I could probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen my father not wearing a suit, and this is not one of them. He strides up the driveway, looking every inch the uppity businessman.
“Good afternoon, boys,” he greets. “Didn’t get your fill at practice?”
“It was a film day, Mr. Cole,” Charlie answers when it becomes evident I’m not going to.
“Ah, I see. Well, I’ll catch you boys later. Looking forward to the game this Friday.” He heads inside the house.
“Looks like you and your father are closer than ever,” Chris observes.
“Yup,” I respond, sending the ball spiraling through the air again.
Chris and Charlie exchange a glance, but don’t say anything else.
chapter fourteen
Maeve
“Spill it, Maggie,” Sarah instructs as we all take seats out on her patio to enjoy the warm sunshine before the cold weather fully descends. That’s fall in Connecticut for you. Summer one day, winter the next.
“Spill what?” Maggie replies coyly, taking a sip of her lemonade.
“You’re our Alleghany spy! Give us all the gossip!” Sarah tells Maggie, bouncing in her seat.
I roll my eyes and take a sip of cola.
“Honestly, there’s not much new from last week, when you complained you didn’t know anyone I was talking about.” Maggie rolls her eyes to emphasize how offended she still is we cut off her speculation about a couple we’ve never seen or met after thirty minutes. “Alleghany High is not that different from Glenmont, to be honest. Same drama, just different people.”
“What about Weston Cole?” Brooke chimes in with. “There’s always good gossip about him. Don’t you see him around school?”
I play it completely cool. Meaning I half-swallow, half-spit the soda and then begin coughing violently.
“Shit, Maeve. Are you okay?” Sarah asks.
“Fine,” I croak, taking another sip of carbonated liquid to soothe my burning throat. “Wrong pipe.”
I should have expected the topic of Wes might come up, but I didn’t.
Satisfied I’m not choking, Brooke turns back to Maggie. “Well?”
“Not really. We don’t have any classes together, so I hardly see him at school. The only Alleghany party I saw him at was the one I dragged Maeve to at the start of the summer. He’s at practice and games, obviously, but that’s basically it. I’ve never even talked to him.”
Brooke sighs loudly. “Well, that’s seriously disappointing. You having the chance to hook up with Weston Cole was the only part of you moving to Alleghany I was excited about. There are some cute guys in Glenmont, but he is in a league all of his own.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, dear,” Maggie sighs. “There was a rumor he and Emily were a thing again, but I haven’t seen them together.”
Brooke starts questioning her about the Alleghany cheer team, but I’m lost in my own thoughts. I’ve seen even less of Wes lately than usual, and I assumed it was because of his upcoming college visit and game against Glenmont. But I’ve never considered he might be seeing other girls. We’ve never discussed being exclusive over the last few weeks of sneaking around, I just assumed that we were.
We head inside when the sun starts to go down, and I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. I walk into Sarah’s kitchen, and lean against the counter. I pull my phone out of my pocket and find Wes’s name in my texts. His name in my phone is still good at one thing, and I can’t help but smile when I see it, despite the consternation I’m grappling with.
Can you meet now? I send him.
Immediately, three dots appear at the bottom of the screen. Yes. Then, Everything okay? Thought you were busy until eight tonight.
Yup. Plans changed. I’m leaving now, I reply.
“I thought you were going to the bathroom?” Maggie asks, walking into the kitchen. I’m so startled I drop my phone on the counter.
“Uh—yeah I am. Going to,” I stutter, grabbing my phone and making sure the screen is off and unshattered.
“Are you okay, Maeve?” Maggie asks. “You’ve been acting weird all afternoon.”
“I’m fine,” I assure her. “I’m just—actually my stomach is kind of bothering me, so I think I’m just going to head home.”
“Sarah was just saying we should sleep over!” Maggie says. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”
This new information solidifies my resolve. I don’t want to wait to see Wes.
