Page 150 of With the Assist

I let it look like I don’t care.

Across the table, Wesley’s smile is gone.

She doesn’t say anything, no, she’s far too controlled for that. Instead, she leans in, whispering something into Becca’s ear. Becca’s eyes flick to me, then back to Wesley, concern written all over her face.

After they talk for a few minutes, Wesley grabs her jacket and takes off.

That’s when the fog in my head clears enough to feel my stomach drop. What the fuck am I doing?

I shove the girl gently but firmly off my lap, standing so fast my chair tips back. Liam says my name again, a warning this time, but I’m already pushing through the crowd, following her out the door.

Cold air slams into me when I burst outside. My head scans the street until I find her halfway down the block.

My strides swallow the distance until she’s only a few steps ahead, arms crossed tight over her chest, heels clicking angrily against the sidewalk. I grab her shoulder without thinking.

“Don’t,” she snaps, yanking her arm free. “Don’t you dare touch me.” She turns on me, eyes blazing.

I drop her arm instantly, hands falling to my side.

She motions back to the bar. “What the hell was that?”

Oh.

She’s mad.

While I’ve been miserable, she’s been off at camp, happy with her friends, and doing who knows what else. At least now she’s feeling something for me. I’ll take this over her cold indifference every time.

A bitter laugh slips from my lips. “You’re mad at me?”

“Yes,” she yells, incredulous. “You let some girl climb all over you right in front of me. What are you trying to prove?”

Her voice carries loud enough that a couple of people look our way. I turn slightly, hoping they didn’t recognize me. The last thing I need is the paparazzi seeing me lose Wesley for a second time.

I spread my hands, lowering my voice. “Why does it matter? Why do you care?”

She stares at me. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Why does it matter who’s in my lap when none of this was real, right?”

She exhales slowly, like I’m a child throwing a tantrum. “Nathan, please don’t be like this.”

That tone flips something ugly in my chest.

“Like what? Like I’m hurt? Like I’m pissed? At least I’m not lying to myself.”

“Neither am I.”

“No?” I rub my jaw, taking a breath. “You’re the one who said you didn’t want to pretend anymore. You said it changed something for you. Then, you walked away like it was nothing.”

Her jaw tightens, hands tapping against her thighs. “I didn’t walk away like it was nothing.”

“You’re right. You drove away. I mean, fuck, Wesley, you didn’t even text me back.”

A part of me wants her to argue back. As if her yelling at me is proof she felt even a fraction of what I did. Of what I do.

Instead, she lets out a slow breath. “We both know why.”

It’s like I’m looking at a stranger. This isn’t the Wesley who went ice skating with me. The one who danced with me. She isn’t theperson who opened up about her family and the pressure that she struggles to deal with.