Every Kiss (12 page)

Instead, I throw in some jeans and a touristy Panama Beach
t-shirt. To sleep in, I grab some yoga pants and a sunny yellow racer-back
tank, and of course, I add the black shorts and band t-shirt, just in case. You
never know when you might need an extra set of clothes. I’m only being
practical.

When I come back out, I find Wes lying down, practically
dwarfing my twin sized bed. I drop my bag beside his legs. “What the hell are
you doing?”

He unfolds his hands draped across his chest and wiggles his
fingers at me. “Not touching anything. Your bed is surprisingly comfortable,
and it smells good. Like your hair.”

“Hmm.” I have nothing else to say. I can feel heat creeping
up into my cheeks, so I turn toward my dresser, trying to figure out how I’ll
get my panties and bra out without him seeing anything. I look back over my
shoulder to my bag, then to him, then into my drawer. I could just walk back to
the bed and bring the bag back over here, but what the hell. He deserves some
payback for making me think he was going to kiss me.

Instead of opting for the more sensible cotton variety of
underwear, I decide on what will have the most impact. The most bang for my
proverbial buck. I won’t be as comfortable, but it’s a small price to pay. I
dig to the back of the drawer and strike gold. I bought this set at Victoria’s
Secret because I fell in love with it, but I haven’t ever worn it. It’s
lingerie that requires a very sexy occasion, and I haven’t felt the need to
break it out yet. I think shock value trumps sexy today.

“Hey, put these in my bag, will you?” I toss the wad of lace
at him. “I have to get my stuff from the bathroom.”

He catches them deftly, not realizing what it is he’s
catching until it all unfurls in his hands. “Sure, uh . . . sure.”

“Thanks.” I wait for him to blush. To stare into his hands
as if the lace is burning into his skin, but aside from his momentary stammer,
he recovers coolly.

He holds them up inspecting the sheer, black fabric, both
trimmed in fire red satin. “Well, color me surprised. As tight as you wear your
jeans, I had you pegged for a thong kind of girl.”

I groan and storm off, calling to him from my bathroom.
“Just put them in my bag, jackass.”

He can so easily get to me, even though guys rarely do. I
think so much like them that I don’t usually fall prey to their games, but Wes
. . . he keeps me off kilter, and it pisses me off. Especially when I can’t
beat him at his own game. I’m not used to that. To think that I actually
thought throwing sexy underwear in his face would get him. This is the guy that
watched me strip, shower, and dress, all from his bed, and he never flinched.
Yeah, he admitted later that it messed with his head a little, but I need that
outward proof. That sure sign that he’s flustered, for even a second.

But like he said, I’m stubborn. I won’t give up. I’m going
to make that stone exterior crack. Even rock eventually gives way under enough
pressure.

I zip my toiletry bag and step back inside my room to find
Wes still lying on my bed. Mr. Hilarious has my bra draped over his eyes like a
sleep mask. “You’re an idiot,” I say, snatching it away and stuffing it in my
bag.

He gasps in mock offense and pretends to cry. “Why are you
so mean to me?” He dabs at the corner of his eyes with my panties before his
fake sobs are overcome with deep laughter.

I hold out my duffel bag with a deadpan expression until he
drops them inside. As much as I want to hate him, as much as I want to be angry
with him, I just can’t. I like this Wes. The playful, teasing one. This Wes
doesn’t have a permanent furrow in his brow like Tall, Dark, and Moody or Sexy
Suit CEO does. This Wes looks younger, happier.

Before I can say “I’m ready,” he’s already anticipated it,
jumping up from my bed and smoothing the comforter down before holding his hand
out for my bag.

“Let’s do it.”

We almost get completely out the front door when I remember
something. “Just a sec,” I call out as I run back in to my bathroom,
reappearing only seconds later.

