“I am sure you will be.” She’s leaning against the kitchen counter, looking so sweet and so sure of me.
“You’ve never heard us play.” I grab her string cheese from her hands and take a bite.
“You gotta thing for swapping spit with me?” She questions and my face goes red. Not because I am embarrassed for eating after her, but swapping spit makes me think of kissing.
Is that what she means?
Should I kiss her?
Do I want to kiss her?
My palms are sweaty. I’ve kissed a girl before, but this is Fancy. She’s still leaning against the counter, waiting for me to say or do something. She’s smirking at me, taunting me with her lips. Her brownish green doe eyes are soft and warm, inviting me in.
Just when I am about to make my move the sound of a car pulling into the carport stops me. I let out an exasperated breath. Peyton doesn’t notice the disappointment and relief I am feeling as it crosses my face. She’s still grinning. I kiss her forehead instead and she goes still. Her heart is beating fast as is mine. “One day, Fancy, we are going to swap spit, but it won’t be from my eating after you.” I push away from her as she lets the meaning of my words settle in that creative mind she has. “I’ll see you later.” I walk out the front door as her Nana is walking into the kitchen.
Chapter 8
Peyton
It’s been a few hours since I laid eyes on Jameson and I’m still shaken up. I had five years without him, and now I am consumed with thoughts of him as if he never left. Jameson was my life, my whole world revolved around him and his band.
I lost myself when Jameson left me.
“How was your day?” Wes asks, kissing me on the cheek as he comes in from work.
“Good, I’m tired. Barb is driving me crazy with all the tiny details.” I tell him, rolling my eyes.
He loosens his tie and frowns at me. “I thought women loved all this wedding business. Don’t you start planning as a kid,” he teases.
“I’m not most girls.” I smile. A wedding—marriage, was never on the table for me really. Jameson got that about me. He knew I never wanted to plan ahead. I have always loved just living in the moment. At least I did until…I can’t think about that right now.
Some days I feel as if Wes doesn’t know me at all. He sees me as arm candy and his way to get my dad to make him a full partner. Not that Barb would care. My Dad might but he’d probably keep his mouth shut. He isn’t big on confrontation outside of the courtroom.
“What’s for dinner?” He talks over me ignoring my comment.
“I ordered a pizza. It’ll be here in about fifteen minutes.”
“Damn it, Pey, I expect a warm meal on the table when I come through the door,” he says gruffly stomping his way to the shower.
I sigh and get a glass of water. Things between us haven’t been so hot for a while now. I don’t know what I am doing with him. I guess he’s my safety net. I should probably call things off all together. I know that. I’ve known that since he proposed, but it was like an automatic impulse to say yes. We were at a firm function and everyone was staring at me. I felt too much pressure and Wes seemed so happy I didn’t want to disappoint him. Then Barb jumped on me with all these wedding plans and before I knew it a date had been set.my father was so happy seeing us spend time together. I know I can’t live my life to please them all but it’s not a fight I want to have right now.
I planned on cooking dinner, but I was distracted. I was cleaning out more of my things from my Nana’s and came across my scrapbook. The one I made with Jameson. I spent a majority of my day curled up in bed, reliving the past, page by painful page. I have been slowly clearing my old room out and moving things here or into storage. Mostly into storage. Maybe a part of me hopes this wedding won’t happen. I’m a horribly selfish person. The situation is complicated though. Too many people are involved and counting on me.
The doorbell buzzes with our pizza. I already paid when I ordered online. I still tip the guy a few extra dollars even though I added a tip when I paid.
Wes comes down the hall drying his dark hair with a towel. He sits at the counter while I get him a plate and a beer. Sometimes I feel more like his personal assistant than his girlfriend. I’m always running his errands and waiting on him it seems. Not that I mind doing little things to help him out, but if I ask for him to do something for me, he’s too busy, and I don’t understand the stress he’s under. So he says anyway.
“What are you and the girls up to this weekend? I have a meeting with a client Friday night and a dinner with my parents Sunday.”
“Actually, we’re going out Saturday to do some shopping for the honeymoon, I still haven’t found a bathing suit I feel will wow you.” He smiles at that. “Then a light lunch and a massage. I’ll probably go back to the room for a nap before we do dinner and go out dancing. My bridal shower is Sunday.”
He snarls and says, “So you’re basically saying you made plans around mine, so I won’t get any time with you. That's just great, Peyton.” He pushes from his stool shaking his head and muttering.
Just as he slams his plate in the garbage my cell phone rings.
“Hello,” I answer softly, cringing as I see Wes getting agitated. He thinks I should ignore my phone completely when we are together. I agree to a point, but I like being available to my grandparents. They are used to me living with them and being able to count on me.
“Peyton Mathews?” The cheery woman asks.