Page 22 of Better Than the Movies
“There’s a Target bag in the side pocket that you can put your dirty clothes in. And I’ve got your purse downstairs—do you need it?”
“No.” I’d totally forgotten I even had a purse. “Um—thanks. So much, Wes.”
He was being very un-Wesley nice to me. Or at least what I’dthoughtwas un-Wesley. I guess the reality was that maybe I didn’t know who he was anymore. I mean, since we’d arrived at the party, he’d actually been… great.
“No problem. I’m going downstairs, then.” I heard rustling outside the door, and then it went quiet. I covered my front with yet another guest towel—totally didn’t cover enough, by the way—before I dropped to a squat, cracked the door, and stuck my hand through the opening.
I immediately made contact with the nylon string bag, thank God. I jerked it into the bathroom, then closed and locked the door. I needed to hurry and change if I was going to get another minute alone with Michael before Laney showed up and ruined everything. We’d been having a total movie moment before Blondie had rained her regurgitated foodstuffs upon me, and there was no way I was going to let that moment go.
I pulled the clothes out of the bag.
Aw, geez, Wes.
I don’t know what I’d expected him to have in the trunk of his car, but I was going to look like a goofball in his sports clothes. I stepped into the gray sweatpants and pulled them up, but they were huge on me. I had to roll the waistband down two times in order not to trip over the bottoms, and I still suffered from a likely-to-be-pantsed fate, as one tiny tug would send those babies right to my ankles.
I pulled theEMERSON BASEBALLsweatshirt over my wet head—again, huge—but it smelled like fabric softener and felt like a blanket, so I kind of maybe liked it a little.
A horrified giggle escaped me when I saw my reflection—a gray marshmallow in the soft, puffy, oversize fleece ensemble. My buff-colored Mary Janes with the square heels were going to look amazing with the outfit, especially since they were also splattered with brown vomit.
I sighed and pulled my hair out of the sweatshirt hood. I was just going to have to text Wes that we needed to leave and I’d meet him in the car. I hated leaving Michael and our BigMoment potential, but I looked too ridiculous to stay.
Only… where the?Nooooooo.
My phone was in my purse. My phone was in my purse, which was downstairs with Wes and Michael, not to mention the rest of the partiers. I rolled my lips inward and breathed through my nose.
Was I on a hidden-camera show?
I took a deep breath and opened the door to the basement steps. I’d ditched Wes’s hoodie, opting instead to knot the back of a ginormous T-shirt I’d found wrinkled up in the bottom of his bag. Since looking sophisticatedly adorable was no longer in the cards for me, I tried for the cool, casual, I-look-cute-in-my-boyfriend’s-oversize-clothing vibe.
It probably looked more like the middle-schooler-in-her-brother’s-hand-me-downs vibe, but since I was out of options, I preferred to be optimistic. I didn’t have a lot of time before prom, so I was going to have to stick it out and make Michael fall for me, vomit be damned.
The stairs were cold and dusty under my bare feet, and as soon as I reached the crowded floor, I looked around for Wes, desperate to get out of there before anyone noticed me. Something by AC/DC was blaring, but not loud enough for the words to be heard over the party sounds.
“Vomit girl!” Some bear of a dude wearing a too-tight Lakers jersey grinned at me. “You came back!”
Why? Why in God’s name wouldIbe “vomit girl”? Ashley should have been “vomit girl,” dammit.
I looked around the guy and spotted Wes. My handbag was dangling from his elbow as he talked to Michael next to the keg, and I forced myself to ignore all the looks I was getting as the newly crowned Vomit Girl and waved my hand in his direction.
Almost instantly, his gaze met mine. His eyes took a quick dip over my baggy sweats and T-shirt combo, and then his eyebrows went down before he walked toward me and pulled his keys out of his pocket.
“I’m assuming you want to go?”
“Yeah.” I turned my gaze to Michael, who’d followed Wes over, and I nervously ran a hand through my damp hair. But his eyes were looking directly at my belly button, not my hair.Oh God.The huge sweatpants hung so low on my hips that I’d just exposed alotof my stomach to the entire party. I yanked down the bottom of the shirt, but it was too late.
He gave me a smile that turned my insides to mush and said, “I really like your tattoo.”
Oh God—he saw the tattoo.
At least he’d said it in a totally non-horny-bro way.
“Oh. Thanks.” I resisted the urge to tug on my top again as I desperately hoped he wasn’t being sarcastic.
Wes threw me a look of irritation, his jaw flexing. “Ready?”
Before I could respond, Wes took a handful of my waistband and wrapped it around his hand, pulling it higher so my belly was entirely covered. “Liz’s clothes are falling off, so it’s time for us to leave.”
I froze when I felt Wes’s hand on my skin. I looked at his faceas he looked down at me, and I felt… off-kilter. I wasn’t sure if it was in response to his touch or his sudden cavemannish protectiveness.
