The Games We Play - Chapter 29: Chapter 29

The room is quiet except for the sound of rain tapping against the window and the faint crackle of my parents' voices coming through the phone in my hand.
"Hellooooo?" Mom's voice sings out. "Earth to Cameron?"
I can't respond. I can't move.
Wes stands there, just inside the room.
His broad shoulders take up the whole frame, his chest rising and falling like he's run straight from practice—and judging by the damp curls clinging to his forehead, he has.
Rain drips from his blonde hair, trailing down the side of his face, catching on the sharp cut of his jawline before disappearing into the neckline of his compression tee.
And oh my God, the compression tee.
It's clinging to him like it's personally invested in ruining my life, hugging every line of muscle across his chest, his arms, his stomach. The dark fabric is damp from the rain, plastered to his skin, the blue UC logo stretched across his pecs.
His blue eyes—normally warm and bright like cloudless skies—are darker now, stormier than the clouds outside.
They pin me in place, unflinching, unreadable, and full of something I can't name.
Dad's voice cuts through the tense silence.
"Cam? Hello? You still there?"
I blink, breaking whatever spell has just wrapped itself around me, and force myself to move.
"Yeah," I say, my voice hoarse as I turn slightly away from Wes, though I can't quite bring myself to fully look away. "I'm here. But I—uh, I need to call you back, okay?"
"Call me back?" Mom asks. "Cameron—"
"Love you, bye."
I end the call before she can argue, my hand dropping limp at my side as I clench the phone tightly.
The rain hits the windows in an unrelenting rhythm, and I can feel the tension in the air—thick and suffocating.
My chest is too tight, my breaths coming too fast, and Wes is still there—standing in the middle of my room, every inch of him taking up too much space in my head and my heart.
"You're supposed to be with your tutor right now," I say, my voice sharp and shaky as I turn back to Wes.
"That bug-eyed fuck is not my tutor," he says simply. "You are."
I blink at him, thrown by his bluntness. "Wes—"
Wes runs a hand through his rain-soaked hair, his frustration barely contained.
"I stepped one foot into that private room," he says, his tone flat, "saw him smiling, all fucking chipper as he said 'big fan,' and I walked right back out."
The guilt starts to rise in my chest, sharp and heavy, but I shove it down.
"You shouldn't have," I say, folding my arms tightly over my chest, my words spilling out faster now. "You should've stayed, Wes. I don't have time for this. I told you—"
"Then make time," Wes cuts in, his drawl softening the edges of his words, but the weight behind them hits hard. "Because I've been goin' outta my goddamn mind, Cam. I've tried to stay away. I've tried to give you space. But I ain't just gonna sit back and pretend like this isn't rippin' me apart."
My stomach twists painfully.
My pulse roars in my ears, and my breath hitches, uneven and shallow.
"Wes, please," I whisper, stepping back as the pressure in my chest builds higher and higher. "You need to go."
"I ain't goin' anywhere," he says firmly, his voice low but steady.
The walls feel like they're closing in. My chest feels too tight, and my breaths are coming too fast, shallow and uneven.
"Spectacular," I mutter, shoving past him. "Then I'll go."
But I barely make it two steps before Wes moves, blocking my path with ease.
"You ain't going nowhere either." His voice softens, but his eyes stay locked on mine, unflinching. "We're stayin' right here 'til you tell me what's goin' on in that head of yours. I can't help you if you keep shuttin' me out."
"I don't need your help!" I snap, my voice breaking as the words tumble out, faster and messier with every breath.
"Cam—"
"No!" I cut him off, my hands trembling as I try to put more space between us. "I have deadlines, Wes. A portfolio to finish. Professors who think I'm gonna fail, parents who won't stop calling about Thanksgiving, and Scarlett letting you in when I specifically told her not to—"
"Whoa, hey—" Wes says suddenly, stepping forward as his hands find my waist.
"And then there's you," I choke out, my voice rising. "You, and the cheerleader, and the stupid beanie, and that girl at the country club. And the way you treated me in front of your dad—like I didn't even matter—"
His hands are steady, one resting on either side of me, his thumbs brushing against my ribs through the fabric of my t-shirt.
"Cam, breathe," Wes says, his voice softening, but I can't stop.
My chest feels like it's caving in, tight and burning, and all I can focus on is how close his hands are—how warm they are, how firm and steady they feel against me.
