“Tex?” West grumbled behind my back.
The whooshing of the pompom flying up and down in the air soothed me. It was something Tucker might have done. Back when I was still normal.
We all remember how that ended, right, Grace? So don’t get your hopes high.
“Yeah?”
“You ever gonna take off your makeup in front of me?”
I blinked at my screen, forcing my pulse to keep beating at a normal pace.
“Why are you asking?”
“I’ve seen every inch of your body up close, and I’m still here. I’ve never seen your face bare, though. Don’t you think that’s weird?”
“Nope.” I typed away on my keyboard. “I don’t feel comfortable showin’ my face to people.”
“Karlie has seen it. Marla too.”
I said nothing. He wasn’t Karlie. He wasn’t Marla either. He was the boy I loved—really loved, wasn’t just infatuated with—and I didn’t want him seeing me at my ugliest.
The realization that I loved him didn’t shock me, nor did it freak me out. In the back of my mind, I’d known it to be the truth for a while.
I was in love with West St. Claire.
Madly. Wholly. Obsessively, even.
He was the most complex man I’d ever met—sweet, caring, kind, responsible. But also violent, aggressive, offhanded, and cruel.
And I couldn’t get enough of him. I shook with fear from the thought that we were going to end at some point. He was going to graduate and move on, and I was going to stay here and mourn his loss.
“All I’m saying is, I want to kiss your face without it tasting like a wall.”
“Speakin’ of …” I swiveled in my chair, feeling my walls building up. “Don’t you think it’s unfair you know what happened to me, but you never told me what happened to you?”
I had no doubt West wasn’t about to share his darkest secret with me. Nothing had changed on that front. He still wouldn’t pick up the phone whenever his parents called—which was often—and became cagey whenever I brought up his old life in Maine.
“Life isn’t fair,” he clipped.
“Ah-huh. That’s what I thought.”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Why?” I asked, turning back to my laptop, pretending to type on my keyboard in an effort to appear casual. In reality, I was fully invested in the conversation. Of course I wanted to know. I was hungry for whatever information I could have from him. The only thing stopping me from asking Easton about what made West the way he was, was my loyalty to the man on my bed.
“Because you won’t be able to look me in the eye after you hear what I’ve done. Topic closed.”
The whooshing of the pompom stopped. My chest was knotted with anxiety. I’d already figured whatever happened to West was vastly different from what happened to me.
My battle scars were external, on the surface.
His were internal, but cut deep.
He was disfigured inside, perfect outside. A lethal combination.
“Reign is throwing a party this Saturday. You’re going.”
I spun my head around, spearing him with a deadly glare. “Reign’s an asshole.”
“Reign is harmless. And you’re going to have to face people at some point. You’re going,” he said again, calmly.
“Why would I go there?”
“Drink. Dance. Be a normal college chick.”
“I’m not a normal college chick,” I pointed out. “And the only friend I have would never go with me. Karlie has three study groups over the weekend. Are you crazy?”
“Not that I know of, but I wouldn’t rule it out completely. I’ve been known to do some pretty fucked-up shit. I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“Wait, you want to go together?” I slanted my head sideways, feeling my eyes widening. We never did anything together outside of my house. Outside of my bed. Unless I included the food truck, which I really couldn’t, because we were both paid to be physically present there at the same time.
West helped me with Grams, but I always thought of it as a kind of barter. Him looking out for me the way I looked out for him.
He sat up. “Yeah, together. Are you unfamiliar with the concept?”
“I … I didn’t think we were …” I tried to articulate the part that confused me, although in truth, it was all of it. “Together-together.”
So eloquent, Grace.
“You didn’t think we were together-together?” he repeated, dumbfounded.
“Why would I? You keep telling me it’s casual.”
“Casual shit still counts for something.”
I smiled bitterly. “Then consider me bad at math, because I don’t think it does.”
“Wait, am I your fluffer?” A cocky gleam zinged in his eyes.
“Fluffer?” I spluttered.
“You know, the person who jacks off porn stars or gives them half a blowie so they’ll get hard before the shoot. Someone who fucks the issues out of you, so that by the time Prince Charming rides into town, you’ll be ready for him?”
He said that with a smile, but I could tell he wasn’t joking. I was surprised he’d even suggest that, considering he was the one who went on and on about his no-strings-attached rule.