Every Kiss (11 page)

When his jaw drops, I can’t keep from cracking a smile. “I’m
kidding, Wes.”

“I swear I’ll never figure you out. I’ve never known a girl
like you. You say what’s on your mind, no matter what. You’re open, brutally
honest, and maybe even a little vindictive. I tell you that I want to screw
you, but since I can’t, I’m going to be an asshole, and you’re satisfied with
my reasoning. Hell, you even crack a joke about it.”

“Yep,” I say, cocking my head to the side. “I’d say that
just about sums it up. But to be fair, you’re the first guy that was ever
straight with me. If Tanner had told me from the beginning that he only wanted
to bang me, we might have avoided all the drama.” I cover Wes’ hand with mine.
“So thank you for telling me that. Maybe I’ll get to the point where I can
handle that kind of relationship, mentally, but it’s just not in me right now.
And our situation is naturally going to be more complicated, simply because, no
matter if we like each other or not, we have to get along for Makenna and
Shane’s sake.”

He flips his hand over so that we’re palm to palm, and he
threads his fingers between mine. I can feel the warmth of it radiating into my
skin. “You’re right. Just for that reason, I’m going to stop trying to push you
away and pick fights. That’s the easy way out, and I knew it all along.
Besides, I should realize that you’re going to be more into guys your age. Ones
that will walk you to class and take you to frat parties. Not assholes who work
too much at a boring job and wear stiff suits. It’s a hit to my pride, but I
deserve it.”

As much as I’m enjoying it, I can’t let him believe it’s all
completely one-sided. Maybe it will be easier for both of us if we acknowledge
it and get over it. “Actually, while we’re being honest, I like the suit. Not
failing to mention the fact that I remember all too well what’s underneath it.
And the memory of how chocolate tastes on your tongue just won’t die. The
attraction goes both ways, Wes; I won’t let you think it doesn’t.”

“I was still hoping it was a one-way street.” He swallows
hard. “It would make things a little easier. But I’m a big boy, I can keep my
hands to myself.”

“We’re not starting that out too well.”

His eyes fall to our linked hands, and he releases me. “That
was all
your
fault. I have to warn you now, though. I’ve been honest
with you about what I want, so from now on, don’t start anything you don’t want
me to finish.”

“Seriously? I touched your hand. How is that anything
remotely sexual?” Still, though, his threat echoes down into the deepest parts
of me, the ominous promise awakening my senses.

He smirks. “I’ve watched you brush your teeth. Everything
you do is sexual, especially to a man who is severely lacking in that
department. Put your seatbelt on.”

“You’re kidding, right?” The jeep lurches forward as soon as
the belt clicks into place. “What about Allison?”

“I’ve been too busy, and I haven’t been in the mood to deal
with her. I haven’t seen her since the night of my birthday. And before you
ask,
no
, I don’t have anyone else lined up. So just so you know what
you’re dealing with, it’s been . . .” He trails off, thinking. “About two
months. Touching my elbow, at this point, probably wouldn’t be a good idea.”

Two months. That means, on the night of his party, it had
been about five weeks since he’d last had sex. And he still didn’t bang
Allison. Nor did he take advantage of me, when he easily could have. I guess
the whole deal with his mom was tripping him out more than I realized.

“I know what you’re thinking. It all works properly, to that
I can attest every morning.” He waves me off, continuing before I can reply.
“But in addition to everything I’ve just told you, I respect you and what you
want. You don’t have to worry about me trying anything with you, not unless you
give me the green light. Got it? The hot tub wouldn’t have ever happened had I
known about your ex using you.”

I don’t know what makes me say it. I feel this incredible
need to push his buttons just because he told me he won’t be making a move on
me. I’m not sure if I’m trying to prove him wrong or trying to prove my
intentions wrong, but nonetheless, I love the look on his face when these words
slip from my lips. “I’m glad you didn’t find out about Tanner until the next
morning . . .
after
the hot tub and
after
you got out of bed
naked.”

