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Wes chuckles. “I’m at lunch with the guys. My mom is the only person who calls me like it’s still 1986.” His voice is teasing. “Aren’t you at lunch?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Well, who did you tell your friends you were calling?”
“My mom,” I sigh.
I can practically feel his smugness through the phone. “Huh.”
I laugh. “It’s worse when you say it over the phone.”
“Cole! Let’s go!” I hear called through the background.
“I’ll be right there,” Wes shouts back. He lowers his voice again. “So, what’s up? Everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine. I just—”
“Hey, Weston.” I hear a girl’s flirty voice in the background. There’s a pause on his end, and I can picture the sexy smirk he’s probably giving her.
“COLE!” is hollered again in the background.
“I’ve got to go,” Wes tells me. I think there’s regret in his voice, but I can’t tell for sure.
“Right. Of course. Bye.” I hang up before he can, faced with another uncomfortable reality. I called Wes for an assurance. Of what, I’m not quite certain.
That we still mean something?
That it doesn’t matter he’s surrounded by people who hate me, and I’m surrounded by people who hate him?
That we didn’t always have a set expiration date?
Our brief call didn’t answer any of those questions. It complicated things further.
Ever since he moved there, Weston’s been Alleghany’s most popular resident. I’ve seen the girls holding signs at our games against Alleghany. I’ve heard the rumors about his hook-ups. I’ve listened to my friends gush about how gorgeous he is.
Ever since our conversation freshman year, I’ve paid a little closer attention any time his name comes up. Wondering if the troubled, sad boy lamenting his parents’ fissured marriage was still in there, or if I’d just caught him on a bad night. Wondering if he’d ever listened for rumors about his dad’s infidelity the way I listened for rumors about my dad’s alcoholism.
Talking and training with Wes all summer was a mistake. Spending every night since his birthday last week kissing him in the backseat of his car was a terrible idea. Both uncharacteristic, reckless actions. But allowable ones.
The feelings churning through me right now aren’t inconsequential ones, though. The flashes of jealousy, envy, doubt, insecurity, and possessiveness indicate I’ve gotten a lot more attached to Wes than just appreciating his smirk. And that is not something I can afford.
I spend the rest of the day pushing Weston Cole as far from my mind as I can. Thankfully, the rest of lunch passes without any mention of him, and my afternoon classes pass quickly.
As soon as the final bell rings, I head to the office to pick up my cleats. Matt’s leaning against the wall when I enter the room. I look between him and the empty desk where the elderly receptionist normally sits.
“Where’s Mrs. Jones?”
Matt shrugs. “I just got here, and she was already missing.”
“Huh,” I reply, and curse internally, mentally addingannoying vocabularyto the long list of reasons why I should stay far away from Weston Cole.
“What did you forget?” Matt asks me, grinning.
You only come to the office for one of two things: a visit to our principal or to pick up something you forgot in the morning. I’m not surprised he assumes I’m here for the latter, since I’ve never entered this office for the former.
“My cleats,” I respond. “You?”
“Football shorts,” Matt admits. “My mom was unsuccessfully trying to get the grass stains out, and I forgot to grab them from the laundry room this morning.”
