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by May, McKinley

  "You don't think so? Then explain to me what the hell that was back there." I jerk a thumb behind my shoulder. "Unless those Skittles actually were laced with meth?"

  She releases a sardonic snort in response.

  "I'm not fucking around about this," I continue, but she still looks unconvinced. Maybe I need to reword this into something her science-centric brain will be more receptive to. "Think of it like an experiment."

  "An experiment?"

  "Yeah. A three-date experiment. Hypothesis: Once you go out with me a few times, you'll realize how much you're selling yourself short when it comes to your dating life."

  Her brows slash together. "And what's in it for you?"

  "I dunno."

  She cocks her head as she awaits a better explanation.

  "I like hanging out with you, okay? And I wanna help you see the light." I lift a hand to shade my eyes from the sun. "All I'm asking is that you broaden your horizons when it comes to dating. Three dates, Lexie. That's it."

  She looks contemplative for a moment, but then shakes her head. "I have class. I gotta go."

  "Is that a yes or a no?"

  "It's not a yes."

  "Ah." I point a finger at her in a gotcha motion. "But it's not a no, either."

  "Bye, Weston." She whirls around, instantly getting pulled into the current of students.

  "Okay," I call out as she hurries off. "Sleep on it."

  I watch her ponytail sway back and forth in the crowd, people bumping into me left and right as they shove their way inside the building.

  It's not until she's out of sight that the realization of what I just proposed hits me square in the chest.

  Date me?!

  Where the hell did that come from?

  I don't date.

  Not really.

  But I actually want to do this. I want her to say yes. I want to show her exactly what she's missing.

  Christ.

  I'm not sure what the fuck's gotten into me. Is it the hangover? All that neck caressing? The possibly-drugged candies?

  I'm just gonna blame all three.

  17

  It's been five hours.

  Five long hours of on-and-off bouts of racing heart beats and full-body shivers. Face flushing, skin heating so much that numerous classmates have asked if I have a fever.

  Just when my body would finally chill out, my thoughts would stray to Bio Lab and another rush of adrenaline would strike.

  Concentrating in my courses has been a losing battle today.

  During one of these "episodes", I clocked my pulse approaching 200 bpm. The cardiology volunteer in me wanted to text Dr. Lee and ask for some advice, but I can already picture how that convo would go.

  No, Dr. Lee. I didn't consume copious amounts of caffeine or partake in a vigorous workout session. My gorgeous lab partner touched my neck a few times and my heart spiraled into cardiac arrest. That's totally normal, right?

  Yeah.

  I'm not admitting that to anyone.

  Part of this prolonged reaction might have something to do with Weston asking me on a date.

  Three dates, to be exact.

  It was so out of left field, I'm still struggling to comprehend it.

  Knowing Weston, it's probably just some elaborate scheme to get me into bed with him. But a dating experiment is a strange and complicated way to go about it.

  What he said about the guys I go out with...it did strike a chord with me.

  I do have a "type".

  I wouldn't go so far as to call that specific type loser, but I am fully aware they're not exactly the kind to get your blood pumping.

  They're safe choices.

  Strait-laced. Cautious. Boring.

  The complete opposite of Weston.

  Dating him? It would be quite the change of pace.

  And the physical attraction between us is absolutely undeniable.

  So undeniable, in fact, that when I attempted to deny it time and time again, the only thing I accomplished was looking like a stubborn mule.

  I'll admit it—our chemistry if off-the-charts hot.

  But that doesn't matter.

  So what if the entire lab was equivalent to foreplay?

  Who cares if I had to go splash water on my face every break to squelch the wildfire burning in my core?

  Big deal if he was so close I could see the arousal brewing in his eyes, evident in the impressive bulge in his pants...

  My fingers slowly inch up my neck, eyes drooping shut as the vivid flashbacks play through my mind once more. The ridiculous fantasy is short-lived, a double-tap on my shoulder interrupting my thoughts a minute later.

  I turn around.

  "Attendance!" The girl behind me motions to the front of the room. "She's called your name twice."

