Switched: Flirt New Adult Romance (11 page)

“Any last words?”

He cocks his head to the side and points a finger at me. “You’re going to regret that.”

I doubt it. I peg the snowball on his forehead and take off, laughing like they do in those evil-genius movies. We probably wouldn’t be acting like ten-year-olds if this hadn’t been the first snow we’d seen all winter. But hey, it’s fun and I just got back from an epic day with Talon. I’m so jacked up on endorphins I have no idea how to release all my energy except to pick on Wesley.

I duck behind the garbage cans, thanking the heavens for once in my life that I have a petite body.

“Kaaaaylaaa,” Wesley sings across the yard. I bite down on my fist so I don’t let my laughter loose. “Don’t make me call you by your nickname.” He’s still singing, and I’m getting my butt soaked in the snow. I really don’t want him uttering my nickname anywhere, let alone belting it out in an opera-worthy voice. I grab another handful of snow and wait till I see his shoes.

“Ahh!” I scream, leaping from my spot and shoving the snow down the back of his shirt while he shoves snow down mine. He’s stronger than me, so my pathetic attempt is overtaken by the blizzard happening under my clothes.

“Beg for mercy!” he yells as he wiggles around to get the snow out of his shirt, still keeping his hand down the back of mine, pressing the ice-cold handful he’s got into my spine.

“Mercy! Mercy!” I laugh, and he takes his hand from my shirt. We shake ourselves free of whatever snow is left in our clothes, doing this synchronized snow dance.

I wipe my gloves off on my pants, smiling this big-ass grin I haven’t been able to erase since the jewelry store. “I take it your day was as good as mine?” I ask.

“ ’Twas fabuloso,” he says, waving his hand like he’s just finished the performance of his life. I laugh and shove him for being such a dork. He relaxes, setting his smile on me and making that dimple pop on his chin. “It feels good to be home.”

“But you aren’t home.” I wink.

“You know what I mean.”

I do. Because I felt like I was home the second we passed the Welcome to Spokane sign. I hip-bump him and walk up my porch, Wesley following close behind. He takes a loud whiff when I open the door.

“Mmm … yeah.”

“What’s that about?”

His dimple gets a little deeper as he smiles. “I’ve missed the smell of your house.”

I roll my eyes and laugh, tugging him straight toward the kitchen—the source of the delicious scent.

“Hey, Dad. One more for dinner okay?”

My father, who is about a foot shorter than Wesley and maybe two or three inches taller than me, turns with the spatula in his hand, a shiny gleam on his bald head, and gives us both a smile. He has this sort of mob boss attitude when it comes to three things: food, family, and football.

Right now he’s nodding in approval at Wesley, who has been a fan of his cooking ever since tasting his nacho dip last Christmas.

“Set another plate. Or two … since it’s Wes joining us.” He winks and goes back to the stove.

I honestly consider putting two plates down for him, but Wesley bats my hand away when I reach for the second dish. “Better stick to one,” he semi-whispers (I don’t think he’s capable of full-on whispering because his voice is so loud). “If I’m going to be here through Christmas, I’m going to have to watch it or the gym’ll kick my ass when I get back.”

“Wimp,” I challenge.

“You want me to lose this amazing stomach?” He smacks his abs and does a caveman grunt. I elbow him right in that “amazing” stomach.

“Not a big loss in my opinion.”

“Kayla, when are you going to start being nice to me?”

“When you start deserving it.”

“Damn.” He snaps his fingers and straightens his stance. Whoa, I didn’t even notice how close his face was. “It’s a good thing I kind of like it when you’re mean.”

“Oh great. Now I can’t be mean without you liking it. How will you ever know how much you annoy me?”

He pretends to pull his heart out, and I do it with him, just to make fun. He laughs and I laugh, then we laugh harder because we’re laughing at something so stupid.

“Are you ever going to get Wes’s plate to the table? Because dinner’s ready.” Dad looks at us like he caught us having sex. Wesley’s ears get a little pink as Dad glares him down, all mob boss style. Weird. Usually I’m the embarrassed one around here.

