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He presses his back against the wall to shuffle past me. I do the same, mirroring him. But he’s big, and the hallway is narrow, so there’s barely more than a foot between us. I hold my breath, trying not to notice the scent of soap drifting off him. Though holding my breath pushes my chest out, and I know he sees that because he swallows audibly.
Somehow, we work our way past each other without touching, which is almost disappointing. I wonder what his chest would feel like under my fingers, or against my breasts, if we had been close enough to brush against one another. It’s better that we didn’t, but that doesn’t make me any less curious.
Wes pauses at his door and casts me a sideways glance. “I’ll…uh… see you downstairs.”
I nod and dart into the bathroom before finally taking a full breath, which does little to calm my racing heart.
Wes is…perfection. And now that I know what’s underneath the clothes he wears, I’m not sure how I can keep that image out of my mind. Or my body under control. I’m flushed, my pulse is off the charts, and there’s a current running throughout me, but especially between my legs. I’ve never felt any of this before, and feeling it for the guy who lives across the hall is all kinds of wrong. Logically I know that. Emotionally, I’m desperate to feel this again. I want to go back to the hall and look at him, and know he’s looking at me, and feel alive.
Instead, I jump in the shower.
The water helps return my body to its normal state, although it doesn’t stop my mind from racing. If anything, it only makes me more confused. Was Wes seeingmein the hall, or just a barely dressed girl? Could he tell how much he affected me? How do I act normal in front of him after that encounter? Pretend it never happened? Talk about it only if he does? Ask if I can move in with my dad?
I take as much time as possible getting ready, stalling until the absolute last minute so Mom and Anthony will be long gone before I get downstairs. Facing Wes for the first time will be bad enough, but facing him with an audience is too much for me to handle.
He’s in the kitchen when I finally make my way downstairs. “Ready when you are,” I say more to the pantry than him while fishing around for a granola bar.
I hear him grab his bag and fall into step behind me as we make our way to the truck. Neither of us speaks on the drive, although I can feel him casting glances in my direction. I’m not sure what type of glances since I can’t bring myself to meet them, and I’d rather pretend I don’t notice them than to see anything like remorse or regret or, even worse, pity.
Wes is no stranger to girls looking at him with interest, so it’s unlikely he missed the interest in my gaze this morning. I’m well aware of how forbidden that interest is, so I’m hoping he doesn’t feel the need to play big brother and remind me of our circumstances, as if that would let me down easy.
When we get to school, I jump out of the truck the moment he shifts into park. “See you later. ”I know he’s trying to catch up with me, but whatever conversation he’s now ready to have I don’t want to get into at school.
***
The knock is so soft I would have missed it if I wasn’t expecting it. “Come in,” I say evenly.
By some unspoken agreement Wes has stayed out of my room since the day he helped me move in, and I’ve stayed out of his. I'm assuming the towel incident prompted this visit given the awkward look on his face. Dammit, I had hoped we could pretend that never happened. Actually, why can't we?
“Are we okay?”He pauses in the doorway and stuffs his hands in his pockets, which only accentuates his lean hips.
“Fine.” I set my notebook on the end table.
"You've barely said a word to me since this morning. Are you sure we're good?"
"Fine."
“Would you stop saying that?” He pulls his brows together.
“Would you stop asking?” I know he means well, but talking about this morning is not going to help matters.
“No.”
“No, what?” I shake my head.
“I won’t stop asking. You never avoid me so obviously something's wrong.” He crosses the room and sits at the end of my bed, causing my heartbeat to kick up a notch.
“You don’t know me well enough to assume that.” It’s a shitty thing to say, but that doesn’t make it any less true. I like to be alone when I'm feeling rattled, and this morning got me good. It'll pass as long as he doesn't force me to face it, which he doesn't know because he hasn't seen it happen.
“You know what, you’re right.” He stands up and starts pacing, the muscles in his arms coiled with tension. “I live with you and I hardly know you.”
“I wouldn’t say hardly.” I backtrack, sensing I’ve hurt his feelings. This is so not the direction I expected things to go.
“No, I’d say hardly.” He continues pacing. “For everything you tell me about yourself there’s a million things you don’t. You love running, but what for? You hate football, how come? The Princess Bride is your favorite movie, but why? Is the actor cute? Did you want to be Buttercup growing up? Why?”
“That’s not fair.” I try to keep the hurt out of my voice. “It’s not like I know everything about you.”
“You know it’s my dream to play football, you know I secretly follow The Bachelor. Hell, you know I’d do anything to make my dad happy, even..." He abruptly stops pacing and turns to face me. "Anything."