  I quickly face the front, Miss Harris' bemused expression on me.

  "Is everything okay, Lexie?" She lifts a hand, pointing to her own neck as a way of asking what the heck I'm doing to mine.

  Immediately, I let my fingers fall.

  "Yes, sorry. I'm here." I shake my head, attempting to regain focus.

  After finishing up the roll call, Miss Harris begins class.

  "For our project this week, y'all will be designing mood boards for an infant or toddler room. Spend the next thirty minutes sketching out some ideas. Happy brainstorming!"

  I quietly chuckle to myself at the assignment.

  No need for me to brainstorm. I've already got an almost-finished mood board for Baby Banks' nursery sitting in my closet as we speak.

  While everyone gets started, I send a text to Chelsea about the funny coincidence.

  My phone buzzes just moments after I hit send.

  Chelsea: You got lucky with that one!

  Chelsea: And speaking of...are you available Friday late afternoon-ish to come work on the furniture?

  Me: Yep. I think I'm free!

  Chelsea: You should enlist some help for the project bcuz Ryan won't be there to lend a hand. He's out of town for work.

  Chelsea: & I'd assist, but I've got this bun in the oven situation going on.

  A snort escapes me as I fire back a text.

  Me: Haha. As if you'd even help if you weren't preggo!

  Chelsea: True. Carpentry ain't my thing. :)

  Chelsea: It's a whole bedroom set, so just recruit one of your lovestruck stalkers to help you out.

  Chelsea: Lord knows some of those boys would lick the dirt off your toes if you asked.

  Me: Ughghghgh. Your imagery's always so pleasant.

  Me: Remind me not to eat before I txt you. You always make me nauseous.

  Right away, I know who I'm selecting for the job.

  Maybe it's the lurking memory of the shitty date with Trey, or maybe it's the full moon expected tonight that's bringing out the maniacal side of me, but I'm gonna give Weston's silly little experiment a shot.

  He gets to try (and fail) to prove his stupid theory, and I get an extra pair of strong hands to aid with the grunt work.

  I type out his name, shooting off a text before I come to my senses.

  Me: Fine. Let's do it. 3 dates.

  It's only a minute or two later when I receive a response.

  Weston: I knew you'd come around.

  Me: I do have a couple of rules.

  Weston: You and your damn rules.

  Weston: Go on.

  Me: While we're "dating", it's going to be exclusive. No other guys for me, no other girls for you.

  Weston: What about other girls for you? ;)

  Me: . . .

  Weston: Chill, Barbie. I'm just fuckin' around.

  Weston: Exclusivity. I can do that.

  Me: Can you?

  Weston: Not a problem.

  Me: I'll believe it when I see it.

  Me: One more rule.

  Weston: Lay it on me.

  Me: I get to plan Date #1.

  Weston: Deal.

  18

  "Proceed to route. Proceed to
route."

  "I'm on the damn route," I mutter to the robotic voice scolding me.

  I've been driving circles in a rural neighborhood for the past ten minutes trying to figure out where the hell Lexie sent me. This place is kinda in the middle of nowhere, hence the location-signal issues and the bitchy navigation system.

  I'm just about to call her when I finally see the correct street sign up ahead. I turn down the bumpy road, immediately spotting her at the first house on the right. She's sitting on the curb, arms hugging her knees into her chest all innocent and shit.

  She looks fucking cute.

  I put the car into park as she gives a friendly wave.

  "Hey, Lex." I step out of my Jeep and glance at the one-story, single-family home. "What is this? You introducing me to your parents on our first date? Bold move."

  "Hell no." She stands up and wipes the back of her jean shorts. "That would've been a good idea, though. I could've scared you off, made you regret this whole 'experimental dating' shindig right off the bat."

  I press a button on my key fob and my car beeps twice. "Hate to break it to you, babe, but I don't spook that easily. It'll take a bit more than that to get rid of me."

  "I'll have to come up with another plan then, won't I?" She smiles and motions for me to follow her.

