Page 75 of Sex Positive

“Fuck.” Wes drags his fingers through his hair. “Fuck, fuck,fuck.” Glancing at her, he catches sight of her expression, and he pales. “Shit, are you all right?”

Before she can answer, however, Gabriel sticks his head out the door.

“Wes.” His voice is sharp and biting like the chill in the air.

Wes snaps to attention, and with one last fleeting look at Charlie, he slips inside.

The door shuts with a thud. Her heart races, her chest tight, but she doesn’t move even when muffled voices carry through the door—the sound of Wes and his father arguing.

“—expect you to behave, and instead I find you fooling around with some girl, distracted by a pair of legs and unable to keep it in your pants—”

“Christ, Dad! That’s not—”

“Stop behaving like a child and do what I expect from you. Do you know how many people in there tonight are looking to your mother as the future of this country? Do you know how our family will be seen in the coming years if she pursues a presidential campaign? I can’t have you messing around with a nobody—”

“That isnotwhat I was doing—”

“Then act like the respectable man I’ve raised you to be.”

“That’s rich coming fromyou.”

Charlie gapes, but she’s met only with silence. When another minute passes and she doesn’t hear anything, she shifts. Would it be wise to try and escape through the garden and out the back of the hotel? But then Wes reappears, the door shutting behind him. Hands in his pockets, he leans against the wall, tipping his head back in resignation. Charlie straightens, pretending she did not hear his father call her a cheap distraction.

Finally he finds her gaze, and she falters at the hollowness in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I thought we would be alone.”

Charlie gives a half shrug. “It’s fine.” He shakes his head and opens his mouth to respond, but she says, “You should head back in there. Your family is waiting.”

He stares at her, saying nothing. She’s struck by his beauty in the soft light, and she wishes she knew what to say to him. Something comforting, something reassuring. That she understands the weight of family expectations.

But she also knows that whatshechose—refusing to live according to her parents’ strict standards—might not be an option for him.

“I’m going to take off,” she says.

“You don’t have to. You’re welcome to stay.”

She shakes her head. “You told me I could leave whenever I wanted, remember?” She flashes a small smile, and when he doesn’t return it, she sighs, shifting on her heels that started hurting an hour ago. “We can talk more later, okay?”

She starts for the door, but he wraps his fingers around her wrist. When she looks at him, his expression is soft. “I’m glad you were here tonight,” he says.

She nods, not lying when she replies, “Me too.”

The music and laughter from the party grows louder as he leads her back the way they came, their footsteps echoing down the hall.

With a last lingering look, he retreats back inside the glittering party.

Waiting for her Uber in the lobby, Charlie convinces herself she was imagining the longing etched on his face, convinces herself he was as much of a temporary distraction for her as she was for him.

Twenty

Perched on herkitchen barstool the next morning, Charlie lifts her coffee cup to her lips and takes a small sip. The taste of vanilla and cinnamon is sweet and comforting on her tongue.

When her phone chimes, she experiences a jolt of surprise at the name on her screen.

Quinn

Hey