Page 71 of Golden

I swallow hard. “You’re more than welcome to stay. My parents adore you. They wouldn’t have offered if they didn’t want you to.”

“Okay. I’ll head back in the morning.”

I nod, my heart slamming against my chest, as I take our now empty cups and deposit them in the trash on the way up the front path. He already said that he didn’t feel comfortable fooling around with my parents around, but he also started something in my room earlier that was risky as hell.

Either way, as I let us into the silent house, I try not to get my hopes up. If he wants to say goodnight and go our separate ways, I’m going to have to be okay with that, even though the thought makes my chest heavy with disappointment. It’s been so hard holding back all day from touching him, it’s built up to a physical ache.

Maybe I do want this. Could we be a proper couple? Is that something he’d even want? I know Alex and Zak would support me and I honestly don’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks. There are only four months left of college and if it means I get to kiss Wes whenever and wherever I want, I’ll take whatever backlash comes my way.

My thoughts are deafening as we hang up our coats. Wes said casual, though. He wants no strings. Insisted on it. Is that still the case? Was that because I was figuring stuff out, or does he not do relationships?

My stomach churns, the warmth from the spiced apple all but gone. What if I ask him and he says no? What if he breaks things off? My mouth is bone dry as I swallow. Is it better to keep things the way they are, with no strings, and get to have him behind closed doors, or speak up and risk losing him altogether?

“Sol?”

I whirl, blinking as I find Wes watching me with raised eyebrows. “Yeah?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “You okay?”

It takes me a minute to ground myself. I’ve been so dug into my thoughts I’ve lead Wes through the house on autopilot and I have no idea how long we’ve been standing outside the door to the ‘pool house’.

“Sorry. Yeah.” I shake my head. “Just tired, I guess. There should be fresh towels in the bathroom, but I’ll go grab you a spare toothbrush and something to sleep in.”

I don’t give him time to argue before spinning on my heel and jogging away to the stairs that lead to my room. It’s so hard to think with Wes around, and I’m starting to wonder whether fooling around is a good idea. I’m clearly already way in over my head.

Grabbing a new toothbrush from under my sink, some sleep pants, and the largest t-shirt I can find, I snag a pair of boxer briefs just in case and head back up the stairs.

Wes is in the bathroom by the time I get back, and I place the pile of clothes on the end of the bed, with the toothbrush on top, wondering whether I should loiter or leave. It’s then, I notice Wes’ shirt and jeans draped over the back of a chair, his glasses on the nightstand. Maybe he’s having a shower? I can’t hear the water, though.

I start to back out of the room, but then, the bathroom door opens and Wes steps out in nothing but black boxer briefs, and I freeze.

“Hey,” he says, a small smile on his lips as he looks me up and down.

Can he see me trembling? “Hey. I brought you some clothes and stuff.”

He glances at the pile, but then steps toward me, and I swear I almost bolt. I’m not scared. Not of him. Not of what might happen if I stay. It’s what comes after. Every second I spend with Wes, I find myself falling deeper and deeper under his spell. What happens when he walks away? Am I supposed to just brush myself off and find someone else? Act like none of this happened?

Wes must sense the shift in my mood because he halts his approach. I watch, as he turns and walks over to the bed—totally not checking out his round, muscular ass—and sits down.

With the distance between us, air begins to flow through my lungs again, and I suck in a breath. “Do you need anything else?”

Wes stares at me with that effortless calm he always seems to have. He doesn’t tremble. Shake. I wish I could channel some of that vibe, because where he’s like a fucking mountain, I feel like a sapling in a hurricane.

“I don’t need anything, no,” he says, his dark brown eyes never leaving mine. “There’s something I want, though.”

“Yeah?” The word comes out like a squeak, and I clear my throat. What the hell is it about Wes Bowers that makes me feel like a fifteen-year-old?

“Sol.” He exhales softly. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. We shouldn’t really be doing anything in your parent’s house—”

“Everyone’s bedrooms are on the other side of the house,” I gush. “No one would hear a thing.”

Wes’ lips press together as he fights a smile. Smooth as fuck, Sol. Smooth as fuck.

“Good to know,” he says. “But I meant, I can see you’re freaking out a little and I wanted to let you know there’s no pressure. You can leave now and it’s fine. If you just want to kiss? Or even just talk. It’s all good.”

What I want is to climb him like a fucking tree. But I can see the decision laid out before me clear as day, and the choice has me in knots. If I turn and leave now, I can regroup and think about things. We can slow down. I can try and figure out where his head’s at when I’m not messed up over spending the perfect fucking day with him.

If I cross the room, I know I’m not going to be able to stop. I wasn’t kidding about turning in my homework. Even if I never touch another guy for the rest of my life, I’m never jerking off without fingering myself again. I’ve been picturing this—picturing him—and all the things I want him to do to me all week, and the thought has my dick thickening in my sweats.

---