“I forgot my face wash,” I announce as I turn the corner.
Instead of just Wes, I’m also met with my neighbor across the hall. As always,
she’s adorably cute in her short cotton shorts, the lack of length further
amplified by the fact that her legs must be twice as long as mine. And I swear
her boobs are at least twice as big. I can admit she’s hot, even though I
absolutely can’t stand her.

“Well hello, Cal. Looks like there’s a slumber party
tonight. Can I be invited?” She trails a finger down Wes’ chest. He silently
watches with one eyebrow raised.

“Sorry, no. Maybe another time, Sienna.” No catfights in
front of Wes. He’d enjoy that way too much.

She sticks out her bottom lip at him. “Aww. But I really
wanted to play Truth or Dare with him. Fifteen minutes, and I’d have him naked.
He looks like a lot of fun.”

“Looks can be deceiving.” She doesn’t know what he is to me,
and she’s blatantly flirting with him. Just like she did with Tanner. Yeah, so
I have a short fuse, but I’m done playing nice. I can’t stop myself from
throwing in something for a little added effect. “You should know all about
that. You look kind and sweet, but you act like a whore.”

When Wes starts choking, she gapes at me in disgust. “Well,
you know what, Callie? You can say whatever you want, but anyone could see
you’re not
with
this guy. He’s way too much man for you.” She turns her
attention to him. “So what are you? Brother, babysitter, boss? Or are you just
a
friend
? Tanner fell prey to that one, too, you know, but he got bored
with her.”

Wes’ eyes narrow at her before he turns to me. “Chocolate
chip pancakes?” The anger coming to a full boil just under the surface of my
skin immediately slows to a simmer. He’s not asking what I want to eat. He’s
asking if I want to do to her what we did to Makenna. A little ruse to make her
think more is going on than what truly is.

“Love some.”

“Me, too.” Wes reaches out to take my hand. “I’d say it was
nice meeting you, Sienna, but I’m not a liar. So I can’t lie when I tell you
that I could never be bored with Callie. I’m not any of the options you gave
me, so I’ll tell you what I am. Hers.”

Before she can say anything, he drags me into him, and for
the first time in what feels like an eternity, he kisses me. Deeply. I melt
into him, molding my body against his, feeling his grip tighten around me.
Until I hear Sienna’s door slam.

Wes lifts his head from mine, his lips still wet.
“Seriously,” he jokes, “I could go for some chocolate chip pancakes.”

I roll my eyes. Irritated that he killed the mood, until I
realize that there wasn’t ever supposed to be a mood to kill. Friends. No
benefits. Crap, this is hard. “Well good, you can make us some. Let’s go.”

MAKENNA WAS RIGHT. Wes’ place is
about thirty minutes outside of the city, halfway to his parents’ house. I
didn’t know what to expect, but it suits him. Its brick has many shades of brown,
which match nicely with the stone accents running the length of each corner.
There’s a small concrete porch with a wooden bench that holds some potted
plants—his mother’s touch obviously. But it’s not big or showy, as I expected
it to be. It’s quite small, actually. Simple. And in the middle of nowhere.

I’m used to the noise of the city, the constant rumble of
voices and footsteps of people in my building. But here, I hear the wind
tickling the leaves on the trees. Crickets beginning to chirp. A crow cawing in
the distant forest edge. I know it’s not the right word to explain it, but for
the first time in a long time, I hear what can only be described as silence.

I open the back door of the jeep to get my bag, and Wes has
already gotten it from the other side. He has also, I notice, hidden the pink
elephant from view. “It’s so nice out here. So quiet and serene.”

“I like it. I bought this place right before I graduated
college, not all that long ago. But I’m enjoying it while I can. I’m putting it
up for sale.”

I follow him up the narrow concrete path, leading up to the
front door. “Why? It’s perfect out here.”

“You know why.” He pauses to lock his gaze onto mine. “She
knows where I live, so I’m moving, probably closer to work. Temporarily, I
might move back home. I’m not sure.”

I don’t know what to say about it. It’s not like he’s ever
openly discussed his mother with me, and the look on his face tells me it’s not
going to happen right now either. “Oh. I guess that’s understandable.”