When the low growl sounds from his chest, I know he’s glad,
too.

IT TAKES US a while to get through
Tuscaloosa amid the thick evening traffic, probably seeming longer now that Wes
is trying to keep from having any conversation with me. Right after my earlier
comment, he cranked up the radio, drowning out any possibility of any further
button pushing from me.

He sings along quietly, the soft rasp of his voice barely
audible above the shrill of the electric guitar. But
of course
he sings
well. He’s one of
those
guys. The ones that all the girls fawned over in
high school and, now, in college. They couldn’t look unattractive if they
tried, they never have a hair out of place unless it’s on purpose, and success
comes as natural as their undeniable charm. Guys like him excel at everything,
and if they don’t, they excel at making you think they do.

Those guys didn’t think I was in their league then, but now
that I’ve chiseled a few curves onto my slight frame and started wearing makeup
and clothes that actually fit, they’ve taken notice. The only problem is that
guys like that don’t like to be challenged. They don’t like the truth thrown in
their perfectly rugged faces. They like the lies delivered with a sweet little
bow, especially when the truth has potential to mar their seemingly flawless
image. They’re drawn in by my appearance, but the moment I open my big mouth,
I’m seen as a threat. And I’m okay with that because I feel the same way about
them. They may be pretty to look at, but what’s in their narcissistic little
hearts is a turn-off.

That’s why Wes is such a paradox. He looks—and sometimes
acts—the part of one of those guys, but he throws curveball after curveball,
shattering that preconceived idea of him. I mean, seriously, his confidence
borders on the verge of being self-righteous, but he can be very sweet and
selfless at the same time. Broody and serious can quickly turn into playful and
adventurous. He has a seemingly high-profile job, and probably makes a ton of
money, but he walks out of the building, peels out of his jacket and tie, and
jumps into a jeep instead of an expensive sports car that screams “Look at me!”
I may never figure him out.

Noticing our surroundings, I quickly realize that my time
with him is nearing an end. The campus is only a few more minutes away. “Uh, I
know this sounds a little weird, and if you have something you need to do, I’ll
understand, but can we go grab some dinner first? Or if you have some shopping
to do, I can ride along. Or I can even go back to work with you if you left too
early because of me.”

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t want to go home?” He
flashes his eyes to me and then back to the road.

“I, uh . . . I don’t much like being home alone.”

“You gonna tell me why?” he asks, his eyes narrowed in
suspicion. “Does someone there bother you?”

I pick my hand up, about to slap at his arm, when I remember
his earlier threat and drop it back into my lap. “Oh, nothing like that. It’s
just something that happened a few years ago. I was home alone and someone
broke in. The guy saw me, so I went and hid in my parents’ closet and called
the police.”

“God, did he come after you?”

I shake my head. “No, but I thought he had. Luckily, and
also sadly, the person that found me there was only my dad, but I didn’t know
it until I smacked him in the face with the cordless phone. The police caught
the guy and he ended up in jail, but still . . . it freaks me out to be home
alone. I know. I’m a big baby.”

“No, you’re not.” He flips on his blinker. “I need to stop
for gas. I’ll only be a minute.”

“Okay.” My eyes flick over to the gas gauge. Hmm, half a
tank. He’s stalling.
For me
.

I sit in silence, allowing that to sink in, while he stands
at the pump. Hearing his voice, I look over my shoulder to find him with his
phone to his ear. I guess he could’ve just needed to make a private business
call, and he wasn’t stalling for my benefit at all.

Just as I’m turning to face forward again, I notice a flash
of color against the dark interior. Pink. I twist around in my seat to look for
the source, and I find it in the back floorboard. It’s a stuffed elephant like
a child would have, the soft pink is dulled by a haze of dirt. The green
polka-dotted ribbon around its neck is frayed at the loose ends. There’s even a
little hole at the end of the elephant’s trunk where the stuffing is peeking
out. It reminds me of the stuffed dog—aptly named “Puppy”—that I used to carry
when I was little. My mom couldn’t ever keep it clean or sewn together.

