Chapter 2
THAT SO WASN’T PART OF THE PLAN
MAC
Over the past few days, I’ve thought of a hundred different ways I might be able to get my phone back from Wesley without actually having to see him face-to-face. First I thought about breaking into his place and stealing it, but I don’t think that would go over well—he would know it was me if all that was missing was my phone. I also thought about asking my sisters to help me out by dressing up like cable repair workers, but they would ask too many questions, so I don’t bother. I was at a loss until this morning when an idea came to me—a lame idea, but an idea all the same.
After I got ready, I left my place and made a couple of stops before getting on the train to Wesley’s. When I reach the steps in front of his apartment, I look around to make sure the coast is clear before taking the stairs down to his door. I drop my purse on the bottom step, and I get out the note I wrote, the prepaid envelope I just bought, and some clear packing tape. I unroll a section of tape, press the envelope and note to the door, then tape across the top of them. Realizing I have to use my teeth to rip the tape because I don’t have scissors, I get up on my tiptoes to bite it. It’s too high for me to reach with my mouth. As I start to pull the envelope from the door, the roll of tape falls from my grasp and hits the ground, then rolls away from me.
“Dammit!” I hiss as it wraps around itself and my hand. Ripping the envelope off the door, I try to untangle myself from the mess of clear packing tape, cringing at the obnoxious noise it makes.
“Do you need some help?”
“Shit!” I shout as I spin around.
When I look up, my eyes meet Wesley’s. He’s more gorgeous than I remember. He also looks slightly annoyed, with his arms crossed over his massive chest and his blue eyes locked on me.
“You’re here . . . ,” I say like an idiot, feeling my face get hot.
“I live here.” He lifts his chin toward the door. “What are you doing here?”
“I . . . I was just in the neighborhood,” I lie while wrapping the tape into a ball around the roll in my hands.
Moving his eyes from my face to the roll of tape in my hands, he asks, “What were you doing?”
“I was . . .” My words taper off as he drops his eyes to the ground. He bends down to pick up the note I was going to leave him.
Wesley, sorry I missed you. I think I left my phone behind when we hung out. Can you put it in the envelope and drop it in the nearest mailbox?
Thank you, Mackenzie
He reads it aloud. My cheeks, which were already hot, burn hotter as he lifts his head to look at me.
“Did you ring the bell?” he asks.
I look at the door behind me, then back at him.
“Bell?”
“The doorbell—did you ring it?”
“Um . . .”
“It’s hooked up to my cell phone, so when someone rings the bell, my phone rings.”
“Maybe it’s broken?” I suggest lamely, tipping my head to the side and hoping I look innocent.
He takes two steps down, presses the button, and his phone chimes immediately.
Darn it.
“Doesn’t seem broken to me.” He turns around to face me, his huge body making the small alcove we’re in seem even smaller.
Knowing I don’t have a good excuse, I keep my mouth closed. My eyes widen involuntarily as he closes the minute distance between us with his eyes locked on mine.
“Wesley . . . ,” I breathe when his familiar scent fills my lugs. His warmth seems to wrap around me even though he doesn’t touch me.
“You slipped out on me. Why?” The question is soft, but there is no mistaking the annoyance and frustration in his voice or his eyes as he waits for my answer.
I won’t be giving him an honest answer, because saying why I left the way I did out loud would be ridiculous now that I’m standing in front of him.
“I . . . fuck”—he rips his hand through his hair—“I can’t believe you just took off without a word.”
My eyes close briefly. I open my mouth to say something, anything.
Before I can, he cuts me off with a shake of his head and a sharp “Never mind.”
Turning his back to me, he opens the door and goes inside. I swallow the mass of emotions I’m feeling as I stand in the open doorway, wondering what I should do next. Pulling in a much-needed breath, I shove the ball of tape into my bag and pick it up before moving into his apartment. I didn’t really stop to look around the last time I was here. Seeing it now, I realize I didn’t miss out on much. The kitchen is small, with only a round table and two chairs in the middle of it. In the living room, there is a row of boxes stacked up against the wall, a big comfortable-looking gray couch, and a large TV on a plain black stand. The whole space is empty of anything personal—there are no pictures or anything else to make it homey. I wonder if they are in the boxes still to be unpacked.
“Here,” he rumbles, holding out my phone.
