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He guides me over to the large bed, and a thrill of anticipation joins the adrenaline already pumping through me. But Wes doesn’t press things any further than we’ve already taken them. He hovers over me and just keeps kissing me. And kissing me. And kissing me.
I rapidly lose track of time, the same way I do whenever I’m around Weston Cole. Especially when I’m kissing him. It could have been minutes, or an hour could have passed by the time we pull apart.
“I’m going to take that as an affirmative response,” I inform him.
Wes grins. “I’m good with that.”
“Okay,” I reply, smiling back. “I did mean what I said about being busy, though. I have soccer, and school, and student council, and—”
Wes cuts me off. “I don’t exactly sit around all day, Maeve. I’ll manage to entertain myself.”
“I know; I didn’t mean it like that,” I assure him. “You just said I’d been avoiding you, which was kind of true, but it was mostly that I have a lot going on.”
“I know you do. It was just the avoiding part I had a problem with,” Wes tells me. “We’ll see each other when we can, okay?”
“Okay.”
We catch up on each other’s weeks until I happen to catch a glimpse of the alarm clock on Wes’s bedside table.
“Oh my god, it’s already nine?” I’ve been at Wes’s for almost three hours.
Wes looks just as surprised. “I guess so.” He lets out a disbelieving laugh.
“I’ve got to go. I told my mom I’d be home hours ago.”
Wes nods. “Okay. I’ve got a paper to write, anyway.”
I slide off his bed, straightening my clothes. “This time I will see you around.”
He grins. “It was still nice kissing you.”
I feel myself blush. “As fun as the roof was, I’m going to use the front door this time,” I say as I head over to his bedroom door.
“Good thinking,” Wes replies. He climbs off his bed and grabs a sweatshirt hanging on the back of his desk chair. “Hang on, I’ll walk you out.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I assure him. “Start your paper.”
“I want to,” he insists. “Plus, I know how many of those true crime podcasts you listen to. I don’t want you to survive climbing my roof, only to be snatched by a serial killer.”
“You were actually listening when I was talking about those?” I ask, surprised.
I spouted a lot of random knowledge during our football sessions, but I didn’t think Wes was paying attention, much less would remember what I was saying.
“Was I listening to you while you were talking to me? Uh, yes,” Wes replies.
“Huh,” I respond, and he grins.
“Your house is really nice,” I compliment as I follow him down the grand staircase.
“I can’t take any credit for it,” Wes replies. “My mom likes to redecorate when she’s upset or stressed. Which means she tends to redo things as soon as they’re finished.”
“It looked like they were arguing. When I saw them in the living room.”
“They were,” Wes confirms. “My mom found out the woman he had an affair with in the city was at a dinner he went to last night.”
“That’s awful.”
“Yeah,” Wes sighs. “I feel bad for her, but I don’t know what else to say. It’s her choice to stay, you know? I’ve told her I’m fine with them getting divorced.”