The door swings wide, and he waits for me to step inside
first. Despite its small size, I expected it to look much like his parents’
house. Picture perfect, immaculately decorated. But it’s far from it. It
actually looks more like what my house would, if I had one. It’s clean and very
minimalistic. There’s not much on the walls, no knick-knacks. Really, the only
sign that someone lives here is a bookshelf that’s loaded with family pictures.

No pictures of any children, though. Nor do I see any toys.

He shows me around the other rooms. The kitchen is tidy—not
one dish left in the sink—and the dining room doesn’t look used at all. The
living room has a rich brown suede couch and sofa, coffee table, two end
tables, a flat screen mounted to the wall, and a bookshelf. That’s it. The
first room down the hall is an office, which is neatly organized with only a
small pile of mail sitting at the corner of the desk. There’s also a nice
bathroom across the hall, featuring both a garden tub and built-in tile shower.

Wes steps into the first room and drops my bag on the bed.
“Anything you need, just let me know. I wash the bedding weekly, whether anyone
sleeps in here or not, so the sheets are clean. If you like a lot of pillows,
there’s more in the closet, along with some extra blankets. The closet is
mostly empty, so there’s plenty of room if you want to hang any of your
clothes. Same goes for the dresser. It’s all yours.” He points over by the
window. “There’s a little desk over there, too, if you want to use it to do
your homework. Or if you need to spread out a little more, you know where my
office is.”

“Thanks. You have a nice place.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “The tour is over.
You’re not going into my room. It’s just . . . weird.”

“Okay,” I deadpan. He thinks he’s being cute by quoting me,
so I can play this game, too. But now curiosity is plaguing me. Seeing his
bedroom might actually give me some clues into what he’s really like.

“It’s no fun when you don’t play along.” He grabs my hand
and drags me across the hall. “My mom is the epitome of the word hostess, and
she’d kill me if I didn’t give a proper, inviting tour. This . . .” He sweeps
his hand in front of him. “. . . is my bedroom. And I have nothing to hide, so
I’m not going to give you the no-touch rule.”

I walk further inside. It’s just as neat as the rest of the
house, but it’s cozy. The bed is huge—I’m guessing a king—and it looks like I’d
need a step ladder to climb up there. Not that I’m thinking about being in his
bed. And I’m really not thinking about him sleeping naked in it. Nope. Not even
a little bit.

There’s a bay window on the back wall that looks out into
the thick crush of trees behind the house, and an oversized chair faces it. It
looks like the perfect place to watch the sun set or read a book. The closet
door is standing partially open, and I look back at Wes for permission to go
inside. He nods. I flick on the light and it’s like looking at both sides of
his split personality. A row of suits is on my left, and jeans and t-shirts are
on my right. His shoes are even organized by the same method. It’s a little
creepy, but all I can really think about is how much it smells like him in
here. It’s like his pheromones are so thick in here, they’re seeping into my
skin.

“Do you actually live here?” I come out and find him leaned
against the door jamb. “It doesn’t look like anyone does, certainly not a man.”

“Are you implying that men can’t pick up after themselves?
You don’t know who my mom is. I don’t leave here in the morning without
everything in its place. It’s nice to come home to a clean house after working
all day.”

“I wholeheartedly agree. I drive Makenna crazy because I’m
so anal about it. But you . . . you surprise me. I’ve been thinking it all
along; you’re an enigma.”

“Is that a bad thing?” he asks with one eyebrow raised.

I let out a long sigh. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

I excuse myself, retreating to my room for a while to do my
homework, and I do end up in his office. It’s hard to keep myself on task,
knowing that I’m in his house, but I somehow find my rhythm. Even though I hate
to do it, there’s something therapeutic about doing homework. It’s not really
the act of
doing
it as much as it is
completing
it. To have that
one thing marked off your internal to-do list. And two long hours later, I close
my book, finally finished with the work for one class. Two more to go.