"And my Uber driver wouldn't shut up about his trip to Ireland, and I was sitting there in the backseat, trying not to cry because all I could think about was you! And how you've been stuck in my head for fucking weeks—"
He pulls me in, his arms sliding past my waist and onto my back, wrapping me up completely in his warmth.
And the waterworks fucking begin.
"Shhh," Wes whispers, his voice wrapping around me like a warm blanket. "I've got you, baby. Just breathe for me, yeah?"
One hand rests on the middle of my back, the other on the back of my head, as he cradles me and presses me into his chest. I press my mouth to his shoulder, my watery eyes focused on a stain on my carpet that bears an uncanny resemblance to Justin Bieber.
"I can't," I choke out again, my breathing sharp and shallow as I try to twist away, but Wes only holds me closer.
"Yes, you can," he murmurs against my hair, his lips brushing so softly that it sends a shiver down my spine. "I've got you. Just stay with me."
My hands come up to his waist, and I ball his t-shirt into tight fists. "Wes, please leave—"
"Breathe with me," Wes says, his voice impossibly tender. His lips move against my temple, not kissing this time, just resting there like he's trying to pour calm into me with every word. "Come on now. In... and out."
I try to follow him, to focus on the rhythm of his chest rising and falling against mine, but my breaths are still shallow and uneven. My hands loosen on his shirt, trembling as I fight against the tidal wave of panic pressing down on me.
My entire body is trembling, and if his arms weren't around me, I'd crumble into a pathetic puddle on the floor.
"That's it," Wes murmurs, his lips still brushing the side of my head as his voice softens even further. "You're doin' so good, baby. Just keep breathin' for me. In... and out. There you go."
Something about the steadiness in his voice, the warmth in his touch, makes it impossible not to try. My breath hitches once, twice, but gradually it begins to sync with his, slower and deeper with every inhale.
His hands never stop moving—the slow up-and-down caress of his fingers on my spine, the soft brush of his thumb against my neck—and the rhythmic motion becomes the only thing I can focus on. My tears keep coming, warm and quiet against his chest, but the crushing tightness in my lungs starts to ease.
"That's my girl," Wes says softly, pressing another kiss to the side of my head. His lips linger there, like he's afraid to move too quickly and break the fragile calm he's building around me. "You're alright now. I've got you."
My hands slide from his waist, and I wrap my arms around his torso. His chest is warm and solid beneath my cheek, and I sag against him, too exhausted to fight anymore.
"There we go," Wes murmurs, his voice soft and calm. "That's good, baby. Just like that."
I don't know how long we stay like that, my head pressed against his chest, his arms holding me like I might shatter if he let go.
His hand slides up to cradle the back of my head, and before I know it, he shifts slightly, bending down to hook his hands under my knees.
"Wes, no!" I sob as he lifts me effortlessly, holding me against him like I weigh nothing.
"Baby, please," he says quietly, his lips brushing the top of my head as he carries me across the room.
He carries me like I weigh nothing, his arms strong and steady beneath me, one hand cradling the back of my legs, the other wrapped securely around my back. His chest is solid against me, every breath he takes slow and deliberate, like he's trying to guide mine.
When he reaches his bed, he sits down on the edge with me still in his arms, the mattress dipping under his weight as I straddle his lap.
For a moment, he doesn't say anything, just holds me, his lips pressing soft, grounding kisses to the side of my head.
"Wes—"
"Shhh, baby," he murmurs, tilting his head to catch my eyes. "Just let me hold you."
I sink into him, my knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his hips, and wrap my arms around his neck like a lifeline. My forearms cross over each other at the back of his neck, holding him so tightly I can feel the faint tremble in my muscles.
For a moment, I think he's holding me for my sake—to keep me steady, to calm me down. But the way his arms tighten around me, the way his body sags against mine, like he's letting go of something heavy, makes me realize that he needs this as much as I do.
Maybe more.
"Wes," I whisper, my voice breaking, but I don't know what else to say.
His only response is to press his face deeper into my neck, his lips brushing against the curve of my throat as he exhales shakily. His hands slide up my back, his fingers spreading wide as he holds me closer, his chest rising and falling against mine in slow, uneven breaths.
