Jackson holds up his hands as he walks backwards toward his locker. “That’s all I ask.”
“Come on, Captain,” Zak says, standing and hoisting his bag onto his shoulder. “You’re going to be last to the party.”
I grunt my response. We’re hosting a celebratory party at the Den, but I really can’t be bothered. Now the adrenaline has dissipated, I want to be alone. Although, perhaps a party is the best way to distract me from thinking about Wes. A small pitiful part of me wonders if he’ll show, but I quash it fast. There’s no way. And why would he? I practically told him I regretted sleeping with him.
By the time I’m dressed and packed up, I’m the last one left in the locker room. Grabbing my bag and stepping outside, the near silence of the stadium hits me like a sledgehammer. Now, grayed by twilight, it’s a stark contrast to the heaving, vibrant crowd of green and white from just over an hour ago.
I start down the path to the Den, but each footstep feels heavier than the last. We’ve been here before. This back and forth. It went on for months and I don’t want to go through it again. Last time, I hesitated because I was scared. I didn’t know what I wanted and had no idea how to get it. Now, that’s not a problem. I know what I want.
I want Wes.
Gritting my teeth, I turn and head back past Franklin West Hall toward the dorms. I’m done waiting. Wes is going to have to hear me out whether he wants to or not. Even if I have to shout it through his door. The thought has my stomach churning. What if I tell him I want more, and he says no? What if we really are done? His parting words send a shiver down my spine. ‘The next guy I let fuck me’. I don’t want there to be a ‘next guy’. I want him.
By the time I reach the entrance to the dorms, my mouth is dry and my heart is hammering faster than it did in the first quarter of tonight’s game. I force a smile at a freshman, and they let me in with a congratulations on the win. I choke out a thank you and jog up the stairs to Wes’ floor.
I raise my fist and knock, wondering if he heard the pounding of my heart first. When I hear movement on the other side of the door, I almost turn and run, but before I can take a step backwards, it opens, and Wes’ broad frame fills the space.
“Sol,” he says, his dark eyes wide as he looks from my face to the kit bag slung over my shoulder. “Hey.”
He’s still wearing the green sweatshirt I saw him wear to the game and as I stare at him, every word I wanted to say evaporates. This was a mistake.
“Sorry,” I mutter, turning to walk away.
Wes reaches out and grabs my jacket, hauling me into his room before I can protest. I shrug him off as he closes the door.
“What the hell?” I snap, straightening my clothes.
Wes frowns at me, then looks down at the carpet. “How was the game?”
I laugh. “You tell me.”
He looks up. “You saw me?”
“Yeah.”
“Congrats. It was a good game.”
I push a hand through my still-damp hair, frustration growing with every second. “You’re a dick, you know that?”
Wes’ eyes widen almost comically large behind his glasses. “Excuse me?”
“You heard,” I drop my bag on the floor and fold my arms. “You fucked me, walked out, and practically ghosted me. What the hell?”
Wes’ frown returns, his expression tightening. “You told me you regretted it. What the hell was I supposed to do?”
I shake my head. “I never said I regretted it. I said we shouldn’t have slept together at my parents’ house, not that we shouldn’t have at all.”
“That’s not how I remember it.”
This is so not how I imagined this conversation going. I scratch at the scruff on my jaw. Shaving has been low on my list of priorities over the last few days. “Even if that was the case, you couldn’t even meet up with me to talk about it like adults?”
Wes has the decency to look guilty. “I know. I just . . . I didn’t want this.”
“This?”
“A fight,” he says, gesturing between us. “I couldn’t figure out how to end things.”
My blood runs cold. “That’s what you want? To end things?”