Turning to face him, I reach out slowly and take my phone. I shove it in the pocket of my jacket while I avoid his eyes.
“Thank you.”
“Sure.”
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I . . .”
“I don’t want to hear it,” he replies, cutting me off before I can say more.
I fight the urge to flinch.
“I don’t want to hear whatever bullshit excuse you’re going to try to feed me.”
“Excuse me?” I lift my head to look at him.
“You heard me.” He holds my stare.
I feel my eyes narrow, and his do the same in return.
“You got your phone. That’s why you came, right? So why are you still standing here?”
“Wow.” I shake my head, pull my eyes away from his. “You’re a dick.”
“You couldn’t get enough of my dick the other night, baby. If I remember correctly, you begged me for it more than once,” he says.
My head snaps back toward him. “Jerk!” I hiss, lifting a hand to smack him.
He catches it before I make contact. I lift my other hand to try again, but he catches that one, too, and then pulls them both up above my head. Breathing heavily, I stare at him. He stares back.
“Now what?” he says with a smirk.
I do the only thing I can think of. I raise myself up on my tiptoes and press my mouth to his. I expect my move to knock him off balance—and down a peg or two—but that doesn’t happen. Instead, his mouth captures mine, and his tongue slips between my parted lips. I don’t fight the kiss. Just like last time, I discover I want this more than I want anything. I want him.
Releasing one of my hands, he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me flush against him. His mouth travels down my jaw to my neck. He bites it softly, making my toes curl. Feeling the pull of arousal deep in my belly, I tug at his shirt until it’s free from his jeans, then run my hand up his abs before dragging my nails down over the ridges and valleys there.
“Wesley . . . ,” I whimper as his tongue flicks across my neck.
The next thing I know, his breath whispers across the shell of my ear.
“Tell me you want this.” He presses his erection into my stomach, letting me know he’s ready to repeat what happened the other night. “Tell me you want me.”
“I want you,” I moan just as his mouth captures mine once more.
His hands rip at my clothes, and mine do the same to his in return. Hearing my jacket and top hit the floor, I urge his shirt up and over his head, then move my hands to the button of his jeans. He walks us backward, toward his room. He gets his pants down over his hips before he pulls away from me.
“Kick off your shoes.” With a jerky nod, I work my feet out of my sneakers. I bite my lip as he pulls down my pants and panties in one move, then slides his hands up my thighs, along my sides, and then around my back to remove my bra. He lets it fall to the floor without a second glance.
Standing completely naked in front of him, I fight the urge to hide myself from his heated gaze as it roams over every inch of me. It makes me feel hot and restless.
“Why’d you sneak out on me?” he asks, cupping my sex. I swallow hard as heat pools between my legs.
“I . . .” My head falls back, and a moan slips past my lips as his fingers slide through my slick folds.
“Look at me.”
I lift my head and meet his gaze. My heart speeds up when I register the dark need in his eyes.
“Why?” His thumb circles my sensitive clit, and my hips jerk into his touch.
“I don’t know,” I whimper, trying to force his fingers to give me more.
“Why?” he repeats as my back hits the bed.
He lands on top of me and uses his knees to spread my legs farther apart.
“I don’t know.”
“Stop lying to me,” he growls while thrusting two fingers deep inside me.
I cry out in bliss as they curve up, hitting me exactly where I need them to.
“Why’d you leave?”
“Wesley . . .”
“Why?”
“Because you wouldn’t want me if you really knew me,” I admit on a gasp.
His fingers speed up in response.
“Oh god.”
My back arches high off the bed. He pulls my breast into his mouth, scraping his teeth across my nipple before releasing it.
“I do want you.”
“You wouldn’t if you really knew me,” I pant as my nails scrape down his cut abs and wrap around his hard length. I stroke once, then twice more, before he pulls himself from my grasp.
“You’re wrong.” His mouth hovers over mine. “So fucking wrong.” His words whisper across my lips as he thrusts inside me hard, sending me sliding up the bed. Digging my heels into the backs of his thighs, I wrap one arm around his broad shoulders and thread the fingers of my other hand through his hair. Taking my mouth again in a deep kiss, he pulls out slowly—so slowly that I feel every inch of him as my walls ripple around his length.
“Please,” I beg, tearing my mouth from his.
“What do you need?” he asks, sliding his hand between us and finding my clit once more with his thumb.
“Harder!” I plead.
