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And I’m not sure why he came looking for me to tell me his idea. Why he kept his promise to look for a solution. It isn’t as if he owes me anything—me, or Nate, or West.
“Sorry,” he says now, rubbing at his forehead, a crease between his pale brows. “It was all I could come up with. It’s been a rough week.”
“Why? You all right?” Why can’t I help the concern tightening my chest about this boy I barely know but whose mouth tastes like everything I want?
“Yeah, I’m all right.” A reluctant smile tugs at his mouth, transforming his face from beautiful to breathtaking. “Not worse than usual, anyway.”
“What do you mean? Why does everyone around me have to talk in riddles?”
“Who does?” His forehead wrinkles, then smooths out. “West?”
“Yeah, and Nate. And now you.”
“I don’t… what the hell are you talking about? I said we’re going to a party. Not clear enough for you? Your job is to convince Weston to come to the party. That’s it.”
“If you’re hoping for another kiss, forget it.”
His eyes widen, then narrow in anger, and a flush spreads across his high cheekbones. “Are you fucking serious? You think I couldn’t kiss any girl I want?”
“So you wanted to kiss me?”
“That’s not… I didn’t… Fuck.” He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Why do I always get so tongue-tied around you?
My heart skips a beat. “You didn’t seem tongue-tied the other night.”
He laughs. The sound is low, like his voice, and velvet dark, and it sends heat zinging down my middle. “I had my tongue in your mouth the other night, or did you forget? Tied to yours.”
How could I ever forget that kiss? The heat inside me flares, scorching me.
“Why are you doing this?” I wave a hand between us, then between myself and Nate’s apartment. “Helping us.”
And I don’t think he’ll reply, but then he shrugs and says, “Nate needs you.”
“Why do you say that? Kash…” God, I knew it. Weston’s strange silence when it comes to Nate’s bruises, Nate’s haunted look the other night.
“Not sure yet. That’s the thing, though: I just know he does. Whatever this misunderstanding is, you’d better fix it quick. You need to sit him down, Sydney, and make him tell you what’s wrong.”
Funny how this is the only boy I’ve ever kissed, and he calls me by my full name.
“And what about you?”
“What about me?” he mutters.
“Will you tell me what’s wrong with you?”
“No.” His mouth tightens, as if he hadn’t meant to say that. “Nothing’s wrong with me. I’ll see you at the party.”
Chapter Ten
West
The apartment is filthy. So damn filthy. Crawling with germs, with slime, with rot and decay. Every crack between the bathroom tiles, every square inch of the kitchen floor needs to be scrubbed clean. My knees ache, but I’m not getting up until it’s done.
So that I don’t have to think about other things.
So that at least something in my life will be right.
The bleach has seeped in through a tear in my rubber gloves, and my hand burns, but that’s okay. Pain is good. Helps me focus. Keeps me tethered to the here and now even as I float in a trance—the bliss of giving in to my compulsions.
