Just please me, p.7
Just Please Me, page 7
part #1 of Westbrooke Angels Series
“I’m not interested in being arm candy… if that’s what you’re after,” I told him.
“Lucky for both of us,” Weston said. “I’m not looking for arm candy.”
I pressed my lips together, trying to come up with another excuse but failing.
“Fine.” I took the plunge. “Why me?”
A smile broke across his face. “It’s going to sound strange at first. Stick with me.”
Chapter 11
“You surprised me when you said yes the other night,” Weston started. “Even when you changed your mind, I was still shocked… admittedly a bit nervous too. I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while since we first met.”
My eyes widened at his confession about his nerves. Thoughts of the library forced their way into my head. I tried to push them back. The fight was pointless because Weston sat in front of me, distractedly calm and attractive and capable of being nervous because of me. My cheeks flushed. I could feel sweat dampening my sweatshirt. I should have worn something lighter. Sweatshirts around Weston was a recipe for disaster.
“Remember when you gave up your seat?” Weston continued.
I frowned and looked down at the bed. “I’m sorry? You asked if I preferred the bed or not.”
He laughed and shook his head. “No. On the first day of the semester, in Design. Some girl was complaining about the vents above our desk. You were sitting behind us. You got up, and you offered to switch seats. Your skin was covered in goosebumps the entire class.”
“Me switching seats with some random girl and almost freezing to death made you want to… start a casual relationship with me?” I frowned, trying to wrap my head around the oddness of it all.
“The next day you offered to have your portfolio critiqued by the professor as an example,” Weston continued. “Your hands were shaking underneath the table. Even after the critique finished, you were still shaking.”
I cringed, knowing that Weston witnessed my anxiety taking over me. The professor had been brutal that day. And having my work displayed on a projector did nothing for my ego. Every mistake was on display, picked apart by classmates that had wanted to get in our professor’s good graces.
“Then -”
I exhaled loudly. “Good Lord. What other embarrassing thing have you witnessed?”
Weston gave me a small smile. “You defended me. Most times, when you spoke up in class, it’s difficult to hear you. I have to strain. But, that day, you were loud and your voice was clear.”
My forehead wrinkled. I tried to go through weeks of memories, but everything blurred together. Nothing started sticking until the library incident. Even that memory blurred around the edges with only the most shocking detail standing out, Weston’s lips on mine.
“I’m sorry,” I told him. “I don’t remember.”
He shook his head, showing it wasn’t a big deal. “I’m not even sure you registered what you were saying. It was the second critique day.”
“Oh.” I nodded as a few minor details of the day came back to memory. “Yeah, the anonymous day.”
“And everyone went in on one design,” he continued. “My design.”
The memory came back to me in an instant. The design that was on the projector looked like something fresh out of the early 2000s. And the argument was that it was too early to be paying homage to that decade. Personally, I didn’t see the point of limiting ourselves to a timeline of when we could and couldn’t pay homage to a decade that meant something to us.
“You called them,” Weston chuckled a little. “Crowd-pleasers and over-analysts who were too afraid to design things they actually liked. That shut everyone up for a good minute. You put your hand over your mouth and kept it there for the rest of the class. You were my hero.”
“God, they were being so pretentious,” I told him, falling back into my disappointment from weeks ago. “What’s the point of design if you’re not going to experiment? Is this college going to churn out a bunch of carbon copies who ‘read the market’ to satisfy some vague set of standards? I know the industry is a game, but some of us have to stand up for something different if we’re ever going to create art interesting enough to admire.”
It was quiet in the room for a second. My fingers started fidgeting with the collar of my shirt. I rarely went off on rants like that in front of people I didn’t know well. Did my words sound too judgmental? Weston probably saw me as some loser who naively thought she could change the world. I didn’t want to change the world. I just wanted people to at least try to lean into whatever called to them.
“Exactly,” Weston finally said with a smile on his lips. “That’s why I play devil’s advocate for Comic Sans.”
I froze. After a beat, I burst into laughter, thankful for his ability to make me feel less like a raging geek. I held up my hand. “Okay, now, that’s too far. Admirable, but too far.”
“Someone’s gotta do it,” he teased.
I rolled my eyes and grinned. “Now you’re losing me.”
“We’ll debate it later,” Weston decided with a wave of his hand. “The point is you do things that make you physically uncomfortable. You’re brave. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that’s a huge part of why I'm attracted to you. But, also, I have this urge to protect you when you’re being brave. To…”
I pressed my lips together, waiting patiently for him to finish his sentence.
“To please you.”
“Please me,” I whispered. The words barely got past my lips. I could hear my heart in my ears, and it drowned out every warning thought about his probation, his attraction to recklessness, and his potentially violent side that put someone in the hospital.
I should have asked him to point me in the bathroom’s direction. Splashing some cold water on my face would do me some good. I needed to get away from his scent and his eyes that were currently searching my face with earnest hope.
“Let me?” he asked in a low tone, possibly being used so he didn’t scare me off. I’m sure I looked like a deer in headlights. “I’m not asking for anything in return. And you can leave whenever. Leave when you don’t need me anymore.”
