Every Kiss(10)
No, he’s nothing like Shane at all. But I’ll be damned if I can make myself think that’s a bad thing. Chalk that up to my affinity for bad boy assholes, I guess.
“See something you like, sweetheart? You’re staring awful hard.”
Oh, shit. What the hell is wrong with me today? Okay, Cal . . . get your head back on straight and play it cool. “Not particularly. Just trying to figure you out. Are you bipolar or something?”
“No, but women, in general, make me moody. They’re all so damn frustrating.”
I scowl at him and turn back to the television. Holly Golightly picks up her cat and walks to the fridge. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve seen this movie, I always think she’s going to put the cat in there. When she starts describing the “mean reds,” I raise my eyebrows at Wes. “Maybe you just need a trip to Tiffany’s to make you feel better.”
He snorts. “If it means I get to go to New York, then sure. I’d do just about anything to get away from here for a few days. But, no, I’m the lucky bastard who took off work tomorrow because my brother wanted to throw me a birthday party in the middle of the week.”
“Well, it is spring break. But I have to agree with you on doing anything to get away. Even if it’s just for a day.”
“Oh, come on.” He rolls his eyes at me. “I seriously doubt your life is all that complicated. Doing your homework and stressing over which shoes to wear with your dress hardly constitute the need to get away. You have it easy right now, sweetheart. I suggest you enjoy it.”
I gape at him. “You don’t know me. You have no right to judge whether I have a lack of complexity in my life. Believe me, I have just as much shit going on as you do. Jerk.” Who is this self-centered asshole? How could Makenna ever think he’s sweet?
Even though I’m glaring at him with every ounce of fury in my being, the bastard starts laughing at me. Not just a little giggle, either. He’s full-on bellowing. I start to get up to make a statement by storming out of the room, but he grabs my elbow and pulls me back down.
“Don’t leave.” He tries to stifle another roar of his amusement, attempting to appear sincere, but a hint of a smirk still shadows his lips. “I’m sorry, and you’re right. I’m being an ass. I don’t mean to direct it at you. Today has been twenty different shades of screwed up, and I’m not taking it well. Most girls don’t call me out on my bullshit, so you caught me a little off-guard. But surprisingly, I actually like it.”
I’m still not too convinced that he’s not bipolar. “Makenna told me that she thinks the reason for your mood swings is because of your mom. Is that true?”
That hint of a smile disappears in a flash. “How much do you know?”
“Nothing much other than what I just said. She told me that you and Shane have different moms and that you don’t really know yours. That’s all.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way. I don’t want to talk about it, especially with you.”
Well, if that wasn’t a slap in the face, I don’t know what is. “Fine.”
We sit in complete silence through the rest of the movie, and having him in the room makes the gooey, sappy ending scenes unusually uncomfortable. I keep praying for Shane or Makenna to come downstairs to rescue me, but they never do. And I’d go upstairs to find her myself, but I have a feeling he’d stop me from leaving.
Even though I hate to admit it, I know what he’s feeling. It’s a strange place to be. You’re pissed at the world and you want to be alone, but then again, you can’t stand the thought of the miserable solitude. I don’t want to empathize with him because he’s such an ass, but I can’t help it. That’s why I stay rooted in my seat, offering him the silent companionship that he doesn’t want to admit he needs.
Finally. Finally, the ending credits begin to roll, and he grabs the remote from the table to click the power button. I sneak a peek at him from the corner of my eye, and he’s just staring into the darkness of the screen, fixated on everything and nothing at all. “I, uh . . .” His voice is as quiet as a whisper, the edges softened by vulnerability. But his slack jaw clamps shut at the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
Shane and Makenna walk into the room hand-in-hand, and before anyone can speak, Wes stands and shoves his hands deep in the pockets of his low-slung jeans. He walks toward the kitchen, only stopping by Shane to say, “Thanks for putting me on babysitting duty.” And he slips out the back door.
Yep. Still an asshole. “What the hell is his problem?” I ask Makenna after Shane takes off after him.