Page 77 of Make Me Laugh

Without missing a beat, West says, “I don’t wanna see you in my clothes. I wanna see you naked spread out on this swing.”

My body flushes, going cold as all the blood disappears from inside it.

I know he feels me shudder by the way his eyes react. They go from wide and playful to downright dirty in a millisecond. “I’ve learned so much about you today, Joey baby.” His voice is a purr and before I know it, he’s in my bubble.

Wait… No.

I’m in his bubble.

When did I lean so far in?

I realize the hat he’d been wearing all night was knocked off during our scuffle. His hair’s ruffled with some of the longer strands falling across his forehead.

I don’t know if I’ve ever felt whatever this is between me and West, and I’ve definitely never been one to say the thing that comes out of my mouth next. “Oh yeah? What else do you wanna know?”

The intensity of his stare doesn’t waver, but I can see the gears turning in his mind, like he’s searching for the perfect question to ask. “What are you thinking? Right now.”

Fuck, I want to kiss him. My eyes fall to his lips, and I think he knows what I want.

I didn’t drink tonight, not trusting whatever was being poured at this party.

I’m high, but that doesn’t affect my logical thinking.

West’s drunk though… Not hammered or sloppy, but I can see the glaze over his eyes. He doesn’t want me because he’s drunk. He wants me because I’m what he can’t have, or at least that’s what I keep telling myself. And with the way he’s looking at me, I need all the reminding I can get.

There are at least fifty girls inside who would happily give him exactly what he wants tonight, and yet, here he is, staring at me like I’m the only one who matters.

I could see myself falling for his charm, but the reminder in my phone beeps like an alarm in my mind.

Don’t fall for West.

I can’t let myself get burned.

“How did you tear your ACL?” I ask, instead of begging him to kiss me like I want.

It takes a second for the question to register. I follow the line of West’s sight, knowing he’s looking at the lips he doesn’t get to kiss.

He hesitantly leans back and takes a breath, repositioning himself with both feet on the ground. We’re no longer touching, and every time this happens, I lose the warm buzz my body gets from him.

“You know how to keep a guy on his toes,” he drawls.

I smile and scrunch my nose as an apology.

West sighs and runs a hand through his hair, slipping the hat he'd been wearing all day back on.

I groan internally when he puts it on the wrong way. Why? Why are backwards hats so hot?

Thankfully, West starts talking, and it’s the distraction I need to compose myself. “It was my junior year of college, and Michigan made it to the Frozen Four.”

I don’t know a lot about hockey, but I know enough to get me by.

“We were up by three with low time on the clock, and the other team knew they were about to lose. They started doing whatever they could to get under our skin, looking to piss us off.” West fidgets with one of the rings he wears. “Our goalie took a purposeful hit, and in hockey, that’s the equivalent to talking about someone’s mom. Totally off limits. I took off to defend him and another one of their players hit me skating full speed at the wrong angle. And pop!”

I shiver from the mimicked sound.

“We won the game, and I was rushed to the emergency room with what we all knew was an ACL tear. We lost the final game the next day, but I was hopeful, as were my coaches, that I’d be back on the ice for my senior season.”

I never played sports. Hell, I’ve never competed for anything that wasn’t academic in my entire life. I have a fear of balls flying towards my face at a high speed…