  We walk up the paved driveway and around the back of the home. An open, detached garage comes into view. There's a shitload of baby bedroom furniture inside—rocking chair, crib, dresser, and some unopened boxes from IKEA. Multiple cans of paint and tools are sporadically scattered amongst the items.

  I'm about to ask what's up with the construction site when the back door squeaks open. A pregnant woman in navy scrubs exits the house, her attention glued to her phone.

  "Just got a message that they're short-handed at the hospital, so I'm going in for a few hours to help out. Are you good here by yourself, Lexie?"

  "Yep. All good."

  The lady continues talking, her back to us as she pulls the door shut. "Where's the boy you suckered into helping you out? On his way? Is he hot? I hope he's hot for your sake; you want a nice view while y'all are working and—"

  "Chels," Lexie interrupts, mouth twitching in amusement. "He's right here."

  The woman swirls around. When her eyes land on me, she immediately goes red. "Awkward. Hello there!"

  "Hey." I greet her with a charming grin, one that has her cheeks transitioning from the shade tomato to beet in an instant. "I'm Weston—the sucker. Good to meet you."

  She drops her keys in her purse and holds out a hand. "I'm Chelsea: Lexie's co-worker slash friend slash confidant. Nice to meet you, too."

  After a lengthy hand-shake, she turns to Lex, juts up a brow, and not-so-quietly whispers, "He's very hot. Nice choice. Where'd you find him?"

  "Rein in the raging hormones, would you?" Lexie mumbles with a shake of her head.

  Chelsea's pupils volley between Lex and me as she walks towards her suburban. "Y'all have fun! Call my cell if you need anything."

  The moment her car disappears from view, Lexie emits a deep sigh.

  I give her a quizzical look. "What?"

  "Is this just an everyday occurrence for you? This uncontrollable reaction women have whenever you're in the vicinity?"

  My shoulders raise in a nonchalant shrug. "Pretty much, yeah."

  She lets out a groan of disbelief before her eyes narrow into slits. After studying me for a moment or two, she points at my face in revelation.

  "Without those cute, little-kid dimples, I bet you wouldn't land half the girls you do. You just flash those bad-boys and the entire female population melts into a puddle at your feet."

  "Awh, Barbie." I flash said bad-boys with a teasing grin. "You think my dimples are cute?"

  "What? No!" She expels a lung-full of air. "No. That's not what I was...I wasn't referring to myself in that scenario."

  "It's cool. You can admit it." I twist my head slightly, giving her a better angle of the indentations in my cheeks. "They're cute as shit. I'm fully aware."

  "Ugh, stop!"

  "Stop what?"

  "Stop smiling!"

  That only makes me smile bigger.

  It's freaking adorable when she tries to deny the attraction between us.

  Fucking hilarious, too.

  Her stubborn-as-shit attitude is one of my favorite things about her.

  I grace her with one last dimple-popping simper and finally let her off the hook.

  "Alright, what're we doing tonight? Dinner? Movie?" My eyes travel to the home on our left. "Throwing a rager at your friend's empty house?"

  "Actually..." Lexie extends both arms and frames the messy garage. She looks like a gameshow model presenting the grand prize. "I'm putting you to work."

  "Damn, woman. Is that why you agreed to go along with this whole thing? To get some free manual labor out of the deal?"

  Poking her tongue into her cheek, she lifts a shoulder. "Maybe."

  "Just using me for my body, huh?" I plaster on a mock-frown. "Shitty of you, Lex."

  "It's about the only thing you're good for," she quips as she grabs my forearm and drags me into the work space. "Tonight, we're getting all this crap nursery ready. Not sure if you noticed, but Chelsea's due in a few months."

  "Sorta figured that one out with the baby bump she had going on."

  "Right." Lexie chuckles. "Anyway, she's having a baby girl and the theme for the room is royalty. Jewel-toned purples and shimmery metallics will make up the bulk of the colors. I was thinking a vintage damask wallpaper for the accent wall and a crystal-covered chandelier in the center of the room—fake, of course. This royal baby's on a peasant's budget. Oh, and maybe a velvet tufted loveseat for some extra flair? We're really going for that posh, glitzy feel. Think traditional regal meets Old Hollywood glam. There will also be some..."