“I knew I recognized that voice.” Mom scoots around the corner, and Wesley wraps her up in a hug. My heart kind of dances against my rib cage as I watch him be so delicate with her. It’s been two years since she finished her treatments, and though her hair took a while to grow back, it’s right above her ears now. She looks so good, with all the color in her cheeks and the laugh lines in the corners of her eyes. Every time I see her it puts a smile on my face.

Wesley lets her go, and she walks straight to Dad and squeezes his middle, resting her chin on his back. “You’re not giving him a hard time, are you? Wes is my favorite of Kayla’s friends.” She winks at us, and Dad’s mob boss attitude totally melts as he turns around to kiss her. I suppose the normal kid reaction to seeing parents kissing is “ew, gross,” but not for me. Their relationship is totally something I want someday.

Wesley also seems to think it’s just as adorable, not even getting all squeamish around my totally-in-love-and-not-afraid-to-show-it parents. I grab his plate, nudging him out of the way. Just for fun, I set it next to Dad’s at the table. Then stifle that evil-genius laughter.

“Ugh,” Wesley moans as he falls onto my bed. His fingers go to his belt and he tugs it open, like it’s preventing that flat-ass stomach from breathing. And okay, he does have abs. I catch that much when his shirt slides up. Even though they aren’t as chiseled as Talon’s, Reagan will be a lucky girl.

No way am I mentioning that to her, though. Not after the whole jacket thing.

“What’re you staring at, Mickey?” He pushes himself up on his elbows, the metal on his belt buckle making this clinking sound that sort of causes the hairs on the back of my neck to prickle. And not in a bad way, either. My hormones must be in max-out mode if Wesley is
making them act up.

“Shouldn’t have filled your one plate up twice,” I say, motioning to his open belt. Why is that driving me crazy? He should do it up pronto. “Are you in any condition to do this?”

He nods and waves his hand, flopping back onto the mattress. “Plot away. I’m listening.”

I sit at my desk and pull out my progress reports. Tapping my pen on the journal, I say, “Oh, and Wesley … call me Mickey again and you’ll be whipped with that belt.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“Ass.”

“Is that where you’ll start?”

“I hate you.”

He goes for that pretend-ripping-out-his-heart bit, and I toss a crumpled piece of paper at him before he does.

“Okay,” I say, getting down to business. No more screwing around. Time to be organized and efficient. I open my journal to the last progress report. “So, we have three days before Reagan’s big Christmas-slash-anniversary present. And right now I think we’re sitting in a good spot. We need to kick it up a notch.”

I’m so focused on my report, I don’t even notice Wesley’s off the bed and peering over my shoulder till he says with an amused grin, “What the hell is this?”

I hold the notebook to my chest so that he doesn’t read any more than he already peeked at. “My journal. So …” I wave my hand at him to go back to his spot on the bed.

“Are you keeping a report of how this is going?” He cocks an eyebrow, and the side of his mouth goes up too. “Isn’t that risky with the roommate you have?”

“Extremely. But I have to write it down to get it out or I’ll go nuts. Just my thing. Don’t judge.”

“I’m not. I write stuff down too. But I keep it locked up tight.”

“You live alone. Why would you have to worry about anyone seeing it?”

“Because you guys are at my place more than your own.”

Yeah. I’ll give him that one. “Okay, then, you know all about the privacy of journals. No over-the-shoulder reading.”

He puts his hands up and takes three steps back to the bed, then flops down again. “All right, Nancy Drew, tell me what we’ve got.”

“Well, so far we’ve had a lot of time alone with each of them. I can only speak about my side of things, but Talon has really loosened up around me.”

“That’s good. Have you?”

“Huh?”

“Have you loosened up around him?”

I let out a puff of sarcastic laughter. “Yeah. Right. When have I ever been anything but a sighing idiot who’s all tense and jumpy?”

“I don’t see you that way.”

“I mean around him.”

He sits up and cracks his neck. “Well, it’s good he’s more comfortable around you. Means he’s being himself.”