His eyes flash, but he doesn’t stop the slow, steady torture.
“Please.” I lift my hips, trying to force him to give me what I want.
“You want more of my cock?”
“Yes! Please fuck me!” I don’t know where those words come from, but as soon as they are out, his pace picks up and his mouth takes mine again. Kissing him back, I moan against his tongue.
He sends me over the edge, and I shatter into a million pieces.
Slowly coming back to myself, I blink open my eyes to find him completely still and looking down at me.
“This time, keep your eyes open and on mine when you come,” he says, lifting my back off the bed and settling back on his calves while positioning me so I’m sitting on his lap. He pushes one hand into my hair to keep my head in place and locks the other around my back, holding me flush against him.
“Oh . . . ,” I breathe as he moves his hips up into mine, sending a whole new wave of sensations through me.
Grabbing hold of his shoulders for leverage, I do my best to move my hips in sync with his. It’s hard to concentrate on what I’m doing, though, as he looks into my eyes like he’s searching for something. Needing to break eye contact, I try to kiss him. His hold only tightens, keeping my head in place as his hips jerk faster and his arm around my waist brings me down hard, forcing my orgasm closer.
“Wesley.”
“Give it to me.”
It’s as if his voice actually commands my body. I give in and let go.
With my eyes locked on his, I watch his heated gaze as his hips jerk.
“Mine,” he groans as he comes.
Releasing my hair, he tucks my face against his neck by pushing his palm against the back of my head. Holding me close. Making me feel safe and protected.
The sound of both of us breathing heavily fills my ears as his heartbeat pounds against the damp skin of my chest. Swallowing, I close my eyes, which are filling with tears.
I have no idea what the hell just happened. Well, that’s not true—I do know what happened, but sleeping with him again was so totally not part of the plan I came up with this morning.
“Fuck,” he whispers in a grated tone.
That brings me back to the situation at hand. I pull back and look at him.
“Um . . . ?”
“I didn’t use a condom.”
I blink at his statement as what he says sinks in. My pulse skyrockets.
“I’m clean. I get tested every six months—and I haven’t been with anyone in longer than that.”
“I . . .” I close my eyes, then open them back up. “Me neither. I . . . I’m clean, too . . .” I look away from him as his words replay in my head over and over, at loudspeaker volume, reminding me of how stupid I am.
“I’m sorry, gorgeous . . .” He gives me a tight squeeze. “I didn’t even think. I—”
“I’m not on birth control,” I blurt out, cutting off whatever he was going to say.
I see him flinch when he realizes what that could mean.
This cannot be happening.
I lift my hips away from his, mourning the loss of him as I do. I scramble out of his grasp and stumble off the bed, almost falling on my face.
“Where the fuck are you going?”
His sharp tone stops me in my tracks. I look up to find him sitting on the side of the bed—in all his perfect, naked glory.
“I have to go to work.” I pull nervously at my hair with shaking hands, then gesture between us. “This”—I swallow—“wasn’t a part of my plan . . .”
“Part of your plan?” His eyes narrow and hold mine.
I bite my lip, then shake my head. I wonder why the hell my brain and mouth are not cooperating with me.
I tie my hair back up into a ponytail and finally release my lip.
“I didn’t think you’d be home. I . . . I have to get to work,” I explain as I put on my bra, then pick up my panties and pants. As I put them on, I avoid looking at him again even though I can sense him watching my every move. I bend down to slip on my socks and sneakers, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him leave the room.
He comes back a second later, pushing a piece of paper under my nose.
“What’s this?”
“My number. Your cell’s dead, and you’re taking off again. I’m giving it to you so you’ll have it if something comes up.”
If something comes up? Like if I’m pregnant?
He’s not giving it to me so that I will call him. That hurt. Actually, that killed.
My stomach turns as I whisper, “Right.” I shove the piece of paper into my pocket.
Skirting him, I step into the living room, pick up my top and jacket, and put both on quickly before grabbing my bag.
I feel his fingers wrap around my wrist. I stop midstep. I swear I see hurt in his eyes when I look up at him, but I brush that thought aside, knowing I must be seeing things.
“Call me,” he says softly.
I swallow. “Sure.”
I shake off his hold, then head for the door. I try to make it look like I’m not running away when that is exactly what I’m doing. As soon as I’m outside and on the sidewalk, I hail the first cab I see, get in the backseat, and let out the breath I’ve been holding. I give the driver directions. Thankfully, the morning rush hour is over so it doesn’t take me long to get uptown.