I close my eyes, my forehead dropping to his shoulder as my fingers thread into the curls at the base of his neck. I hold on tighter, pulling him closer, our bodies pressed together like we're trying to fuse into one.
The rain outside softens into a quiet patter, but inside the room, the silence between us is thick with everything we aren't saying.
I don't know how long we stay like that—him holding me, me holding him, the two of us wrapped around each other like we'll never let go.
But eventually, Wes shifts slightly, leaning back just enough to look at me.
"Hey," he says softly, his hand sliding from my back to cradle my face. His thumb brushes against my cheekbone, wiping away a tear I didn't even realize was there. "Let me see you, baby."
I hesitate, my arms still locked tightly around his neck, but the warmth in his eyes and the gentle pressure of his hand against my cheek make it impossible not to listen.
Slowly, I loosen my grip, my arms slipping down to rest on his shoulders, and I force myself to lift my head.
His hands slide up my sides, slow and steady, before one of them moves to gently cup my face. His fingers brush against my jaw, warm and firm, while his thumb wipes away the damp strands of hair that have stuck to my temple.
His eyes lock onto mine, and the furrow between his brows deepens. His gaze is full of something heavy, something raw, and it makes my chest ache in a way I don't have words for.
"There you are," he murmurs, his lips curving into the faintest smile. "My girl."
The words shatter something inside me, and I feel the tears spilling over again before I can stop them.
Wes' thumb brushes my cheek, catching one of the tears as it falls.
"I know what it feels like," Wes says finally, his voice low and even, "to feel like you're bein' swallowed whole. Like everything's crashin' down on you, and no matter what you do, it's never fuckin' enough."
My breath hitches, but I don't say anything. The way he's looking at me—like he sees all of me, even the parts I try to hide—makes it impossible to speak.
He shifts again, leaning back a little more, his hand still cradling my face, the other warm on my waist.
"First time I played QB1 for the Colts," he begins, his voice softer now, almost reflective, "I thought it was gonna be the greatest day of my life. I'd worked my ass off for that spot—every damn day, every damn practice. I wanted it so bad, Cam. I wanted to prove to myself I could do it. To the team. To the fans. So damn badly."
He shifts again, leaning back a little more as his hand stays cradling my face, the other still warm on my waist.
"But I was scared as fuck," Wes continues, his voice quieter now, like he's not even speaking to me anymore, but to the memory itself. "I couldn't eat, couldn't even think straight—I was a damn mess."
My chest tightens painfully at the rawness in his voice, the vulnerability he so rarely lets anyone see.
"I was prepped and ready, and instead, I fucked up," he says, the corner of his mouth twitching into a bitter half-smile. "It was the shittiest game of my life. Got sacked three times, fumbled the ball twice, and damn near cost us the playoffs."
He lets out a breath, his thumb pausing on my cheek before he shakes his head slightly.
"I walked off that field," Wes says, his voice dropping lower, "and I couldn't even look at anyone. Just grabbed my bag and left. Didn't say a word. I couldn't... I didn't know how to face anyone after lettin' 'em down like that."
He pauses, his jaw tightening as he exhales slowly.
"So I just... wandered," he admits quietly, his thumb brushing absently against my cheek. "Walked the campus for hours. Late at night, all alone. Didn't know where I was goin', didn't care. I just kept walkin', thinkin' maybe if I kept movin', it'd feel like less of a weight. But it didn't."
My throat tightens, and I tighten my arms slightly around his neck, silently willing him to keep going.
"I ended up on a bench, somewhere in the middle of campus," Wes continues, his voice even quieter now. "It was late—no one else was around. Just me and the stars, waitin' for the ache to go away."
He shifts again, his other hand sliding from my hip to rest lightly on my back.
"And then my dad called," Wes says, his voice rough now, the words cutting like glass. "He always calls. After every game, good or bad. And it's always the same thing."
The corner of his mouth lifts into a bitter half-smile. "Doesn't matter if I win or lose. He'll always find somethin' I did wrong. Always makes sure I know I wasn't good enough. And that night?"
Wes shakes his head slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line.
"That night, he ripped me to shreds. Told me I didn't deserve the spot. Told me I'd embarrassed the Reed name. Told me I was just wastin' everyone's time."
The words hit me like a fist to the chest, and my arms tighten even more around him, like I can somehow shield him from the memory.