Yay! That’s what I thought too. I bite down on my tongue to keep from squealing. My eyes rake over the paragraphs where I talk about the phone conversation I had with Reagan and how it backfired. “What about you? How was being alone with Reagan?”

“Fun.”

I wiggle my head, pen poised on my paper. “That’s it?”

“Yeah. We had fun.”

“Well, what did you do?”

“Studied for finals.”

I write it down, so I feel like we’re somehow moving forward. “And …?”

“Had sleepovers.” He winks, and I glare at him. He laughs. “Okay, okay. We just hung out. Probably a lot like what you did with Talon. She talked to me a bit about how he’s been bugging her lately. Okay, she talked to me a lot about it. But I didn’t dwell on it because it makes me feel like shit.”

I ignore that he’s a much better person than I am. “I’ll talk to her about it, then.”

“Kayla …”

“Wesley …,” I mock back. “We have
three days
. Let’s make them count, yes?”

It takes him a few seconds, but he nods. “Okay. Just tell me one thing, though.”

“Sure,” I answer, keeping my eyes on the progress report I’m drafting.

He gulps, and it makes me gulp too. Don’t know why, but suddenly the air has shifted because he’s acting all nervous. Wesley doesn’t get nervous around me. Not really. He’s only nervous around Reagan, so what’s the deal?

His ears fire up again and he refuses to look me in the eye. “Uh, why do you love Talon?”

Progress Report: December 22

I win for most awkward conversation ever! Wesley was only supposed to be over for a little while, but he just left and it’s almost midnight. I hope at least by now his mom’s latest boyfriend has left and Wesley can spend the holiday with just him and his mom. Well, and us of course. I’m emotionally drained, and surprised I can even write, but I better get it all down while it’s still fresh in my mind.

So we were all fine and dandy until he lobbed a bomb of a question at me: “Why do you love Talon?”

At first I was pissed, thinking he was totally joking. I had to explain my love for Talon? Who the hell does he think he is? He knows how long I’ve felt the way I have. He’s about the same with Reagan. I shouldn’t admit on paper what I did to Wesley, in case he comes after me for it later. (I’ll deny everything!) But after he recovered, he kind of fixed my wrestling-match hair and hovered over me on the bed. Because … well, we ended up there. Anyway, he asked me again, all serious-faced: “Kayla, why do you love Talon?”

I was like, “Why are you asking me that?”

And he was all, “Because I need to feel better about doing this to my best friend.” He was super quiet saying that, dodging my eyes and sitting up on my bed and stuff. Then, like he wanted to joke it away, he said, “You know, bros before hos.”

That made me feel like crap, so I asked, “Why do you love Reagan?” And he threw it back with the classic seven-year-old’s response: “I asked you first.”

So, with a lot of awkward glances and supposed-to-be jokes to lighten the mood, I explained my oh-so-strong attraction to Talon, and in turn he told me his reason for loving Reagan. And you know what really stinks? I think his reasons seemed more genuine than mine. He was all, “She’s never afraid to be who she is.” Which I thought was super deep, so I tried to come up with something like that, but I think I ended up saying, “Talon is nice to his mom.” It’s true, but I’m not sure if it really gave the impression I loved him. But a guy who is good to his mom is usually good to girls.

The worst part, though—and I hate to admit it—is that I had to really, really think about the answer to that question. Is that horrible of me? I guess I’ve loved him for so long I’ve forgotten why. The answer doesn’t come very easily. I could go on and on about his amazing ass and his beautiful smile and his blue eyes, but that has no meaning.

So, what kind of person does that make me? A girl who wants to steal her best friend’s boyfriend because he’s hot? Yeah … I’m a bitch.

(It’s about comforting your best friend near the condom aisle.)

“Should I get the Pleasure Pak? It’s got ribbed, ultra thin, something called ‘Her Pleasure’ … ooh, I like the idea of that. And they’re all lubricated. That’s good. But I think I’ll buy lubricant too. And oil.”

How does one travel from heaven to hell in only a couple of days? I must’ve been asleep when I took the trip.