“Is that . . . okay?” He looked like he was used to people turning him down. I had a hard time imagining that happened often. “It’s okay to tell me I’m out of line. We can go back to online only.”
“No, stay. As long as you keep massaging me.” I adopted a playful smile.
I was met with the briefest of flashes in his eyes before he shifted to match my expression. “I can do that.”
“That’s what I pay for, right?” Silence. For a writer, I had a keen ability to say exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time.
The mood in the room had shifted, leaving me wondering if I had imagined the flirty vibe to begin with.
Wes straightened and cleared his throat, leaning against the arm of the couch. “So, what happened with that guy? Kick him to the curb?”
“We weren’t really together,” I said, pulling my legs under me. I’d texted Ben to tell him I was in the hospital, and he’d replied with a doctor emoji.
Wes contemplated my response for a minute. “You’re not seeing him anymore, though?”
I shrugged noncommittally. “No.”
“Good. He sounds like a dick. You deserve better.”
I snorted. “That’s an understatement.”
“I’m glad you agree,” he said, shoving his hand in his pocket, which had his sleeve riding up to reveal impressive, tanned biceps. “Anyone else on deck?”
“No. My parents will try to set me up with someone back home, and I’m sure my friends here will, too. What about you?”
He shook his head without elaborating, and another moment of silence hung between us, but his tone was light when he spoke again. “You’re close with your family?”
“Yes. I have an older brother, and my sister has three boys, plus a ton of cousins, so everything is always loud and kind of sticky.”
“That sounds fun.” His voice returned to the timbre I was getting used to.
“It is.” I wrapped my arms around my legs, pulling them to my chest, the movement stretching me in a way that felt good and awful at the same time.
“Do they know you’re doing the program? Are they supportive?”
I laughed, picturing my parents. “Oh yeah. They’re kind of aggressively supportive about everything. I come from a big family of literal and figurative cheerleaders, especially about relationships. My mom will be back at full speed trying to set me up with someone from her church, or my high school boyfriend, Calvin.”
“Not so into that idea?”
“No, but she’s relentless.”
He stretched his arms over his head, his T-shirt rising an inch or two over his abs. “Relentless about Calvin or relationships in general?”
Holy six-pack, Batman!
I jerked my chin up, hoping he hadn’t seen me looking at his stomach. “Um, yeah.” I laughed.
He raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to finish.
“Sorry. Yeah, my parents met at a poetry reading in college. Like, my dad was reading a sonnet and their eyes met. My sister married her prom date. My brother and his husband met at the Eiffel Tower while both were vacationing in Paris. They’re very invested in me having a love story, too.” I loved all their stories, but it made me feel like a disappointment that I didn’t have my own yet. “Anyway. When I go home alone, they pounce. It’s like walking into this onslaught of love.”
Wes nodded, thoughtful. “Maybe you should bring a buffer home, someone to protect you and change the subject.”
“Yeah, right?” I laughed and stood with a groan. “You want a beer or some water?”
“Water,” he said. “And I’m serious.”
When my back was turned, I smiled to myself. I watched the water flow into the glass and let myself remember the feel of his hands.
“So, you really wrote all this?” He motioned to the shelf.
“Yep. You can snoop if you want.” I turned back to the faucet, a little excited for him to see my writing. Those notebooks were filled with a lot of random writing, but it was disconnected from journalism and Best Life and it was safe. I smiled and glanced over my shoulder, a little giddy at the prospect of him in my place, peeking into my head.
Wes was staring at a page of a red notebook intently.
“Find something good? I don’t even remember what’s in half of them.”
He closed it with a snap, the sound startling me. “Yeah, I mean, from what I saw, you’re a good writer.” He turned to place it back on the shelf quickly. Weird.