Well, I hadn’t even thought about that possibility. My pills were in there. He’d probably label me a freak if he saw them. What kind of person needed meds to deal with her life? I did. I just wish I didn’t have to take them.
“Uh, thanks.” I tried dismissing him. Instead he looked around the room, his eyes seeming to focus on every single detail from the paint to the carpet, and then finally, he stepped back out into the hallway. “Oh!” He held up his hand. “I almost forgot.”
Weston pulled a sharpie from his pocket and snatched my hand before I was able to put it back into my pocket. With swift movements he wrote a phone number onto my palm and blew across it until it dried.
I felt that breeze all the way down to my toes. I think I may have swayed on my feet too, but I couldn’t be certain because I blacked out for a few seconds.
“There.” He lifted his head and looked into my eyes. “Just in case the lamb can’t find her way home.”
“Cute.”
“Thank you.” He winked and walked out the door.
The room fell silent. I shrugged and turned to face Lisa. Her mouth was open, she looked alive, but nothing was coming out of her except for a slight moan. Was she having a stroke?
Gabe jumped up from the couch and went to slam the door closed
“Shit!” Gabe clapped his hands and swore again. “Outside of football games and class, I’ve never seen him. I mean, he doesn’t talk to people. He never leaves his entourage!”
“Entourage?” The only experience I’d had with that particular word was watching the show on my computer. Did that mean he had lots of people around him all the time? Weird, because when I was with him he was alone “He’s our RA.”
“SHUT UP!” Lisa looked faint. “Oh, I need to sit, I need to sit. Gabe bring a fan, I think I’m going to pass out.”
Gabe rolled his eyes. “Good to know how I compare to the god.”
“You aren’t even in the same atmosphere as Weston Michels.”
Michels? Why did that last name sound familiar?
“Thanks, cousin.”
“Anytime.”
“Cousin?” I asked.
“Oh right, Gabe’s my cousin.” She waved me off and started doing breathing exercises.
Well, at least she wasn’t already bringing strange men back to our room. Gabe took a seat next to her, his grin wide.
“Okay, what am I missing?” I sat on the couch and leaned forward. “Is this Weston guy important?”
Gabe let out a laugh and then slapped his leg. “You’re shitting me right? Where have you been living?”
“Bickelton.”
“Huh?” He leaned in as if to examine me. I was speaking English right?
“Small town.” Lisa smacked him and then focused on me again. “I can’t believe you don’t know who Weston is. Seriously? You said you watched TV.”
“I do,” I defended myself. “Well, I mean, I watch Netflix and I read magazines and stuff, you know, when they’re available at our corner store.”
“Holy shit, you live in the fifties.” Gabe snorted.
I glared.
“Weston Michels.” Lisa typed the name into her phone and then handed it to me.
I should have known.
He had an IMDb website. Not a good sign. That screamed entertainment industry. I scrolled further down.
And there it was.
The Forbes article had been done around two years before, about the same time as the accident. I hadn’t been much of a social butterfly then. In fact, I distinctly remember Uncle Jo threatening to throw me out if I didn’t leave my room.
I tapped the screen, making the image bigger. His hair was longer now. He looked happier, easy even, in the Forbes picture. I swallowed the dryness in my throat as I continued reading and looked at the next picture, Weston Michels and his dad, Randy Michels, one of the richest men in the world. They moved to the states when Weston was eight, explaining his accent, I knew he sounded British!
“He’s like a hybrid,” Gabe said, pulling the phone from my grip. “Weston Michels is like two months away from inheriting a multi-billion dollar fortune.”