“Yeah, I’m feeling worse,” I tell her. “Can you let Brooke and Sarah know? Tell them I’ll see them at school tomorrow.”
“Okay. . . ” Maggie replies, still looking at me suspiciously. Whatever she’s thinking, I’m certain it’s nothing close to the truth.
I pull my car off the main road into the cabin’s driveway fifteen minutes later, and Wes’s car is already there. He’s leaning against the side of his SUV, typing something on his phone. I climb out of the driver’s seat and close the door behind me. Night has almost completely fallen, and I shiver at the rapidly falling temperature as I walk over to Wes in the dusky light.
He looks up and smiles, and I’m a goner. This boy.
I walk right up to him. “Hey—” he starts. I don’t give him a chance to finish.
I kiss him urgently, eagerly, grasping generous handfuls of his soft shirt and using them to tether myself to him. I immediately seek entrance to his mouth, and he gives it to me, opening up so I can slip my tongue inside. I can feel the hard ridges of his abs outlined underneath the cotton material I’m pulling taut, and I let my hands roam over them. Wes groans in response, and I feel the vibration reverberate against my tongue.
I angle my head to deepen our kiss, and he winds his arms around me to pull me flush against his body. I can’t stop kissing him, driven by some urgent need to mark my claim. To prove to myself I can.
Wes’s lips leave mine to plant open-mouthed kisses along my neck, and I moan at the sensation of his tongue against the sensitive skin. I let go of his shirt and shove my hands in his hair so that I can pull his lips back to mine. He thrusts his talented tongue back inside my mouth, and I moan.
I let one hand trail down along his stubbled cheek and the muscled planes of his chest until I reach the waistband of his joggers.
Wes pulls back abruptly. We stare at each other, chests heaving from our hot and heavy make-out session.
“Are you hooking up with other girls?” I blurt.
“What? No!” Some of the pressure leaves my chest following his immediate, adamant response. He studies my face. “Did someone say something to you? Why do you think I’d cheat on you?”
“It wouldn’t be cheating, Wes. I just wanted to know.”
“What do you mean it wouldn’t be cheating? Are you hooking up with other guys?”
“No, of course not! I just—I mean, we’ve never—some of the girls were talking about the rumors about you, and since we don’t—I thought maybe—it would have been fine . . . ” I trail off at Wes’s confused expression.
“I didn’t follow any of that,” he admits. “You text me hours before we’re supposed to meet, attack me like we’re acting in a porno, and then ask if I’m hooking up with other girls? I don’t get it.”
I sigh. “I was at my friend Sarah’s house. Maggie was there—the one who moved to Alleghany over the summer—and some of my other friends started asking her about things there. And then you came up. And she didn’t say much, except that you haven’t been around a lot, but she mentioned a rumor about you and Emily, and I realized that there could be other girls. That we never talked about it. About what this is. Or is not.” I’m studiously avoiding eye contact and fairly certain I’m blushing. “Especially since we’re not having sex.”
I glance up to see Wes grinning broadly.
“It’s not funny, Wes!”
He laughs once, and then turns serious. “You’re right. It’s not. Listen to me, Maeve Stevens. I have not—and will not—touch an
other girl while I have the option to touch you instead. Okay?”
“Okay,” I mumble.
“I’m flattered you were gossiping about me, though.”
I roll my eyes. “It actually sucked. Listening to my best friends going on about how hot they think you are.”
Wes’s cocky smirk grows. “I’m sure they’re all lovely, but I can’t seem to stop thinking about this one girl.”
The heat I extinguished with my blunt question rapidly flares to life.
“Really?” I ask, stepping closer to him again. “What’s she like?”
Wes laughs. “Are you fishing for compliments, Stevens?”
“Yes,” I admit.
His expression softens. “Well, she’s a wicked climber, and she’s feisty, and thoughtful, and she throws a mean spiral.”
“Not sure anyone else would call me feisty,” I inform him. “Probably more like easy-going.”
