17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Wes

“WESLEY!” The piercing shriek blasts through my phone, causing me to yank the device away from my ear. After seventeen years of living with the loudest creature known to man, you would think I’d be used to my sister’s noise levels by now.

“You’ve been at university for a month and this is the first time you’ve called me?!” I wince against the shot of guilt.

“I’m sorry Lace, juggling classes and lacrosse has been crazier than expected.” I hear my sister scoff through the phone, the familiar sound bringing a smile to my face.

“Uh huh. So your excuse for abandoning me is too much homework?” Taking one from Trip’s book, I roll my eyes at my sibling’s dramatics.

“I’m at university, Lace, I didn’t abandon you. Not to mention the fact we text almost every day.” I pause for good measure, “And you forgot to add varsity training as one of my excuses.”

“Riiiight. So you’ve been hitting the books and the gym 24/7, eh?” I sense a jab coming my way, but I continue to play along. I have missed our sibling banters.

“You got it. When I’m not cramming papers, I’m running laps around the field.”

“I see. So, you haven’t gone out at all this semester?” I grin as my cards fold. The only person other than Nico who can see through my BS is my younger sister.

Oh, and maybe Trip.

“That depends on what you classify as going out.” I pivot on my heel, changing my trajectory from the cafeteria to the courtyard. I’ve been meaning to send her a picture of the courtyard flowers for a while now.

“Don’t be coy with me, brother. I saw you dancing on Nico’s story a couple of weeks ago. What were you doing at a gay bar, anyways?” Waving to one of my teammates in the hall, I duck into the next corridor.

“I was Nico’s wingman.”

A laugh echoes over the phone, “We both know Nico doesn’t need a wingman.” I chuckle in agreement, memories washing over me.

Being only a year apart in age, Lacey would sometimes tag along with me and Nico. Childhood adventures eventually turned into teenage parties; innocent pastimes becoming not-so-innocent drinking games. Whenever my little sister was present, my participation in such activities was always toned down – I had a big brother reputation to uphold after all – but that also meant that in Lacey’s eyes, Nico was the troublemaker. And by troublemaker, I mean heartbreaker. In the experimental years of puberty and high school, there was no fella who didn’t fall for my boy’s charms.

Hell, I’m straight and even I’m infatuated with the guy.

“You’re right, Nico is his own wingman. I mostly go to get compliments from attractive men.” My response sends Lacey into another bout of laughter. The carefree sound loosens a breath from my diaphragm I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

There was a long time when my sister didn’t laugh. There was even a time when she didn’t want to live.

“I’ve seen enough men drool over you. And girls for that matter.” I force out a chuckle, trying not to let the scars of the past taint our conversation.

“I want to hear about you. How are you doing, Lace?” Despite my best effort, concern seeps into my voice and my sister is quick to notice the change in tone.

“Enough with the worrying, Wesley. I am perfectly fine. If anything, I’m bored. High school is the same thing day in, day out. I’m ready for a challenge. I’m ready for some fresh faces.” She says the last part indifferently, but I know better. There is one face in particular she never wants to see again. The same face who took out a restraining order on me last spring when I gave him a broken nose and two black eyes. I’m not a violent person by nature, but when I saw Lacey curled up, sobbing her heart out on the kitchen floor that day, something inside me snapped. It took Nico and half the soccer team to drag me off him.

My mother says I’m lucky he didn’t press charges, but as far as I’m concerned, he’s the one who is lucky to still be alive.

“Boring can be a good thing.” Jesus, I’m starting to sound like her parent.

As if reading my thoughts, Lacey’s scolding tone rings in my ear, “You’re starting to sound like dad. Do me a favour and don’t be my big brother for a minute, be my friend. I want to hear all the wild freshmen gossip. No filters.”

The words tug on my conscious, a reminder of the time I failed as her big brother, let alone friend. With a deep breath, I push the pain aside, and launch into a hilarious recount of Cody hauling Stella, ass first, out of the club.

Before the incident, my stories used to be Lacey’s universal cure. No matter how angry or upset my sister was, my larger-than-life recounts could always put a smile back on her face. And that has always been my goal: keeping a smile on my little sister’s face. When her heart and trust got shattered into millions of pieces, we lost that connection. A piece of her innocence got stolen away and not even my extravagant stories could bring it back.

“Oh my God. She actually punched him?” Even though my stories are no longer the magical remedy they once were, Lacey remains my favourite audience member. Always knows when to laugh, gasp, and ask rhetorical questions.

“Sure did. Four times. And not light punches either.” Finally reaching the courtyard, I pause to take some photos of the blooming flora.

“Whoa. I want to meet this girl.” I shudder at the thought of those two firecrackers combining forces. I’m all for girl power, but that is one duo I hope to never see.

“Her roommate’s got a bit of a strange name. Trip, was it?” I feel my smile grow wider at the mention of her name. So much for building a tolerance.

“Nah, Trip’s just the nickname I gave her. She’s the girl I plowed down during move-in day.” My sister had laughed until she cried over that particular story. Out of all the tales I tell, my misfortunes seem to be her favourite.

“Ooh, so she has a nickname now, does she?” My shit eating grin won’t break even though my face muscles are starting to ache.

This is what an adult crush looks like, ladies and gentlemen.

“Yep. I think you’d like her. She’s an original.” The words fly out of my mouth with complete ease, shocking Lacey into unnatural silence.

I give it five seconds. Four, three…

“I’m impressed, Wesley. You’ve finally found a girl who’s kept you interested longer than 72 hours.” Nope, didn’t even hit the two second mark.

“You’ll understand when you meet her. Are you still driving down Saturday?”

“As if I would miss your first varsity tournament. Although with how you’ve abandoned me, maybe I should reconsider.”

