Page 75 of Make Me Laugh

As if six and half years is enough to make me a cougar!

I’m frustrated the entire show—with no one but myself.

Avoiding West has proven impossible, which, duh! I’m literally living out of a fucking camper with the dude and running his social media. What did I expect?

Then there’s the annoying realization that I don’t actually want to avoid him. I like being around him, but is that because he’s my friend or because he gave me six orgasms in one night and I’m secretly hoping he’ll do it again one day?

Can you even be just friends with someone who gave you six orgasms? I’m leaning towards no…

West starts to wind down, nearing the end of his set. I’ve learned his flow, albeit different every night with his improv–style routine.

“Yale, you sexy nerds.” The crowd bellows, accepting their title. “Thank you so much for a fun first night in New Haven, and hey, sorry about Harvard over there.” He nods my way, and every pair of eyes in the sold-out venue land on me in my crimson Harvard ball cap. “I’ve got a thing for smart witches.” West unwraps the mic cord from around his wrist and continues before anyone can heckle me like someone tried earlier. “Wear your seatbelt, don’t drink and drive, and tell your mom I said hi.”

There are only a few ritualistic things West does on stage. The mic around his wrist is one, and his outro is another. I’m starting to put a picture together without all the details, puzzle piecing bits of information West has given me without saying much.

The crowd roars with applause, and I slip through the side stage door before West exits, navigating through the theater’s dark and narrow backstage hallways.

I nearly collide with someone not paying attention as they round the corner. “Shit, my b—” I cut myself short when I recognize the girl.

Megan. From the gym, and she’s surrounded by a few friends who give off old money vibes too.

“Oh! Hi!” She sounds buzzed already, looking around as if West’s going to pop out of thin air.

How the fuck did she get back here?

The answer to my question comes up behind her with his usual goofy smile. “Hi, Jo! Megan told me she met West at the gym and said he’s going to a party with her tonight?”

I don’t think Kell misunderstood her. I’m sure that’s exactly what Megan told him.

Before I can be petty and ask if West texted her, the smell of his cologne hits me, and I turn my head to find him connected to the arm sliding across my shoulders. “It was Joey’s idea, actually.”

Megan schools her face into neutrality, but I catch the way she looks between me and West—like we don’t belong together.

We aren’t together… Shit.

I slip out from under his arm, immediately missing the warmth of his body. “I just feel like I’d be missing out if I didn’t experience West Parker at a frat party.”

The smile he gives me spells trouble, like it appears across his face one letter at a time. “You think I’m bad now? You should have met me five years ago.”

“No thanks.” I scrunch my nose and shake my head.

“He was so much worse,” Enzo adds, wiggling through the college girls who have begun to gawk at the unit of an Englishman joining us.

“I dunno. I think we’d personally love to see that side of him,” Megan coos, batting her eyelashes as she points at her friends in tow.

They nod enthusiastically, looking at West like he’s a prize to be won and they’d gladly take turns battling it out for him.

Listen, I get it—the man looks like a fucking Roman god statue, but I’m starting to see what he means by no one seeing him.

They don’t care to look through the curtain to the man West is offstage. People want him to be that guy all the time, and while I don’t believe strangers on the internet need to know everything there is about a person, letting them get a glimpse of the West I’m getting to know wouldn’t hurt his image any.

While Kell gets the location to the party, I open to my favorite app, adding a new to-do list for tomorrow.

1. West Wednesdays? (fun facts, personal things, get to know)

2. Bitches love hockey players! (It’s me, I’m bitches—lean into this/athletic brand deals?)

When I look up from my phone, West is staring at me with a sideways smile. My face heats, and I’m suddenly thankful for how dark it is backstage. If West sees me blushing I’ll never hear the end of it.