I arrive at work a little less than thirty minutes late, unlock my office door, and head inside, flipping on the lights as I go. My dad and I painted the front of my office a calming, soft blue that goes well with the abstract art prints I framed and hung on the walls. Across from my desk, against the opposite wall, are two golden-brown chairs with cool-looking wooden arms. They match the coffee table in front of them, where several magazines are splayed out. Blowing out a breath, I head toward my desk.
Days like today, I’m thankful I’m my own boss so I don’t have anyone to answer to. Taking the leap by starting my own massage-therapy business was one of the scariest things I’ve ever done, but so far there hasn’t been a day I’ve regretted it.
I love what I do. I love making people feel good and helping them relax. When I was younger, I used to get migraines so bad I would become physically ill. The doctors couldn’t do anything for me, so my mom did some research and found out that a lot of people were able to find relief with massage. I was skeptical, but after my first session, I left feeling normal and clear-minded—unlike when I took medication. That day, I became a believer. I knew that I wanted to help people the way I had been helped.
Once I get some incense burning, I take off my coat. I drape it over the back of my chair, then take a seat at my desk. I rest my forehead on the cool wood as tears fill my eyes again. I shouldn’t care as much as I do that things with Wesley ended the way they did, but that does nothing to stop the stabbing pain I feel in my chest.
It takes longer than I’m comfortable with to get myself under control, but after a few deep breaths, I sit up and pull his number out of my pocket. I try to memorize it before opening the top drawer in my desk and dropping it in, hoping I will never have to use it. I dig my cell phone out of my pocket and plug it in to charge, then head for the bathroom to clean up.
I have a few clients coming in today, so I figure that will help keep my mind busy until I leave the office. Then I’ll head out to visit my parents and sisters on Long Island for the Thanksgiving holiday. I’m now looking forward to going—they will be the distraction I so desperately need.
Standing in my parents’ kitchen the next morning, I lean against the counter with a cup of coffee in my hand, listening to my mom blabber on about the new neighbor who moved in a couple of houses down. Mom’s working on the pies for Thanksgiving tomorrow.
“He’s single. Maybe you could go over and introduce yourself to him,” she suggests, looking at me expectantly.
I hear Libby giggle from her perch on one of the stools at the island in front of us. She would think it’s funny that our mom is trying to hook me up with a fifty-year-old man she knows nothing about. It’s not happening to her.
“I’m not interested in dating anyone right now, Mom,” I mutter.
I take a sip of coffee.
“Are you a lesbian?”
I almost spit it out but instead suck it down the wrong pipe and choke on it. “What?” I cough, wipe away the coffee dribbling from my bottom lip, and grab a paper towel so I can wipe the rest off my hand and shirt.
“You haven’t been on a date in forever. I never hear you talk about any men that you are interested in. I’m just wondering if maybe you’re—”
“I’m not.” I cut off her next words. “God, Mom. Seriously?” I throw my free hand up in the air before dropping it back down to my side. “I don’t want to date, so I’m automatically a lesbian?”
“Well, there is nothing wrong with it if you are. You can’t blame me for asking.” She scrunches up her nose as Libby laughs harder.
“What’s going on?” Fawn asks, coming into the kitchen a second later.
She’s wearing her normal attire—a sweater and leggings with a pair of Toms on her feet. Her blonde, curly hair, currently tied up on top of her head, makes her seem pixielike. I swear she’s glowing. She looks happy, really happy. I know it has to do with the man she’s been dating for a few weeks. Levi, her neighbor—a hot cop who moved in next door to her weeks ago. A hot cop who looks at my sister like she was put on the earth just for him.
God, why does that make me jealous?
“What is it?” Fawn repeats, looking at Libby, who’s still laughing like a crazy woman.
“I suggested that your sister go over and introduce herself to Brent. He just moved into the Manors’ old place.”
“Oh . . . ?” Fawn says, looking at me.
She’s clearly confused, not understanding why that would make Libby laugh like a hyena.
“Mac said she’s not interested, so Mom asked her if she was a lesbian!” Libby fills in the blanks through her laughter.
I shoot daggers at her.
“Ohhh.” Fawn’s lips twitch into a smile before she starts laughing, too. She covers her mouth as she does.
