“My walk down the candy aisle will never be the same again.” I picked up a paintbrush from my desk and chucked it at her, but she ducked to the side and it missed. “Nothing happened.” Again, I didn’t think. “We had a few more drinks, and he brought me home, where I slept alone.”

“Boo. You’re no fun,” she said, dropping back down to the edge of my bed.

“What are you up to today, anyway? I hope you weren’t planning to hang here all day. I have to get to SYC at some point.” I would normally have been there by now, but I wasn’t in much of a rush to see Wes.

“No, I’m going back to the dorm to crash,” she said reaching to my floor and picking up a magazine that had made its home there for the last three weeks. “I drove in from Santa Monica this morning.”

“You still moving in with Wyatt?” I kicked another magazine across the carpet her way.

“That’s the plan.” Lennon flipped through the magazine in her hand. She had a cousin in Santa Monica she was close with that she’d planned on living with this summer.

“I hope you have room because I plan on visiting often.” The ping of my phone alerted me to a text. I dug into my bag on the floor searching for it.

“I think you’ll be fairly busy with him this summer.” She smiled and nodded at the phone in my hand. I rolled my eyes and checked the screen.

Wes: You ignored my call

Me: Lennon’s here

Wes: And you can’t talk when Lennon is here?

Me: I’d like to hear the replay of last night without her around

His reply took longer than I’d hoped. Crap.

“What’s Mr. Wonka have to say?” Lennon asked still flipping the pages of the magazine. I, in turn, flipped her off. Finally, another text came through.

Wes: We had fun. I took you home.

Well, that was vague. I was about to ask what kind of fun we had when he sent another text.

Wes: Go ahead and start without me today. I’m running late.

I was glad that I wasn’t the only one. I wondered what he was doing that would make him late. Then I wondered why I cared what he was doing that would make him late.

“He’s running late, too,” I said to Lennon, feeling like I needed her to know how innocent the texts were for some reason.

“Did you know vibrators were invented as a way to medicate women when they were PMSing?” Lennon grinned at me.

“What are you reading?” I asked her as if I didn’t care, but really I was beyond curious. I mean, really?

“Your magazine, my friend. And this right here,” she tapped the page, “is awesome information. Who would have thought orgasms could cure hormonal bitchery?” She closed the magazine and tossed it back to my floor where it would be sure to stay for another two weeks. I was not a slob by any means. My room was clean, dusted, and vacuumed. I just didn’t mind clutter.

I reached toward the magazine Lennon threw but stopped when my phone pinged again and reached for that instead.

Wes: What are you wearing?

I snorted and quickly pulled my hand to cover my mouth staring wide-eyed at Lennon.

“Did you just snort?” she asked.

“No. You did,” I said not looking up at her. I looked down at my cotton, way too small, only for at home shorts, and my also cotton, way too thin, only with a bra shirt. Then I wrote back my message.

Me: A muumuu

Wes: Yesss. Easy access

Me: Only you would find a muumuu appealing

“Stop snorting,” Lennon said still immersed in my magazine.

“You stop,” I said and read the next message that came through.

Wes: It doesn’t take much to charm my manaconda.

Me: Your mana-whata?

Wes: Shhh, just let it happen.

I laughed until I looked up to see Lennon gawking at me. I shut up and looked back down at my phone.

Me: Okay, I guess I’ll figure out later then

Wes: Promise?

Me: Shhh, just let it happen

Score one for me.

Wes: You’re my favorite.

“Okay, this time you really did snort.” Lennon threw the magazine down onto the ground.

“I did.” I smiled. No use in denying it anymore.

When I pulled into the parking lot of SYC, Wes’ car was already there. I hadn’t left long after texting with him, so whatever he’d had to do before must not have taken too long. That relieved me, knowing that he wasn’t, oh I dunno, answering a quick booty call from his list of sweeties.

The scent of fresh paint greeted me when I walked through the glass double doors. I set my bag down to lock back up since the center wasn’t open yet and inhaled slowly with a smile. There was just something so appealing about that scent. It reminded me a lot of the smell after a good rainfall with a noxious base hidden beneath a crisp canopy.

Wes was standing in the middle of the floor with his legs sprawled apart looking at the mural. From the side, I could see he had one arm folded across his chest, and the other propped on it at the elbow. He held his face in his hand, and he just looked. All the years, I’d never seen him wear this demeanor. He appeared contemplative, yet commanding.

If I stared long enough, I would see his mind chewing on each piece of the artwork. Slowly and deliberately, feeling the consistency. Taking the time to taste and absorb the flavors of it as they seeped in. He was perceptive. He was passionate. He was beautiful.

I took a careful step toward Wes, not wanting to disturb him, but the wood creaked under my feet. Wes spun around toward me.

“Hey.” He grinned and walked toward me.

“Oh, my God, Wes!” I dropped my bag and hurried to him. “What happened?”

I looked over Wes’ swollen eye and discolored cheek. Reaching my hand out, I slid my fingers across the puffed skin. He winced, and I retracted my touch quickly.

“Sorry,” I muttered and replaced my fingers on his face hesitantly. When he closed his eyes and turned into my touch, I delicately ran my fingertips down the side of his face. As my finger brushed across his cheekbone, an image flashed through my mind.

Wes. Angry.

“Last night?” I asked and pulled my hand slowly toward my side.

Wes nodded. “That fool Dan said some things about you.”

“And you—” Another flash of Wes and Dan hit me. Fists. Spit.

“I socked him,” Wes said sheepishly.

“What did he say?” I asked.

“I’d rather not say. It’s not true, and I don’t want his bullshit words filling your head.” Wes reached out and grabbed my hand with his.

“Wes, I deserve to know,” I said, and he squeezed my hand.

Flash.

Another memory rushed to me. Wes. In a chair. Me. On his…

“Oh, crap.” I yanked my hand from his and covered my mouth with both hands. “I…I… on your…I gave you…”

“You gave me a lap dance.” Wes gave me a lopsided grin.

I gave him a lap dance? Oh, my God. What was I thinking? I covered my face with my hands and groaned. Wes’ chuckle filled the empty gym, and his hands touched mine, pulling them away from my face.

I squinted up at him with so many questions in my mind. Why? Was I any good? Did he like it? What did Dan say?

“We both had a lot to drink. We had a fun catching up. Then I apologized for crashing your date and told you that I feel all protective over you or something like that.”