I shake my head even though she can’t see me. “Such a drama queen. I am looking forward to seeing you.”

“Hmm, I’ll be the judge of that. I gotta go, so take care Wesley. I’ll see you bright and early Saturday morning.”

I smack my lips loudly, blowing her a kiss through the phone. “Miss you, Garden Girl.” A loud raspberry is my only response before she ends the call.

If there’s one thing I take credit for, it’s teaching my sister how to make an exit.

Lou

“Well done, Miss Mackenzie.” A corrected copy of my non-procrastinated essay lands with a slap on my desk. I look up to see a perfectly shaved goatee staring back at me.

Nodding towards the circled A on the title page of my paper, Professor Anderson attempts a smile, “I am pleased to see your writing skills are improving. You’ve come a long way since that first class.” The words unexcused tardiness lay in his undertone, but I decide to focus on the compliment instead.

“Thank you, sir. That means a lot coming from you.” I hear Wes stifle a laugh beside me. Professor Anderson gives me one last nod before continuing down our row. As soon as he’s past my line of vision, I turn and slap Wes on the arm.

“Ow! What was that for?”

He rubs the point of contact while I roll my eyes, “You know exactly what that was for. The laugh?”

“I couldn’t help it. That means a lot coming from you? We both know the only thing you were thinking about is how spectacular his goatee is looking today.”

Biting back a smile, I shrug in response, “The amount of effort he puts into that patch of hair pays off.”

Stroking his chin like a villain from a bad action movie, Wes muses out loud, “Maybe I should grow a goatee. Think I could pull it off?”

“Absolutely not.” My response comes out louder than intended and a few students turn our way. I awkwardly duck my head but not before Professor Anderson visually reprimands me from across the room. Pretty sure my essay compliment has already been retracted.

Snickering, Wes draws my attention back to his handsome face. “Like my baby face too much, do you?” I cough, trying and failing to contain my blush.

Our make out session happened a few days ago, but so far things have been normal with Wes. Well, as normal as things can be when you have an attractive friend who happens to be a phenomenal kisser. We haven’t hung out since the HSM/kissing marathon, but so far he’s acting as though nothing has changed. He still stops to talk to me in the hall, sends me the occasional meme, and saved me a seat for psych class.

I have no idea what we are – or if we are even a thing – but so far I have been trying to follow Wes’ lead. And as of right now, that means being friends who had a little make out session. Nothing less, nothing more.

“Mm, it’s okay,” my offhand comment puts a mischievous gleam in Wes’ vibrant eyes.

That’s never a good sign.

In attempt to be a competent student, I turn my attention away from the smoldering man beside me and look towards the ongoing PowerPoint presentation. I flip open my notebook with the intention to start taking notes when a pen hits my leg. I raise my eyebrows in Wes’ direction but he’s already halfway under the desk.

I’m almost done scribbling the first slide when a warm hand wraps around my ankle. I freeze as the hand slowly starts to snake upward. My body quickly unfreezes and starts to squirm as Wes’ fingers make their way up my calf, inching their way higher and higher, while a pair of lips follows the trail with teasing kisses.

“Grab your pen and get out from under there. You’re going to get us in trouble,” I hiss the words quietly, trying not to draw attention to us. The person to my left is busy talking to their neighbour and thankfully there’s a wall dividing the rows in front of us, so even if someone looks back, they wouldn’t be able to see Wes.

“I’m testing to see how much you like me clean shaven.” The words themselves are innocent enough but the green eyes peering up from between my legs are anything but.

“Fine, you win, okay? You wi –” My words turn into a sharp inhale as Wes lightly runs his fingertips from the inside of my knee up to my inner thigh. And back down again.

“I like hearing you say that.” He slows the exploration to lazy circles, casually tracing patterns up and down my leg. Thank God I shaved this morning.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” The fingers stall, patiently waiting for my response.

I should say yes. I should say… “No.” The word sounds strangled through my laboured breathing.

If I’m being honest, the thought of someone catching us is more thrilling than uncomfortable. There’s something about the risk factor that makes Wes’ appreciation of my leg shall we say, muchmore exciting. Nothing like keeping one’s virgin status while losing all morals surrounding public decency.

I blame the dimples.

“Good,” he presses one finger against my jean shorts, right on my centre, and I have to grip the edge of the desk as my body clenches with pleasure.

Wes chuckles under the desk and I give him a swift kick. Catching my foot and tugging me forward, he drags his tongue up to the spot where my shorts end and the sensitive skin of my thigh begins. Then he replaces his tongue with his teeth.

The arrogant prick bites me.

I can’t hold back my gasp and my neighbour glances over with concern, "Everything okay?”

The sound of his voice causes both Wes and I to freeze in our respective positions. After a moment of silence, I realize Wes can’t speak without exposing himself, so I hurry to respond.

“Sorry, these topics take me by surprise sometimes. The methods we’re discussing are a lot more hands on than I’m used to.” My inuendo falls on unsuspecting ears as my friendly neighbour nods in understanding. I feel Wes shake beneath me, trying to hold in his laugh.

He fails.

The seemingly random burst of laughter coming from beneath my desk causes the guy beside me to jump. With a quizzical look, he pulls his chair back to peer under my desk. I silently groan as Wes gives him a cheerful, “Hey there!” from between my legs.

Maybe social isolation wasn’t so bad after all.

“Hey… there,” my neighbour pushes his glasses back up his nose, eyes wide as he takes in the scene in front of him. Taking his cue, Wes climbs back onto his chair like a normal student and holds his pen up in triumph.

“I found it!” The announcement does nothing to ease my neighbour’s horror-stricken expression.

I have a feeling I’ll be getting a new neighbour next class.