re off to have sex wherever they can, again … I would’ve at least gotten a text or call or something.
We get to the van and Wesley helps me first into my coat, then into the passenger seat. I want to yell at him for wasting time opening my door for me, but I really shouldn’t lecture him for being a gentleman.
“We should probably check Java Joe’s first. If they’re not there, then we can check the high school football field.”
All our old hangouts. “You read my mind.”
Wesley drives faster than he should with the roads being full of snow, but it still doesn’t seem fast enough for either of us. Gosh, I hope they’re okay. They could be doing it somewhere in a dirty bathroom for all I care right now—I just want them to be all right.
My legs start bouncing up and down and my eyes are frantically searching the road for something. I don’t know what, but I feel useless sitting here wishing we could drive faster, and really wishing one of them would answer my texts and phone calls.
Wesley plants his hand on my knee and gives it a squeeze, automatically making me stop bouncing and shaking. I take a deep breath and smile at him before sending another text to Reagan.
Girl, we’re worried. Where r u?
Even though Talon’s mom’s car isn’t in the parking lot, Wesley and I go inside Joe’s to double-check. Wesley even asks the staff if they saw them. But nothing.
The high school is deserted too. Not even footprints in the snow. I check my phone again, and when I see a blank screen I almost chuck it against the dash. Where the hell did they go?
We drive for what seems like forever and a day, and by now it’s well after dark. Wesley hasn’t said much, which is weird for him, so he must be as worried as I am. We occasionally exchange comforting glances or hand squeezes, but not much else, at least not till Wesley pulls the van against the curb in front of my house. I don’t want to stop looking, though, till we find them.
“I’m sure they’re fine.” His eyes say something totally different from what he’s actually saying, and I start chewing my tongue. “Really, Kayla. I bet it’s something stupid. I’ll keep looking, but it’s almost one. And I really don’t want another look from your dad like I got this morning.”
“I’m worried.”
“Me too.”
I hold my breath for a second. “You really think they’re okay?”
His mouth twitches at the corner. “Yes.”
It’s not good enough. They’re my best friends. “I want to keep looking with you. Please?”
“You’re not tired?”
“Exhausted. But I won’t be able to sleep.”
He nods and runs a hand over the steering wheel. I feel like hugging him, not because I need a hug—which I do—but because he looks like he could use one. I slide over and wrap my arms around his neck, gripping him tight, as if this will make everything better, even though it doesn’t really do anything.
