“Well, he’s tall with messy blond hair, likes soccer, and is kind of rebellious when he wants to be, at least to his parents and the teachers and telling the man to go fuck himself. He prefers getting high at parties instead of shitfaced, but he’s not a pothead, just a dabbler for relaxation purposes. He loves playing the hero, although he’ll never admit it, at least to a certain girl he’s known since grade school. Everyone else he couldn’t care less about. He also can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but you’ll never agree with me.” She gives a lengthy pause. “Hmmm … What else am I forgetting …? Oh, yeah, and his name rhymes with Shmeckett.”
“That’s not funny.” I squirm uncomfortably as images of last night wash over me and my skin tingles all over. “Beck doesn’t make me think about sex.”
“Yeah, right. You’re such a liar,” she states amusedly. “I can see it in your eyes every time we’re around him—well, that’s how you’ve been for the last year or so. But you’ll never admit it, so I don’t even know why I brought it up.”
I fidget with the sleeve of my shirt. “Beck is just my friend—my best friend. No offense.”
“None taken. He’s a way, way better friend than I am, anyway.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means he’d do anything for you, which is exactly what he does every chance you give him.” A splash of bitterness creeps into her tone and makes me question the underlying reason for why we’re having this conversation.
Does Wynter like Beck and is jealous of our relationship? It’s not the first time the thought has crossed my mind, and Ari suggested once that he thinks Beck and Wynter bicker all the time because of sexual tension. Them getting together would make sense. They both come from wealthy, well-respected families, and they share a lot of common interests, are very social, and don’t spend their nights with their ass hanging out to make extra cash.
Yep, perfect together.
And I should be happy for them, yet my stomach burns with nausea, or maybe that’s jealousy.
“Because he’s a good friend.” I force the unwanted thought from my head. “And if you were, too, you wouldn’t be talking about this.”
“Well, I think we already established that I wasn’t the best friend, so I’m going to go ahead and say what I’ve been dying to say for the last few months.” The humor dies in her tone, shifting to seriousness. “I think Beck—”
“Wynter,” I warn.
“—is in love with you!” she shouts over me.
I want to open the window and chuck the phone outside to escape this conversation. But I can’t afford to replace my phone.
“He does not. At least, not like that.” Does he? Do I want him to?
I shake my head. What the hell is wrong with me?
“What do you mean, like that?” The humor has returned. She’s totally enjoying my discomfort.
“Like … like love …” I push to my feet and pace the short length of my room.
Love? I don’t even know what love is … do I?
Beck’s face appears in my head: his smile, the way he touches my nose to get me to smile, the way I always seem to be able to smile around him.
Safe.
“Beck and I are just friends,” I announce stupidly, knowing my very lame argument will never win against Wynter’s mad skills. Seriously, the girl can get her way by snapping her fingers.
“If that’s what you have to tell yourself, then go ahead. But one day, it’ll catch up with you.”
“Catch up? How can something like that catch up with me?” I feign annoyance when really, I’m freaking out.
Maybe it has already caught up with us. Ever since that kiss, our friendship has been bumpy, off balance, and flaming with heat. Awkward moments keep occurring, like when he grazed his knuckles across my thigh last night or every time I stare stupidly at his lips. Or when we lay in bed together, grinding against each other …
“You really want to hear my theory?” Wynter’s cautious tone should scare me since she normally doesn’t give a crap about what she says.
“Um … I don’t know …” I bite on my thumbnail, uncertain how to respond.
“Well, I’m going to tell you, anyway.” She gives another drawn out pause, either to build dramatic effect or offer me a chance to back out. “I think that one of these days, the sexual tension is going to become too much, and you guys are going to end up screwing each other’s brains out.”
I stop at the foot of my bed and sink down on the mattress. “Trust me; that’ll never happen.”