on the canvas and twisted one arm to the side in a stretch. “No one who would be willing to admit it, at least.”
Wes certainly had admitted plenty last night. I dipped my brush in the red and finished painting the
w
in
SHOW ,
thoughts still churning. Was his opening up last night about his family part of a master plan to throw me off guard? Maybe he wasn’t any different than Austin. Maybe I was just this uncatchable fish to him, and that was the only appeal. Guys liked a challenge, but in Austin’s case, it was a matter of true disgust on my part rather than a game of hard-to-get.
But as hard as I tried to convince myself Wes was like all the other high school boys in my class, I just couldn’t. He might be a year or two older than them, but it went way beyond that. He hadn’t been making up that stuff about his mom. I saw the pain in his eyes, saw him peeling back several top layers of facade. There was a depth to Wes that went past his leather jacket, a depth I hadn’t noticed him sharing with anyone else.
The question remained, why was he showing it to me?
“Um, Addison?”
Marta’s voice yanked me back to reality inside the gym. I jerked backward, my brush dripping on my sweatpants. “What?”
She pointed to the
W
on my poster that I’d not only filled in but also added a big
E
and
S
after it. W ES . I stared at the painted evidence in front of me and winced. Busted.
Marta’s lips twisted to the side as she glanced from me to the ruined poster and then back to me. “I think it’s my turn to buy the coffee. We have to talk.”
We claimed a corner table at Got Beans, ignoring the weekend rush buzzing in for caffeine and pastries. For once I wasn’t concerned about seeing Wes there because if the only reason he came to Got Beans was to play the piano incognito, there’d be no way he’d show up on a busy Saturday.
I ran my finger over the lid of my mocha, watching the steam funnel through the tiny spout. My constant awareness of Wes’s presence or potential presence everywhere I went gnawed at me, evidence that was even more glaring than the kind I’d painted on the poster board at school. The report was in, there was no more denying it. I had fallen for Wes.
Exactly how hard I’d fallen was yet to be determined.
Marta peered at me over the cup of her latte, having branched out from our previous coffee trip. She’d even asked for extra caramel, and I couldn’t help but feel proud, like I’d personally birthed her into the world of caffeinated delights.
“Is it good?”
She nodded, licking foam off her lips. “Yes. But that’s not why we’re here.” She narrowed her eyes pointedly at me, and I took the hint.
“I guess I should have stuck to doodling on a notebook like an average teenager, huh?” I couldn’t help but grin, and she laughed.
“That would have been more normal.” She tilted her head to one side, studying me with that wise gaze I couldn’t get past, the one that said “even though I’m the same age as you, I’ve seen so much more.” It made me jealous, though I could never hold bitterness toward Marta. The saying “good as gold” pretty much summed her up, though it was definitely cliché. I hated clichés.
Wes’s leather jacket and motorcycle roared to the front of my memory. Well, maybe not all clichés. I shook my head to clear the image that wouldn’t erase.
“At least you painted over it before throwing the poster away.”
I exhaled loudly, and relief sagged my shoulders despite the tension knots still lingering. “Good thinking on your part. Definitely not what I’d want the rest of the drama team to see.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” Marta sipped her latte then folded her hands on the table and leaned forward as if ready to share more secrets. “Now, let’s … what do they say? Oh yeah. Scoop.”
“Scoop?” I stared at her like she’d lost her mind until the language barrier cleared, and I cracked up. “You
Wes certainly had admitted plenty last night. I dipped my brush in the red and finished painting the
w
in
SHOW ,
thoughts still churning. Was his opening up last night about his family part of a master plan to throw me off guard? Maybe he wasn’t any different than Austin. Maybe I was just this uncatchable fish to him, and that was the only appeal. Guys liked a challenge, but in Austin’s case, it was a matter of true disgust on my part rather than a game of hard-to-get.
But as hard as I tried to convince myself Wes was like all the other high school boys in my class, I just couldn’t. He might be a year or two older than them, but it went way beyond that. He hadn’t been making up that stuff about his mom. I saw the pain in his eyes, saw him peeling back several top layers of facade. There was a depth to Wes that went past his leather jacket, a depth I hadn’t noticed him sharing with anyone else.
The question remained, why was he showing it to me?
“Um, Addison?”
Marta’s voice yanked me back to reality inside the gym. I jerked backward, my brush dripping on my sweatpants. “What?”
She pointed to the
W
on my poster that I’d not only filled in but also added a big
E
and
S
after it. W ES . I stared at the painted evidence in front of me and winced. Busted.
Marta’s lips twisted to the side as she glanced from me to the ruined poster and then back to me. “I think it’s my turn to buy the coffee. We have to talk.”
We claimed a corner table at Got Beans, ignoring the weekend rush buzzing in for caffeine and pastries. For once I wasn’t concerned about seeing Wes there because if the only reason he came to Got Beans was to play the piano incognito, there’d be no way he’d show up on a busy Saturday.
I ran my finger over the lid of my mocha, watching the steam funnel through the tiny spout. My constant awareness of Wes’s presence or potential presence everywhere I went gnawed at me, evidence that was even more glaring than the kind I’d painted on the poster board at school. The report was in, there was no more denying it. I had fallen for Wes.
Exactly how hard I’d fallen was yet to be determined.
Marta peered at me over the cup of her latte, having branched out from our previous coffee trip. She’d even asked for extra caramel, and I couldn’t help but feel proud, like I’d personally birthed her into the world of caffeinated delights.
“Is it good?”
She nodded, licking foam off her lips. “Yes. But that’s not why we’re here.” She narrowed her eyes pointedly at me, and I took the hint.
“I guess I should have stuck to doodling on a notebook like an average teenager, huh?” I couldn’t help but grin, and she laughed.
“That would have been more normal.” She tilted her head to one side, studying me with that wise gaze I couldn’t get past, the one that said “even though I’m the same age as you, I’ve seen so much more.” It made me jealous, though I could never hold bitterness toward Marta. The saying “good as gold” pretty much summed her up, though it was definitely cliché. I hated clichés.
Wes’s leather jacket and motorcycle roared to the front of my memory. Well, maybe not all clichés. I shook my head to clear the image that wouldn’t erase.
“At least you painted over it before throwing the poster away.”
I exhaled loudly, and relief sagged my shoulders despite the tension knots still lingering. “Good thinking on your part. Definitely not what I’d want the rest of the drama team to see.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” Marta sipped her latte then folded her hands on the table and leaned forward as if ready to share more secrets. “Now, let’s … what do they say? Oh yeah. Scoop.”
“Scoop?” I stared at her like she’d lost her mind until the language barrier cleared, and I cracked up. “You
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