The realization hits me. The elephant belongs to a little
girl.

I know that Makenna told me he was married at one point, and
his wife lost the baby, but if she knew he’s had more kids since then, she sure
didn’t mention it. And I don’t think that’s knowledge that Makenna would keep
to herself.

I have to wrap my head around this. I know he’s clearly not
into relationships, but that doesn’t include sex. So that brings me to the
possible number of women he’s had sex with. Considering that few women would
likely stay with him very long without a chance of a commitment, I’m guessing
that there’s quite a revolving door at times. A high number of women
significantly increases the odds of getting one of them pregnant. Possibly more
than one.

Which begs the question . . . how many kids does this guy
have? And why am I not totally flipping out right now?

Sure, he’s twenty-six years old. He should be having kids
now, right? Granted, he should be married first, but not everyone believes as I
do. I hope that I’m having kids by the time I’m his age, so I can’t really say
anything about that. I’ve always wanted a house full of them. Kids have always
been a part of my grand plan, which is to finish college, teach elementary
school, get married, and have kids. I want my life filled with children at both
work and home. I adore them. Their blissful innocence. Their easy smiles and
laughter. The curiosity and wonder in their bright eyes. Even their sticky
little fingers.

I’m all for having kids.

But something about him having kids doesn’t sit well with
me. I know I don’t know him very well, but I would think that would be
something that his family would embrace, make known to the whole world. I know
that when my parents are finally grandparents, they’ll make sure every total
stranger they come across knows it. But I’ve been to his parents’ house. There
isn’t a basket of toys. There aren’t juice boxes in the fridge or sippy cups or
bottles in the cabinet. No signs of children whatsoever.

So maybe, just maybe . . . this child—or children—is a
secret that no one in his family knows about. Maybe his parents are super
traditional and would frown on him having a child out of wedlock. That makes me
sad for both him and the little girl.

I can imagine her having the same features as Wes. Bright
blue eyes that can look right through to your soul and mousy brown hair, fine
and soft like most little girls. I can imagine her lying against his shoulder
as he rocks her to sleep. Despite how hardened and gruff he can be, I’ve seen
his softer, more caring side. I bet he’s a great dad.

He jumps back in the jeep and does a double take. “What’s
with the dreamy smile? You look weird.”

Thanks for bursting that bubble for me. “Nothing.”

“Okaaay . . .” he drawls. “I called Shane, and I don’t think
Makenna will be home tonight, since she doesn’t have class tomorrow. Would it
make you feel better if you stay at my place? I can drop you by your dorm on my
way to work tomorrow morning.”

“No, that’s okay. I have a ton of homework that’s due by
Friday, and I don’t have clean clothes. I really need to shower.” Judging by the
way his throat is working, I probably shouldn’t mention showers in front of
him.

“Uh.” He flounders for a second before recovering. “I can
take you by there and let you get everything you need. You can work on your
homework and, uh, everything else you need to do at my place. If you want to.
Just throwing it out there as an option, so you don’t have to be alone. No
pressure.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

I try to stop the smirk from forming, but I’ve never been
good at hiding my feelings. “I guess you didn’t expect me to take you up on it?
You can take it back, you know. I’ll be fine at home.”

He shakes his head back and forth and laughs. “No, I knew
you’d eventually agree, but I thought you’d be more stubborn about it. From
what I’ve gathered from you so far, you never miss a good opportunity to be
stubborn, so that tells me you really are afraid to be home alone.”

I shrug. “A little.”

“Yeah, uh-huh. Let’s go get your stuff.”

A mere five minutes later, I’m leading him into the
residence hall. I tried to convince him he didn’t need to come up with me, but
I’m beginning to think he’s just as stubborn as I am. As always, I hit the
stairs. It may be four flights, but it’s usually the only exercise I get, so I
make myself take them. Except I don’t normally have Wes’ eyes trained on my
butt the entire time.

