Page 76 of Make Me Laugh

I add one more thing to my list, selecting Add To All, so it merges with my every day calendars.

3. Do not fall for West fucking Isakson!

The party’s loud and less than an hour in, I’m already overstimulated enough to consider leaving without a goodbye, but because I know the boys would absolutely lose their minds if I did, I sneak out back and find an unoccupied bench swing hanging from a big oak tree.

Enzo’s inside playing bodyguard and the last I saw, West was helping Kell do his first keg stand. How did he go through four years of college without a single keg stand?

I left before West could convince me to do one.

Flopping down, I stick one leg underneath my butt and leave the other on the ground to push the swing every so often. I pull out a fresh joint from inside my purse and light it, taking my first full hit after the paper burns for a few seconds.

All the static and fuzz in my mind slips away.

Weed might be what some consider a gateway, but it’s always been the only thing to calm me without adding more anxiety during the comedown.

I’ve tried all the Big Pharma stuff—I’m glad it works for others, but I could never find anything that brought me the calm weed does. So, I eventually stopped searching.

I pull my Harvard hat off my head—of course I’m going to rep my Alma Mater the entire weekend. Yale’s our biggest rival—running a hand through my hair, and as I’m about to put the joint out, a familiar voice distracts me. “I knew I’d find you out here!”

West jogs across the lawn, diving for the swing. It creaks under his added weight as he sprawls out, shaking the sturdy branch we hang from. Instead of sitting on his side of the cushioned bench like a normal person, West props his back against the arm rest and throws his legs over my lap, feet dangling off the other end.

“Dude, hello?” I ask, waving at the tree-trunks for legs squishing me. I’m rigid, unsure what to do when he’s touching me. I’ve never been a touchy-feely person. I can probably count how many times I’ve been the one to initiate a hug with someone other than Frankie on both hands.

I show my love through actions, never understanding why someone would need physical affection to feel loved. I’m sure my therapist would give me a psychological reason for this based on my crippling abandonment issues, but I choose not to ask. It’s another one of my many quirks!

I settle into the weight of West’s legs quicker than I expect, realizing the suffocating feeling I usually get when someone is too close isn’t sitting at the edge of my mind waiting to attack.

He ignores me, plucking the joint from my fingers, and takes a drag I know he’ll regret. West coughs for a good ten seconds before handing it back to me.

I take one more puff and put it out, a gust of wind picking up, turning the night air cold.

He must catch the shiver I try to conceal, because he asks, “where’s your jacket?” Abruptly looking around for it on one of the many lawn chairs scattered around the backyard.

“I left it at the theater. I figured I’d go get it tomorrow morning.” In my defense, I didn’t see anything about a storm or drop in temperatures tonight when I looked this afternoon.

“Joey,” West scolds me as he sits up, dragging his legs across my lap. He reaches for the edges of his hoodie with crossed arms.

“I’m fine.” I reach out to stop him, grabbing both wrists. He fights me, the swing swaying under our jerky movements. “I've got long sleeves. I’ll sur⁠—”

“No, no. Let me be a gentleman,” he cuts me off, struggling to get out of his hoodie with me tugging it in the opposite direction.

“West, seriously, keep your clothes on.” I want to be annoyed, but god, here he goes again, being cute! I can’t keep the smile off my face or hide the happy staccato of my voice.

He’s got one arm out of the hoodie, using it to hold my grabby hands back. “If I weren’t kinda drunk and very high, I’d have so many comebacks for that.”

We laugh while we struggle, our limbs getting all mixed up.

West is winning, but I’m not ready to give up yet. “No, stop it.” There’s no seriousness in my words, both of us laughing as we continue to wrestle each other. I don’t know how he does it, but I blink and he’s out of his hoodie and it’s over my head.

I’m assaulted by West’s smoky scent filling my nostrils. It paralyzes me, giving him the moment he needs to fumble my arms into the correct holes.

He sits back, still wearing his fucking crop top, looking smitten with himself.

“Do you feel better now?” I ask, fighting for my life to not sink into the warmth of his hoodie wrapped around me.

“So much. Thank you for making that easy on me.” His dimpled smile kills me, making me want to melt into the cushion beneath me.

I think I want to melt into West instead. “If you wanted to see me in your clothes again, all you had to do was say that.”