I let out an awkward laugh. “You were serious about that rule?”
“I’m serious about everything I say on this.”
“Is this some kind of kink?” I wondered out loud. “Like, is this your thing? Being at someone’s beck and call.”
He shrugged. “I don’t question it. Haven’t really thought too deep about it in the last few years.”
“So, have you offered to do this before?” I asked with wide eyes.
“Once. A couple of years ago. Freshman year.” He glanced away from me as he recounted a memory.
I couldn’t deny my curiosity and asked, “What happened?”
“She started dating my best friend.”
I made a humming noise, trying to indicate my sympathy, but Weston had a look of amusement on his face. I opened my mouth to apologize for bringing it up. Before I could say anything, he held up his hand to stop me.
“It’s fine,” he told me. And for the first time in my life, that phrase sounded honest. Weston didn’t give a damn and his “I’m fine,” attitude was probably the only serious one on this planet. “We all got what we needed out of the situation.”
“Okay.” I looked down at my hands.
“Look.” Weston pulled out his phone and started typing. “You know I want to take you out to get to know you. We could potentially hang out after the game?”
I let out a dry laugh. “I thought you were booked. Didn’t Callie ask you to be her date?”
“Screw Callie,” he said quickly without looking up from his phone. “I want you.”
My throat tightened. He still wasn’t looking up, so I took that as an opportunity to take another long swig of water. Hands down, one of the largest benefits of hanging out with Weston would be that I was going to be impressively hydrated.
My phone beeped at the sound of a text. I opened it when I saw it was from Weston. He’d sent me a schedule. A play-by-play of his upcoming week from morning practices to late-night study sessions.
“What’s this for?” I looked up at him.
“It’s for my trial period,” he explained as he slipped his phone into his pocket, giving me his undivided attention. “Now, I’m not opposed to skipping out on most of that stuff. You know where I’ll be at any given moment. So, if you need me… if you want me, just shoot me a text.”
I scanned the schedule once more. Every hour or every day looked planned. “You’re so busy.”
“Don’t even worry about that,” he insisted. “Half of that stuff is ridiculous promotional events.”
“Sounds important,” I mumbled, trying to imagine having the courage to text him to see me when he was having an interview or photoshoot.
“I want this to be important.”
“You have stumbled upon a unicorn and you’re complaining about how large its horn is.” Ari was unraveling a knitting project on my computer screen. My well-informed friend was ready and willing to call me out on my BS.
“I’m not complaining,” I defended as I finished one of my twists. Taking my braids out was a mistake, and I was regretting every second. Maintaining my natural hair was a skill I had yet to refine. My twists were never as tight or long-lasting as a professional’s braids. The only black hair salon within bus route distance of campus had shut down at the beginning of the semester. So, now, I was on my own in the world of protective hair styling.
“Then, please, tell me why you’re not texting this guy right now?” Ari asked. “Because if I had anyone telling me they will drop everything on a whim, I’d run up my phone bill.”
“It’s not that simple.” I sighed. Because it couldn’t be. One didn’t simply drop everything to please someone else. It made no sense. No matter how tempting Weston looked, I felt like I should carry a certain dose of skepticism. For safety. No one was here to look out for me. Ari was too far away, and my parents were too caught up in their own lives to pick my pieces if I fell apart.
“What’s not simple?” Ari paused her unraveling. The blue yarn pooled around her knees. It looked like it was drowning her.
“You think I should loc my hair like yours?” I tried to change the subject.
“I would wholeheartedly support that decision. You’d look like a goddess,” she told me. “But, back to the topic at hand: this Weston guy sounds like he just wants a good time. Why deny him or yourself some consensual bliss?”
“He’s a football player.” I paused for emphasis.
Ari threw up her hands. “What is that if not a bonus? Talk about stamina.”
“On probation,” I continued. “He just avoided charges for… putting someone in the hospital. Which means he must have connections in high places. I don’t know. Seems like a whole lot of complicated.”
She bit her lip and resumed unraveling. “Okay, complicated does warrant cause for concern and precaution. Especially because of your mental health.”
“So, you see what I’m saying?”
“Kind of.” She nodded. A few of her locks fell from her bun. “Nevertheless, I think this could work. If you just decide to keep your distance when necessary.”
“You think I could balance that? Have someone bring me to an orgasm and just not care the rest of the time?”
“It’s worth a shot. You deserve some fun,” Her tone was soft and kind. I’d never taken one of her yoga classes, but I was sure she used the same voice when she was convincing people to breathe in positivity.
“Maybe.” I sighed as I finished my last twist.
“Okay, in other news,” Ari went on. “Have you decided what you’re going to do for the summer?”
I shook my head. “Let’s talk more about the unicorn. He’s less complicated.”
Ari gave me a sympathetic look. “You know you can come here whenever you’d like. I can pay for the flight. You could pay me back by being my live-in research assistant. I have a huge lead on a story that’s probably going to take me all summer to write.”