“You would think it’s funny—because it’s not you!” I mutter, annoyed with all of them.
My mom’s statement doesn’t surprise me. She’s crazy. And dead set on getting us girls married off so she can get to the grandkids.
Good luck with that.
“I know Fawn’s not a lesbian. She’s sleeping with Levi,” Mom states matter-of-factly. Fawn’s eyes get big. “How is he in bed, honey?”
“Mom!” Fawn hisses as her face turns bright red.
“Yeah, how is he in bed?” Libby asks, sitting forward expectantly.
“I’m not talking to you guys about my sex life . . . ever,” Fawn states.
I laugh, earning a glare from her before she walks over to the fridge, opens it up, and grabs a soda.
“My girls are all so hush-hush! Sheesh, can’t a mom know that her girls are happy anymore?” Mom gripes.
I roll my eyes at Fawn. She does the same in return.
“When I have a sex life, I will talk to you about it, Mom,” Libby says.
Mom smiles at her. How my baby sister remains so innocent always surprises me. She is the kind of girl most of the men I know fantasize about—tall, thin, with dark hair and crystal-blue eyes that always look mysterious.
“That’s why you’re my favorite.” Mom reaches across the counter and pats her cheek.
“I know,” Libby agrees.
I fight the urge to laugh. My mom does this to us all the time, claiming that one is her favorite if it suits her—when I know for a fact that she loves us all equally.
“Is Levi home?” I ask Fawn when she takes a seat on the stool next to Libby.
As soon as I ask about him, I see her face soften.
God, she’s in love.
I don’t even think she knows it, but she is totally crazy about him. It’s written all over her pretty face.
“Yeah. He’s going to be home alone for the holiday since he’s on call.”
“That sucks,” Libby states.
I nod in agreement. It does suck that he’ll have to be alone tomorrow, especially when his family lives in Connecticut and Fawn will be here with us. I can’t imagine having to be alone during the holidays.
“You should go back and spend Thanksgiving with him,” Mom says, surprising all of us with the suggestion.
“I . . .” Fawn opens her mouth, then closes it.
“I don’t like the idea of him spending the day alone,” Mom continues before Fawn can say more. “I’m sure he’d enjoy having your company.”
“You and Dad wouldn’t be upset about me leaving to go spend Thanksgiving with my new boyfriend?”
“No,” Mom says.
Fawn smiles for a second, then frowns at her.
“Are you sure?”
“Honey, I wouldn’t suggest it if I wasn’t.”
“I’ll think about it,” Fawn says.
I can see in her eyes that she’s already made up her mind. She’ll be back in Manhattan before the night is over. Not that I can blame her. If I had a man, I would want to be with him, too. At that thought, Wesley flashes through my mind. I hold my cup of coffee tighter.
I doubt I will ever see him again. That’s for the best. Right?
As we load into my parents’ car the next morning, I think for the hundredth time that this is a really bad idea. Fawn did go back to Manhattan to be with Levi, which I knew she would do. What I didn’t expect was having my mom come into my old room to wake me up and tell me that I needed to get up and get ready. Her plan is to make us all head into the city to surprise Fawn and Levi with Thanksgiving dinner. I tried to tell both my parents we shouldn’t, but neither of them will listen to me.
“How mad do you think Fawn will be?” Libby asks as she gets into the backseat with me and buckles in.
“I’m not sure.”
I look over my shoulder, out the back window at the two cars parked behind us. My aunts, uncles, and cousins are all piling into their own cars so they can follow us. “I doubt she’s going to be mad, but I bet she and Levi will be shocked to see so many people at their front door before it’s even nine in the morning.”
“I tried to text Fawn, but she hasn’t messaged back. She must still be sleeping.”
“Well, she won’t be sleeping for much longer,” I state drily.
“True.” Libby laughs.
“Are we all ready?” Dad asks as he folds himself in behind the steering wheel.
“Yep, all ready!” Mom sings as she gets into the passenger seat.
Dad starts up the car.
“Are you guys sure about this?” I ask.
Mom frowns at me over her shoulder. “Of course! Family should spend the holidays together.”
I know the look in her eye—it means there will be no changing her mind. I shake my head and dig my cell phone out of my bag. I send a message to Fawn, letting her know that we are all on our way—and to prepare Levi for a Reed-family Thanksgiving.