  Her words muddle into gibberish as she rambles on and I quickly stop her.

  "Wait a minute. Hold up, babe." I make a show of dramatically looking over each shoulder. "Is there a Fixer Upper crew around? Are the people from Flip It or Flop It or Bop It hiding behind the corner?"

  Her nose wrinkles. "No?"

  "Then why are you speaking HGTV to me? Vintage damask wallpaper, Old Hollywood glam? You think I know what that shit means? I'm a dude. English, please."

  "Sorry." She clenches her teeth, guilt casting her features. "I get so caught up in this stuff, I forget other people don't care about the mundane details."

  I shake my head adamantly. "No, I do care. That's why I want you to translate. So I understand what's going on."

  "Oh?" A cheery smile washes away the guilty look. "I can show you some pics and explain everything as we work. That should make the decorating concept easier to grasp. But first things first..." She points towards a sander in the corner and arches a brow. "Have you used one of those before?"

  "Yup. Loads of times."

  "Great." She nods, but it's obvious she wasn't expecting my response. Like she thinks I'm some pretty boy who's never done an honest day's work in his life.

  "Don't look so surprised, Barbie," I say as I put on a shit-eating grin. "I might be a soccer player, but I'm really fucking good with my hands."

  Just as the last shreds of dusk fade into darkness, we finish up the final coat of paint. Dim overhead lights illuminate the garage, the newly renovated furniture looking pretty freakin' sweet if I do say so myself.

  The project was more taxing than originally expected, but the two of us work well together.

  Isn't fucking around with furniture one of the leading causes of divorce in this country?

  Lex and I managed to build, sand, and paint this shit with no squabbles whatsoever. I think we deserve some serious recognition for that accomplishment—a Nobel Peace Prize sounds fitting for the situation.

  We're cleaning up the space when Lexie grabs a wet paint brush off the ground, the movement flicking a generous splatter of color onto my shirt and arms.

  "Whoa.
Watch it, Lex. I'm in your line of fire here."

  She looks back over her shoulder. "Oops! My bad. I told you to wear clothes you wouldn't mind getting dirty!"

  "I did. Probably gonna throw this shirt away when I get home, actually." I glance down at the ancient tee I found buried in my closet. "It's definitely past its prime. You can pour a whole can of paint on this thing if you want."

  The comment is made in jest, but Lexie's eyes dance playfully at the idea.

  "Oh really?" She bends down, lifting a half-full can of paint from the concrete with an impish smile.

  "Shit. I was kidding." I raise my hands in defense. "Don't even think about it."

  Too late.

  She's thought about it and she's made up her mind.

  I try to dodge the attack, but it's impossible. She jerks the can forward, a freaking tsunami of thick paint hitting me square in the chest.

  "Oooh. Nice." Her amused gaze bounces from my drenched shirt to my face. She nods in approval. "Purple is totally your color."

  "You think so?" I tug out my t-shirt, peering down with an unconvinced shrug. "I dunno. I think it'd look better on you."

  I hold my arms out wide, grinning conspiratorially as I take a step forward.

  "Weston."

  Her voice is strict, my name a warning on her tongue.

  "Lexie," I sing-song back, my tone indicating I will not be heeding that warning.

  One more stride towards her and she lets loose a loud-as-hell, girly scream. The empty bucket is tossed carelessly to the side as she takes off like she's in a 100-meter dash. She zig-zags through the backyard, laughing as she tries to escape, but it's no use.

  "Game over," I growl as I reach out and grab her by the waist.

  A high-pitched squeal pierces the air as I engulf her in a huge hug, transferring as much paint as I can onto her squirming body.

  When I'm positive I've turned her white V-neck a satisfying shade of lavender, I relax my grip. She pushes away from me and giggles as she scrunches her nose up.