“God, I love these stairs.”

I look back, scowling. Well, at least I try to. Falling
up
stairs happens to be my specialty, so when I nearly stumble, I decide to let it
go. When you have legs as short as mine, to climb steps, you have to lift them
a little higher than most people. Forget that for one second, and
bam
.
Faceplant.

“Wesley Baxter, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think that
was flirting. And I swore you told me you weren’t going to be doing any of
that. Or looking at my ass.” I finally reach the landing and turn, waiting for
him to catch up.

He seems completely unaffected. Not flushed or winded at
all. Jerk. “I wasn’t flirting. I was just saying that I thought they were nice
stairs. And to be fair, I can’t help but look when you put it in my direct line
of sight. All I usually see of you is the top of your head.”

“Short joke. Yeah, I’ve heard ‘em all.” I yank the keys from
my pocket and slip them into the knob. “Come on in and stay close. Wouldn’t
want you to make a wrong turn and get lost.”

He snorts and follows me inside. As soon as I show him the
kitchen, dining area, and living room, I expect him to settle onto the couch to
wait like most guys would, maybe even turn the television on to pass the time.
But not Wes. He follows me toward the bedrooms.

“What are you doing?” I ask, disturbed at the thought of him
seeing my room. Did I have any panties lying around? Any dirty clothes in the
floor? Acne cream on the nightstand? I can’t remember.

“I want to see your room.” He takes a wide step left into
Makenna’s room. “This is definitely Makenna’s room. All girly and fuzzy and . .
. pink.”

“Yes, she does love pink. Why don’t you go turn the TV on? I
think we have a few sports channels. I’ll only be a minute.”

He takes two slow steps toward me with a devious grin
spreading languidly across his lips. I take one step back in retreat, bumping
into my closed door.

“What’s in your room that you don’t want me to see, Callie?”

“Nothing. It’s just . . . weird. I don’t want you in there.
There’s no telling what’s been left out because I wasn’t expecting company.”

He continues to get closer until the wall of his chest
presses into me. He dips his head down so that his face is only a few inches
from mine, causing my heart to hammer wildly in my chest. I think he’s going to
kiss me. I steel myself for it, waiting for the moment his mouth descends on
mine. But I realize it’s all a ruse when I’m falling through my door. He
distracted me just long enough to slip a hand past me to turn the doorknob.
Luckily, he grabs my waist with one arm before I fall back into my desk.

His laughter echoes through the room, and I shove away from
him, nearly stumbling into my desk anyway. The right guy should make you fall a
little, but clearly the wrong guy makes you
literally
fall. I quickly
scan my room for anything embarrassing, but I don’t come up with anything
immediately. Thank God. I’m usually a neat person, and I like everything nicely
organized, but Makenna had me leaving in such a rush that I just wasn’t sure
how I left it.

Of course, my books and binders are still scattered on the
end of my bed, which is all wrinkled from when I jumped on Makenna earlier.
Aside from that, everything seems as it should be. “Don’t touch anything. I
mean it.”

He draws an imaginary “x” over his heart. “Scouts honor.”

“Were you even a scout?” I shove all of my books back in my
bag and set it by the door.

“Nope. But that doesn’t mean I can’t keep a promise.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind. Stay here. You’re
not
coming with me into my closet, and I’m standing firm on that.”

He holds his hands up in resignation. “Yes, ma’am.”

I nod and step inside, pulling a duffel bag from the top
shelf. I’m suddenly stumped, though. What do I wear? I’m sleeping over at Wes’
house. Why did I agree to that? Remembering the morning after his birthday, I
think of the black running shorts and Breaking Benjamin t-shirt I had on when
he told me I looked good. Definitely not wearing that. Nope. Nuh-uh. Not going
down that road again.