“Lucky me, then,” Wes replies.
“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic right now.”
He laughs. “I’m not. I love how stubborn you can be.”
“I feel like I don’t have to be perfect around you,” I admit.
“Uh, thanks?” Wes responds.
“It’s a good thing,” I assure him. And it is. Wes makes me feel bolder. Braver. Like I’m my own person, not the collection of assumptions people make about me by extension of my family.
“Anything you’d like to tell me in return?” Wes asks, grinning shamelessly.
“Uh, you’re hot?” I respond, smirking.
“Wow. I’m touched,” Wes replies. “But I’m glad you think so.” His voice deepens. “Especially since you know exactly how I feel about your appearance.” He ghosts his lips across my cheek, and I pull in a shaky breath.
“I wouldn’t mind a reminder,” I whisper.
Wes chuckles.
I kiss him with just as much fervor as before, and he stumbles back, opening the back door of his car and sliding me across the leather seat in what’s become a familiar maneuver.
I slip my hands along his abdomen and back down to his waist again.
“Maeve. You don’t have to prove anything,” Wes whispers to me. Despite some very heated make-out sessions, he’s never pushed for anything more, and I’ve been too nervous to initiate it myself. I’m assuming his cunctation is because he’s correctly surmised he’s much more experienced than I am.
“I know. I want to.” I tell him.
It’s true. After the conversation we just had, I’m not worried Wes is going to look elsewhere if we don’t escalate our physical relationship. But I want to take advantage of the fact I’m the one able to touch him this way. The one he wants to touch him.
He lets me slide my hand down and inside the loose material, and sucks in a sharp breath when I begin to stroke the long length I encounter. He’s already hard.
“Tell me what to do,” I whisper in his ear as I pull his sweatpants down.
Wes groans. “Harder.” I increase the pressure of my hand as I glide along his shaft.
“Fuck, Maeve,” Wes begins kissing along my neck again, and it’s my turn to groan as I stroke him faster and faster. He flexes in my hold, and I feel powerful. Desired. I would never admit this to anyone, but I’ve spent a lot of time fantasizing about this very moment. What it would feel like to have Weston Cole at my mercy. Throbbing pulses of heat fill my own body as the sound of Wes finding his release fills the car.
He cleans himself up and then rolls so he's on top of me. “You’re so fucking sexy, Maeve,” he murmurs to me. His voice is rough and husky, and it sends shivers along my skin.
Wes dips his hands underneath the hem of my sweatshirt, and lets them drift upwards, taking the soft material with them as he kisses along the exposed skin. Goosebumps trail in their wake. He tugs my jeans down. I’m wearing the same pink thong as the night we went swimming a few hundred feet from where we are now, and I can tell Wes remembers by the way his eyes flare with additional heat. His hand slides down my abdomen, and inside my lacy underwear. Every nerve ending in my body comes to life as he starts to move his fingers in my most intimate place, and it doesn’t take long for pleasure to erupt through every last one, blanketing my entire body in warmth despite the chilly temperature.
Wes leans down and kisses me again. It’s not as frenzied as before. It’s soft and intimate. Filled with shared secrets and singular moments.
We’re quiet after that, soaking up each other’s company. I feel closer to him than I ever have before. Not because I just shared more with him physically than I have with anyone else, but because it’s accompanied with an emotional intimacy I’ve never shared with anyone else, either. With an emotion I’m scared to name.
“Do you want to go inside?” Wes asks. “It’s getting cold.”
“Inside?” I ask.
“Yeah. I have a key to the cabin,” Wes informs me.
“What? You do?”
“My uncle only comes for a couple weeks in the summer now. He likes to have me look in on the place during the rest of the year.”
“Your uncle gave you keys to a cabin he never uses? That’s convenient.”
Wes smirks. “I’ve never used it like that. I just stop in a couple times a month to make sure everything’s working. I’ve been here more with you than in the past three years combined. I would have suggested it before, but I didn’t want you to think I expected anything.”