“No, I’m fine here,” I lied and started playing with my phone. “I’m going to talk to my cousin to see if I can crash on her couch.”
“How many people does your cousin have living with her?”
I pressed my fingers on my eyes. “Look, I don’t want to think about this right now.”
“But we should talk about it now, so we don’t have to rush to figure out a plan later,” Ari reminded me.
“I’ll figure something out before the semester’s over,” I promised. Before she could say anything else, I added, “I have to go now. I have a paper due soon that needs editing.”
Ari opened her mouth to say something else, but I disconnected before she could. A wave of guilt sunk over me. I should have listened, or at least waited to let her say good night. Figuring out where to stay during break should have been high on my list of priorities. Except, I hated the idea of asking Ari to pay for a plane ticket. In our relationship, it always felt like she was going the extra mile. I wanted to be less of a burden and more of a friend to her.
I picked up my phone to distract myself from regret and found myself opening Weston’s schedule. It felt like an invasion of privacy to have a play-by-play of someone’s week.
What are you doing tonight? I scrolled to today’s date and time. My stomach fluttered when I realized he’d scheduled a run.
From nine to ten, Weston went on a jog. I imagined him somewhere on campus, wearing a thin t-shirt and sweats while blasting music in earbuds. Imaginary Weston was sweaty, breathless, and tense. His muscles flexed with every step that pounded against the pavement. Undoubtedly, his lips would be parted, sucking in air and pushing it out. I touched my lips, trying to mimic the pressure of his skin on mine.
I wanted to know more about him. Not just this bad boy football player image he’d constructed on campus. There was something behind his smile and charm. When he looked at me, he noticed me. He listened to me and altered course whenever I changed my mind without making me feel like I was wrong or annoying. Yes, the complications of whatever he did in his free time made my mind wander to worst-case scenarios but he could be worth giving a shot.
Maybe we could be good for each other. Maybe his rules would help me become more assertive. I prayed for another way to distract me from my tears. When I went to therapist after therapist and took yoga class after class, I was hunting for something to fill that void. Maybe Weston was the answer to the question I’d been asking. I wouldn’t know until I tried.
Chapter 12
“Show me something that’ll make me trust you?” I had asked earlier today in Design 2. It took the whole class for me to build up enough courage to even look in Weston’s direction. Once Professor Ida dismissed us, I let the question drop from my lips, without giving it a second thought.
Weston looked up from his laptop with surprise. He’d barely said a word since he sat down, only glancing in my direction once to ask how my day was going. A smile slowly spread across his lips at my request. He gave me two choices: pick the time and place. or let him surprise me.
I picked the latter. He instructed me to meet him at the gym. His schedule showed he had weight training until six and then for the rest of the night he was free. I could barely focus on editing my history paper all afternoon as the clock ticked. My chest tightened when my alarm went off, reminding me I had half an hour to get ready before heading out.
Westbrooke’s athletes had their gym separate from the general student population. Their building included the latest and greatest equipment and stayed open twenty-four seven. The front half of the building featured glass windows that reached up two-stories, making it easy to see people working out inside. I’d heard the third floor was strictly for coaches and team captains.
When I walked into the lobby, I wasn’t allowed to go further than the front desk. Not that I wanted to explore past the plush couches and complimentary water bottles. Gyms freaked me out because of everyone’s intensity. I’d tried to get in the habit of attending cycle classes when I first moved on-campus. The class turned out to be too advanced and my dedication was too fragile.
I plopped into one couch facing the opening I assumed Weston would exit from. The bald, black guy at the front desk eyed me with curiosity. Whenever I looked over in his direction, he dipped his head back down to study the textbook opened in front of him. His desk companion, a girl with a tiny frame and gapped front teeth played a Gameboy. She offered me a water bottle and a complimentary towel even though I wasn’t dressed to work out.
“I’m fine,” I told her in a quiet voice. “Just waiting for someone.”
She paused, smashing the game console’s buttons, and offered, “Got a name? I could make an announcement for you if they’re late.”
“Announcements are for coaches and captains only, Sam,” the bald guy reminded her in a clipped tone. “You can’t bend the rules.”
She made a face and grumbled, “Goody-two shoes.”
“It’s fine,” I said while waving a dismissive hand. “I’m early.”
Early and shaking. I could hear the noise of rap music pulsing beyond the door. When I glanced towards the windows, I saw some familiar faces through the glass. A few of Weston’s teammates I’d met a few nights before were gathered near a weight-lifting bench. Kevin laid on his back, ready to lift the bar of weights while Max spotted him from behind.
A few feet away, David, Dakota, and a set of brown-skinned twins stood in a circle. The only expression I could read was David’s. He rubbed his temple with one hand while shaking his head. His other arm wrapped around his chest, muscles tight from clenching. Whatever he said made his teammates stood stiff.
Abruptly, Kevin released his bar, making the metal clash on its hook. The sound was loud enough to capture the attention of their neighbors and the two students who manned the front desk.
“Just a football player,” the bald guy comforted Sam, who’d jumped from surprise.