“Breathe.” I rub my hand down Fawn’s back as she attempts to suck in air with her head tucked between her knees. “It will be okay,” I insist. I have no idea if I’m right or not.
After we arrived—and after Levi finally answered the door, surprised to see his new girlfriend’s family—we settled in, put away groceries, and stared to cook. When I was making coffee, Levi told me to go check on Fawn.
His family had also decided to show up and surprise him for Thanksgiving, and she was freaking out. So here I am, trying to comfort my sister as she sits on the side of the bed, having a panic attack.
“His mom is here. Our mom is here. This means I might as well consider my relationship with him over and done. I have no doubt Mom is going to say something to Levi’s parents that will make them forbid him to continue dating me.”
“It won’t be that bad.”
“Do you not remember just weeks ago when Levi met our parents? Mom told me I should get knocked up by him!” She pauses and pulls in a deep breath before lifting her head to look at me. “In front of him!” she screeches.
“Levi thought that was funny,” I remind her as she assumes her previous position.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean his family would have! What if something like that happens again? Dinner is going to be a disaster. What if someone starts talking about gravy, and then Mom uses that as a double entendre for Levi’s baby batter?”
“Baby batter?” I frown, not sure what she means.
She lifts her head and blinks at me. “His sperm.”
“Oh . . . ohhhhh.” My face scrunches up.
She lets out a huff of air.
“Listen, whatever happens, you and Levi will be fine. His parents will love you, so you have nothing to worry about.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Now finish getting ready, and come on.” I stand and pull her up by her hands. “Let’s go.”
“Right.” She shakes out her arms, then twists her neck side to side like she’s getting ready for a WWF match. “Let’s go.”
I follow her out of Levi’s bedroom and out of his apartment. In the hall, I stand back and out of the way while she meets Levi’s family. Seeing that she’s okay, I head into her apartment, where I find Libby hanging out watching TV with Fawn’s dog, Muffin. My aunts are busy working in the kitchen.
“Hey, girl.” I give Muffin a quick rubdown when she comes over to me, then lead her back across the room.
“Did Fawn finally come out of the bedroom?” Libby asks as I take a seat next to her on the couch.
“She did, but you will never believe what happened.”
“What?” She presses “Pause” on the remote, then turns to face me.
“Levi’s family showed up.”
“Shut up.”
“Cross my heart. They just got here.”
“Is she okay?” she asks, looking toward the door.
“Yeah. She was panicking, but she’s okay now.”
“Well, dinner is going to be interesting for sure,” she mumbles under her breath. I nod in agreement.
I have no idea just how true that statement is going to be.
“Mac!” Levi calls from across the room as soon as I walk into his apartment.
“Give me one second!” I shout back. I’m carrying a pie dish in my arms, so I take it into the kitchen and set it down on the counter.
“What’s up?” When I turn around, my entire world comes to a stop.
I’m face-to-face with Wesley.
“Wh—” I start to ask what he’s doing there, but Levi cuts me off.
“Mac, I want you to meet my partner, Wesley. Wesley, this is Fawn’s sister, Mac. Or Mackenzie.”
“Partner?” I whisper, staring at him while he stares back. I have no idea what to do. It’s so awkward after the way we left each other.
“Are you okay?” Fawn asks, touching my arm.
This snaps me out of it. I pull my gaze from Wesley’s to look at her.
“Yeah.” I blink and shake my head. “Sorry.”
I look at Wesley—or more accurately, I look at his ear—and mutter, “Sorry. It’s nice to meet you.”
I don’t offer to shake his hand. I don’t know what would happen if we were to touch again.
“You too,” he says.
I can hear the anger in his tone, and I fight back a cringe. I turn to face Fawn again.
“Mom said it’s time to get stuff set up so everyone can eat soon,” I remind her.
“Crap! The turkey!” she blurts out, turning to Levi. She rises up on tiptoe so she can kiss his cheek. “Get Wesley a beer,” she tells him. She looks at Wesley. “I’m glad you could come.”
“Thanks,” Wesley replies.
She smiles at him, then grabs my hand. “I need your help.”
“Sure.”
I follow her out of Levi’s place, breathing a sigh of relief that I wasn’t forced to be around Wesley for much longer. He fills me with too many mixed emotions.
I don’t know if I want to curl myself up against his chest or kick him in the shin. Who am I kidding? I definitely want to do both.