“You’re not worried about that now?” I ask.
“Not really,” Wes replies, still smirking. “You obviously have no issue escalating things when you want to.”
I blush. “It’s not that I haven’t wanted to before,” I admit. “But that—that was the first time I’d done any of that.”
Wes gives me a soft smile. “I’m not in a rush, Maeve. I’m good with whatever. I promise.”
I study his features, ones that have been familiar ever since the Glenmont game against Alleghany our freshman year catapulted him to local fame. The county newspaper the following morning featured a full page spread heralding him as Alleghany’s saving grace after they’d resigned themselves to another four years of frustration. I don’t see Alleghany’s quarterback when I look at him now, though. At the twinkling blue eyes and the ruffled light brown hair.
They’re right there, those three words. On the tip of my tongue.
“Let’s go inside,” I say instead.
Being alone with Wes in the cabin suddenly seems less dangerous than staying in his car. We both get fully dressed, and then slide out of his car and head to the front door of the cabin. I study it closely for the first time. I’m normally too eager to see Wes to take in the scenery, although I’ve spent dozens of hours sitting right in front of it over the past couple months. It’s small. Welcoming. Rather than the traditional logs, the outside of it is constructed from vertical boards of wood. The planks are weathered from years of exposure to the elements. A small fire pit sits to the right of the front door, and directly behind it is the outside shell of a massive brick fireplace. I follow Wes up the two front steps, shivering. Now that we’ve left the wind shelter of his car, the icy gale rips through the cotton material of my sweatshirt with no barrier to block it.
Wes unlocks the front door, and flicks on the lights. I step on top of a striped, multi-colored rug, glancing around the living room curiously. An overstuffed, plush couch stretches almost the full length of the room, facing the massive fireplace that takes up most of the wall it looks towards. A small coffee table sits between the couch and fireplace, the surface littered with old magazines and well-worn paperbacks. There’s a dark green wood stove sitting in the corner.
The floor plan is open, so I can see past the couch into the kitchen, with a small eating nook off to one side. A sliding door leads to a screened porch that juts off from the wall of the cabin, overlooking the woods that separate it from the lake.
“I like it,” I tell Wes, smiling.
He grins back. “Ye
ah, I loved coming here as a kid. I used to beg my parents for a bunk bed back in the city the same way I had here.”
“How come your uncle doesn’t come here anymore?” I ask.
Wes shrugs. “I’m pretty sure my mom told him about the affairs. Or he found out somehow. He and my dad never got along, but things have been especially tense the past couple years. They’ve barely spent any time here since the summer after our freshman year.”
“They?”
“My uncle, aunt, and cousin. He’s the one who threw that party we first talked at.”
“Oh, that’s right,” I remember. “Are you guys close?”
“We were when we were younger. Not so much anymore. He’s a few years older, and we hardly see each other these days.”
“Is this you?” I ask, picking up a framed photograph of a young boy holding up a small fish proudly. I know it is, the little kid has the same cerulean eyes and dimpled smile as the grown-up Wes standing in front of me.
“Yeah, it is.” Wes confirms.
“Who’s this?” I ask, pointing to the older man just visible behind him.
“My grandfather. He had this place built when my mom was little.”
“So she grew up coming here, too?”
“Yeah, she always wanted to move to Fayetteville, actually, but my dad said it was too important for his business to stay in the city. Guess her catching him with his secretary finally made him amenable to the idea.” Wes lets out a derisive snort, but I hear the underlying pain in his words.
I give him a sympathetic smile. “How come you moved to Alleghany, then?”
“She found a house she liked better there,” Wes replies.
“Huh.” My use of Wes’s casual catchphrase doesn’t accurately convey how I’m feeling. I’m imagining how different—how much easier—my life would be if Weston Cole had moved to Fayetteville instead of Alleghany.
Kiss Now, Lie Later Page 12
