Whatever it was that was about to happen between Wesley and me—if anything was about to happen—vanishes as the girl slides open the glass door and bounces onto the deck.
Wesley has a girlfriend. A GIRLFRIEND! One that he’s never mentioned. Although, since I’ve made a point of not asking him any personal questions, this shouldn’t really come as a surprise.
Still. I am struck by how much it bothers me. It should not bother me. But oh, it does. Especially when this girl slides into the space I just vacated and wraps her arms around his waist. Something she does with ease, probably because she’s done it a million times before.
“Hey, you,” she says, standing on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. “I know we agreed I wouldn’t come up for another few weeks, but I just missed you so much.”
“Uh, hey.” The tips of Wesley’s ears have turned red. He shoots me a look that I can’t quite decipher. Probably it’s pity. Pity for me for thinking, even for an instant, that there could ever be anything between us. “Quinn, this is Jolie,” he says.
“Nice to meet you.” She smiles. She is Tinker Bell in combat boots—short, pixie-cut blond hair, wide blue eyes, perfect little snub nose. She’s wearing baggy cargo shorts that hang off her hips, a snug T-shirt, and beat-up black boots that somehow make my red flip-flops with cherries at the toes seem tragically uncool. But they’re one of the only non-British-y items of clothing I haven’t gotten rid of.
“Jolie is from Portland,” he says.
“We’re doing the long-distance thing.” She rests her cheek against his chest in a way that makes me want to break her tiny fairy arms off.
This is not good. Not good at all. I feel sick and I don’t think it’s just the alcohol. Somehow, against my better judgment, I’ve developed serious feelings for Wesley. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?
My face feels unnaturally stiff. I’m trying to return her smile, but my lips aren’t fully cooperating. I must have some weird smile/frown hybrid going on because Wesley seems kind of alarmed. He clears his throat and turns his attention back to his girlfriend.
“How did you know I was here?” he asks her.
She gives him a gentle punch to the ribs. “You weren’t answering your phone, so I called Caleb. He gave me the address.” She gazes up at him, smiling slyly. “Surprised?”
He nods. So I guess that makes two of us.
Wait. She knows Caleb? I guess that means she’s visited Wesley before. Met his friends. Probably stayed with his family.
As if to underscore their relationship, Jolie kisses him again. Only this time, she puts a whole lot of feeling into it. Enough that a blush creeps into my cheeks, as if I’m spying on a very private moment. Which I guess I sort of am.
It’s clear that I’m cramping their reunion and I definitely don’t want to stick around until they finally get tired of tonguing each other, so I squeeze past them to get to the door. But in my haste, I trip over the planter and send cigarette butts flying all over the artificial turf.
“Whoops,” I say, laughing a little. What I really want to do is curse because I stubbed my toe hard against the ceramic pot. “Guess I’m still drunk.” And I am, a little bit, although not enough to forget that this ever happened, unfortunately. “Nice to meet you,” I say to Jolie.
“Yeah, you too.” She doesn’t look at me when she says this, but then, she’s distracted—her hand has found its way underneath Wesley’s T-shirt. I hear her say, “What did you say her name was again?” as I slide the door closed.
Erin’s still sitting on the couch, but Travis is with her now, and since the last thing I want is to be with another happy couple, I pretend not to hear her calling my name. Instead, I limp into the kitchen where I find Caleb standing in the corner, his hands tucked into his pockets. He looks as uncomfortable as I feel.
“Hey,” he says, watching me dig my bag out from the jumbled pile underneath the kitchen table. “You leaving?”
“Yeah. I need to take a walk,” I say.
“Want some company?”
I should say no. I should go home and calm down, remind myself of all the reasons why I should still hate Wesley James. Why I should still destroy him. But maybe that’s not what I need right now. Maybe what I need is a distraction from this terrible, terrible day. A distraction, perhaps, in the form of my very cute band partner.
“Sure.” I slide my bag over my shoulders. Caleb follows me out the door and we head down the hall. I have no real destination in mind, but my feet eventually lead us toward the beach. He’s chatting about England, all the places he wants to see. I’ve never heard him sound so excited.
I wish he would stop talking.
“We should check out the Globe Theatre one night,” he says. “You know, where Shakespeare put on his plays?”
“I’m kind of burnt out on Shakespeare, to be honest.” I get enough of him at work. And it’s not like I’ll be in England to visit the Globe anyway. “But you should definitely check it out.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he says. We walk past the restaurants and little souvenir shops that line the boardwalk, then cut across the street. At this time of night, the beach is pretty much deserted. As we get closer to the water, the air cools down, enough that I wish I’d worn more than just a T-shirt.
I sit down on the sand and kick off my flip-flops. “So I met Jolie,” I say as Caleb sits down beside me. “She seems nice.”
I know I shouldn’t be asking him questions about Wesley, that it will only make me crazy, but I can’t help myself.
He shrugs. “She is. I mean, I don’t know her that well—I met her for the first time a few weeks ago when she came up to visit Wes.”
“He’s never mentioned her to me.” I bury my toes in the sand. It’s still warm from the sun.
“Really?” Caleb glances at me. “Hm. They’ve been together about a year. Wes was really bummed that he had to leave Portland. I think they’re planning to apply to the same colleges next year.”
Of course they are.
I pick up a handful of sand and let it run through my fingers. The thought of Wesley with this girl depresses me, which is totally ridiculous. Up until half an hour ago, all I wanted was to pay Wesley James back. And now—irony alert—he’s found a new way to cause me pain and he doesn’t even know it.
Unless he does.
Oh my God. I sit up, spilling sand all over my bare legs. What if Wesley knows exactly what he’s doing? What if he’s been shamelessly flirting with me these past few weeks, trying to get me to fall for him, just so he could rub his girlfriend in my face?
What if he’s trying to get back at me for trying to get back at him?
“Are you okay, Quinn?” Caleb asks. “You seem a bit jittery.”
“I’m fine.”
I’m so not fine. Somehow, someway, Wesley James has learned about my plan. And he totally has a plan of his own.
Well, I am going to beat him at his own game. Er, at my own game. At whoever’s game this is. Because there is no way I’m going to let him get the better of me.
Wesley James will not win.
As all of this is tossing around in my brain, Caleb is watching me closely. I turn to face him, hoping he thinks I’m still drunk and not having a psychotic break or something.
“You’re sure?” he asks. “Maybe I should get you home.”
I have to show Wesley that I don’t care if he has a girlfriend, that the moment on the balcony meant nothing to me. And the best way to do that is right in front of me.
Caleb is the one I should want anyway. He’s sweet and considerate and cute. He might not make me zing in the same way that Wesley does, but maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe I don’t need the zing.
So I lean forward and kiss him. And almost from the second his lips meet mine, I know it’s a mistake.
It’s not that kissing him is bad. It’s just … nothing. I feel like I’m acting a part. I don’t lose myself in the moment, the way I did with (ugh) Jason Cutler last semester. The way I imagine I could with Wesley.
But I keep going, hoping it will get better. Hoping that Caleb can make me forget all about Wesley.