What if I’ve read the situation wrong? What if Wes doesn’t like me like that? What if I try to kiss him and he punches me? I put my shot glass down on a nearby table with a trembling hand. Despite seven years of lacrosse, I’ve never been punched before, and it’s something I’m happy to die without ever experiencing.
Fuck. Maybe I should wait and go to a bar in Portland. Anonymity and all that. I mean, what if I hate it? What if I really am just admiring his body for admiration’s sake? What if it’s nothing more than wanting to lean into him and inhale his scent and run my hands over his skin. I blink. Okay. Yeah. There’s more to it.
The truth is, I don’t want some random stranger. I want Wes.
I think.
Grabbing the bottle of tequila, I pour another shot and knock it back. Either way, I can’t hide out in the kitchen all night. He might not even come. He didn’t seem thrilled about the idea.
Taking a deep breath, I step away from the counter and head out into the heaving party. The heat is intense. Even though the windows are open and it’s forty degrees outside, the Den is hot enough that people have started to shed layers. The bass thuds in my core as I maneuver my way through the crowd, never making it more than a couple of steps without someone grabbing me to say something or touch me. Although I’m looking for someone else, I keep an eye out for Alex, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he’s back in his room.
By the time I reach the edge of the crowd, a little sweatier than I’d like, my nerves are awash with disappointment. He’s not here. He didn’t come. I lean against the wall by an open window, relishing the icy breeze whipping through, and close my eyes. It’s probably for the best.
It’s weird how the memory of his smell has etched its way into my brain. I can’t really remember how any girl that I’ve dated or crushed on smelled. Except perhaps Molly Sanderson in junior year of high school who always smelled like strawberry bubblegum. I smile, but as I inhale, all I can smell is the heady mix of spiced ginger and leather.
“It’s busy.”
I freeze at the deep voice at my ear.
“Wes.” The word comes out somewhere between a squeak and a croak as I find him leaning against the wall beside me.
My heart hammers alongside the pulsing beat of the music as I turn to look at him. He’s wearing black jeans and a pale blue denim button down, the first couple of buttons open and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. My eyes track the veins running along his smooth forearms before snapping to his face.
“You came,” I manage to say.
Wes stares at me in that intense way that sends a nervous shudder through my core. “I can’t stay long.”
My heart kicks up another notch.Great. A time constraint. I swear I’m going to have some sort of stroke before this night is done. I’m so out of my depth it’s ridiculous. The guy is standing right next to me, but I have no idea what to do with my limbs. I can’t speak. What the fuck would I normally do?
“You look good,” I say, attempting to sound a hell of a lot more casual than I feel.
Wes’ eyes narrow slightly behind his glasses before slowly looking me up and down. I try not to squirm as his gaze rakes over my favorite jeans and ‘lucky’ black t-shirt. When his attention moves back to my face, I swear he lingers a second on my mouth, and I swallow.
“You too,” he says, barely audible over the loud music.
I swallow again. If he were a girl, I’d ask him to dance, but if I danced with Wes I might as well be announcing my possibly altering sexuality to the whole of Franklin West. And although, apparently, it might not be as big of a surprise to everyone else as it was to me, I’d rather wait until I’m sure.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask.
Wes pushes off the wall, but I reach out and grab his arm, holding him in place. “It’s okay. I’ll get it. What do you want?”
His gaze flicks from where my hand is wrapped around his bicep to mine. “I’ll have a soda, please.”
I release him, the heat of his arm through his shirt seared into my palm. “I’ll be right back.”
If I thought the trek to the kitchen and back would bring me clarity, I’m sorely mistaken. What if he’s not there when I get back? What do I do when I get back? I knock back another shot of tequila, then grab a cola and a lemonade. I don’t know which he prefers, but I’ll drink the other one either way.
Wes is exactly where I left him, looking the very picture of calm and collected, whereas I’m a sweaty, trembling mess.
“I got you a choice,” I say, holding up the drinks. “Lemonade or cola?”
He reaches out and takes the lemonade from me, his fingers brushing against mine. “Thank you.”
I smile and return to my spot against the wall, my mind scrambling for things to talk about. “How’s swimming?”
Wes turns to me, and it’s clear he didn’t hear me over the music. “What?”
Leaning into him, I ask the question again by his ear, and the closeness of him has my heart thundering in my chest. It takes a hell of a lot of self-control not to stay there and close my eyes, breathing him in. How is it possible for someone to smell so good? I swear if I wasn’t already a little drunk, I’d get there off the smell of him.