Page 54 of Golden

Wes tosses his sandwich wrapper in the trash and grabs the bottle of water I chose for him. “Thanks for lunch.”

“No worries.”

He gulps down some water and I watch the way his throat bobs, mesmerized. “Honestly, these meetings are good because they remind me to eat.”

I blink. “You forget to eat?”

“Yeah. If I’m working, I zone out. I don’t often have lunch.”

“Seriously?” My eyes widen. “You’re an athlete. If I don’t eat on a day I’ve trained, I’m doubled over with stomach cramps when I’m even half an hour late for lunch.”

Wes huffs a soft laugh. “Yeah, well, sometimes I remember, but then I put it off and by the time I actually finish up, it’s usually time for dinner.”

I shake my head. “That can’t be good for you. Especially during swim season.”

“Okay, Mom.” He twists the lid back on his water. “I’ll try harder.”

I roll my eyes, but the easy conversation has me grinning. It’s nice to spend time with Wes, actually getting to know him. He’s so private, it feels like a privilege to glimpse beneath his stoic exterior.

“Have you told Jacey about how things are going?” he asks. “Is she excited?”

My smile widens at the mention of my sister. “No. I haven’t told her anything other than it’s happening. The amount we’re looking set to raise is going to blow her mind.”

“You two are really close, huh?”

I nod. “Yeah. She’s honestly awesome.”

Wes smiles. “I can’t imagine having a sibling. Although sometimes I wonder whether it would have been nice having someone to take the focus off me. My parents are great, but they can be pretty intense.”

I nod in agreement, even though I’m not sure I do agree. My parents aren’t intense. They want the best for me, but above everything else, they want me to be happy. I’m pretty sure I know what happy is supposed to look like, but more and more I find myself doubting. After twenty-one years having my family in the same state, never less than ninety minutes’ drive away, the thought of being possibly halfway across the country brings me out in a cold sweat. Not thinking about after graduation is something I’ve gotten very good at.

The bed dips and my head snaps up in surprise as Wes slumps down next to me, a small frown on his face. “Where’d you go?”

I’m not sure whether the dryness in my throat is from the warm, solid weight of Wes next to me, his arm against mine, or from the mild panic at having to adult fully in a few months. “Nowhere. I’m fine.”

“You went all quiet and I swear you look like you’re about to throw up.” He reaches up and presses the back of his hand to my forehead.

I swat him away and plaster a smile on my face. “Stop it. I’m fine.”

“You know,” Wes says, bending his knees and draping his arms around them. “The dean asked if I was okay taking on this project, but I’ve realized you’ve got way more than me to deal with. Captain of the lacrosse team, vice president of the Wolves, your coursework, and everything with your family. Are you okay?”

It’s stupid. Such a simple question shouldn’t make my eyes burn. But it does. I dig my nails into my palms, forcing the smile to stay on my face. “Yeah. I promise. I’m fine.”

Wes reaches over and takes hold of my hand, unfurling my fingers as his thumb smooths over the dented skin. “You know, you don’t have to pretend for me. I won’t think any less of you if you admit you’re struggling.”

“I’m not struggling.” I focus on his fingers, marveling at the contrast of his rich, dark skin against mine.

Wes leans into me a little, bumping me with his shoulder. “It must be hard being so perfect.”

I snort. “I’m not perfect.”

“You are.” Wes’s reply is warm against my ear. “But what I want to know is, whether you put that expectation on yourself, or someone else did.”

“Stop trying to psychoanalyze me,” I mutter, my eyes growing heavy as I inhale the spiced vanilla scent of his skin.

Wes takes a breath, but before he can speak, I turn my head and slant my mouth across his, stealing whatever words were coming. After a split second, he relaxes, his free hand reaching up to grip my chin, tilting my face to where he wants it.

Wes is like a drug, turning the outside world into a warm, delicious haze, and I can’t get enough of it. With his thumb caressing my jaw, his mouth devouring mine with deep, slow kisses, I can forget that he seems to see straight through me. I don’t want him to see the cracks. He can’t. If he runs again—if he decides this isn’t worth the hassle . . .

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