Page 50 of Sex Positive

“It’s a stoplight party.” Removing his feet with a quick grin, he twirled his pen between his fingers. “The color you wear lets people know your relationship status. Red for off-limits, yellow for complicated, and green for available.”

Her stomach twisted with uncertainty, the thought of alerting people to her nonexistent relationship status filling her with nervous panic on top of her anxiety at having to navigate a loud and crowded party.

Chewing her bottom lip, she met his soft green eyes. “I don’t know. I have that term paper due for Intro to Criminal Justice, and finals are—”

“Three weeks away,” he interjected. He took her hand, and her body thrilled at the contact. “I promise I won’t leave your side the whole time.” His reassuring smile was an immediate balm to her nerves. “Stay for thirty minutes, and then you can leave.”

She definitely didn’t overthink his words as she tugged on a long-sleeved green shirt—the only green she owned—and attempted to tame her wild curls. Because he hadn’t meant anything except that they were friends. He was simply looking out for her…as a friend.

The moment she enters the crowded room, a guy in a lime-green shirt leading a giggling girl in a neon-green tank top stumbles into her. Neither acknowledge her, and Charlie takes another deep breath, inhaling the humid air that smells of alcohol and sweat from the writhing, energized students wanting to blow off steam on a Friday night.

Pressing against the wall—sticky with something she refuses to think about—Charlie tries making herself as small as possible while scanning the room for Wes’s shock of blond hair. She ignores the fact that she could be back in her dorm doing her regular Friday night routine of watching trashy reality television with a giant bowl of popcorn.

But when the crowd parts like some kind of Biblical scene, she sees him before he sees her. Across the room, he’s leaning against the wall wearing an emerald-green T-shirt that fits him to perfection, the muscles and tendons in his arms in high definition, his long fingers wrapped around a red Solo cup. He brings it to his mouth, and she watches the pull of his throat as he takes a sip, the way the tip of his tongue drags over his bottom lip after he lowers his drink. A dark-haired boy who looks vaguely familiar and Mia Stevens—a girl who lives on her floor—stand with him, and when the boy says something that makes Wes throw his head back with laughter, Charlie wants nothing more than to hear his laugh, to know what’s making him laugh, to be the one to make him laugh.

Mia flicks her sheet of long dark hair over one shoulder, her hand falling to Wes’s forearm, her fuchsia-colored, perfectly polished nails stark against his skin even from where Charlie stands.

Glancing away, she shakes off her foolish thoughts, a bitter taste on her tongue. Their body language suggests an intimacy she doesn’t know how to achieve, and a sudden pit forms in her gut at the sight of them together.

Because what she feels when she watches them is dangerous and distracting.

Charlie cannot afford to be jealous, and with absolute certainty, she knows this is what she’s feeling even though she will die before admitting it to anyone.

She’s tried setting better boundaries, tried keeping her daydreams that frequently star Wesley Quinn from sweeping her out to sea, from consuming her when she doesn’t have time to be preoccupied with him of all people.

What does she have to offer someone as confident and charismatic as him? Someone with his level of experience?

She convinces herself he won’t notice if she slips out. Already concocting an excuse for why she never showed up if he asks, she turns for the door and the cool fresh air.

When she hears her name, however, a shout over the pulse of the music, she freezes.

Wes pushes through the crowd wearing a wide, breathtaking grin, and he can’t possibly be heading toward her, not when he has Mia’s full attention.

But then he’s standing before her shouting, “You made it!”

Without hesitating, he takes her hand and leads her through the crowd and deeper into the house. “You guys know Charlie Rogers, right?”

The dark-haired boy wearing a yellow T-shirt waves, introducing himself as Nico Valdez, Wes’s roommate. He’s also in a few of her classes, but she’s never spoken to him before. Mia simply nods, one hand clutching her drink, the other tugging on the top of her strapless, sparkly green minidress that looks very uncomfortable.

Sliding closer to Wes, Mia grips his bicep. “I’m getting another drink. Want to come, Wesley?”

Charlie turns to him, certain he’s about to agree and leave her in the middle of the mass of bodies, and she’s startled to find him already watching her. She has a sudden powerful desire to kiss the smirk from his lips.

“No, I’m good.” He briefly glances at Mia. “My drink’s still full.”

Mia lingers another moment before Nico says he’ll go with her, and then Charlie and Wes are alone.

He observes her with growing amusement.

“Yes,Wesley?” she says.

He laughs. “Go on.” He gestures to the crowd. “What do you think? Tell me what’s happening in that big brain of yours.”

Her cheeks immediately flush, and she’s grateful for the low lighting. “How do you know anything is happening in my brain?”

“Because you’re practically vibrating, and I have a strong suspicion it’s because you’re counting down the seconds until you can leave, not because you’re so excited to be here.” He pulls on one of her curls. “And you have your thinking face on.”

She swats his hand away, unable to hide her smile. “I don’t have a thinking face.”