"I had him on speaker," Wes says, his voice quieter now. "I couldn't even hold the damn phone anymore. Just sat there on that bench, starin' at the ground, waitin' for it to end."
He lets out a slow, shaky breath, his thumb still moving over my cheek in soft, soothing strokes.
"And then," he says, his voice softening in a way that makes my heart stutter, "this girl showed up."
My breath catches at the sudden shift in his tone, the faint trace of warmth curling into his words.
"She was drunk off her fuckin' ass," Wes goes on, his lips twitching into a faint smile. "Barefoot, hair fallin' all over the place, stumblin' and trippin' over her own feet. But she was brighter than any of those damn stars."
Wes' smile grows just a little, but there's something bittersweet in the way he looks at me.
"She snatched my phone right outta my hand," he continues, his voice soft and almost reverent now. "Didn't even ask who it was. Just told my dad to call back when he had somethin' nicer to say... and hung up on him."
I frown slightly, my head tilting in confusion. "The hell? Who does that?"
Wes smiles, the corners of his mouth lifting in a way that's both amused and impossibly fond.
"I knew you wouldn't remember," he says, his thumb brushing absently over my cheekbone. "I thought, maybe after all this time, it'd come back to you. But clearly not."
I blink at him, and then it clicks.
I stare at him, my mouth slightly open, as a dozen fragmented images try to piece themselves together in my head."That... that was me?"
"All you, baby." Wes lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest, and his gaze softens even further. "You looked me dead in the eyes, grabbed my face—full-on, squished my damn cheeks together—and told me to repeat after you: 'The Colts Quaterback ain't no little bitch.'"
I gasp, horrified and completely baffled. "I did not."
"Oh, but you did," Wes says, his grin growing as his hands slide down to rest firmly on my hips. "And then you told me if I didn't, you'd get Scarlett to beat my ass."
"What?" I sputter, completely mortified. "I don't remember any of this!"
"No shit," Wes says, his grin softening into something warmer, almost wistful. "You were so drunk. And so damn gorgeous."
The words hit me square in the chest, and I freeze, blinking up at him as his voice dips lower, quieter.
"You plopped yourself down on the bench and appointed yourself my therapist, hypin' me up and shit and makin' me laugh like fuckin' crazy," Wes continues, his drawl curling around the memory like it's something precious.
He hums gently, the sound deep in his chest.
"Your friends were calling for you, and as you ran off, one of them—pretty sure it was Jude—yelled, 'Cameron, get your ass back here!'"
I blink at him, stunned. "That's how you knew my name?"
"Yep," he nods. "Then you were gone, and I just sat there. Sat there reelin', my heart beatin' outta my fuckin' chest. And it wasn't because of the game. It was because of you."
He pauses, his eyes locking onto mine, and for a moment, there's nothing in the room but the sound of the rain hitting the windows.
"I couldn't stop thinkin' about you after that night," Wes admits, his voice quiet but raw, like he's peeling back a layer of himself he rarely shows anyone. "You were my star in the dark, Cam. The only bright thing in what felt like the worst night of my life. I needed to find you again. I had to."
His thumb brushes absently across my cheekbone, and I can feel the faintest tremor in his hand, like the memory itself is still alive beneath his skin.
"The number of times I searched up 'Cameron' should've been enough to tip off the FBI agents watchin' my devices," Wes says, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I looked for you everywhere. In every face I passed on campus. In every laugh I heard at the library or the quad. Every party I went to, every game day, I kept thinkin' maybe you'd be there. Maybe I'd see you again. But I never did."
His jaw tightens, and I can feel the frustration radiating off him like heat as his hand moves to cup the back of my neck, his fingers threading gently through my hair.
"I tried to forget you," he admits, his voice rough now, like the words are hard to force out. "Tried to convince myself you were just visitin'. Some random girl passin' through campus who I was never gonna see again. I told myself I was bein' stupid, gettin' hung up on some stranger. But I couldn't, Cam. I couldn't get you outta my head. No matter how hard I tried, I kept seein' you. Kept hearin' your voice. You were in every thought, every dream, like you'd climbed inside my damn brain and taken over."
His lips twitch into a faint smile again, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"And then, just when I thought maybe I could move on... that party rolled around," he says, his voice dipping lower, quieter, like he's stepping into another memory.
I stay silent, my arms still wrapped around his neck, my chest tight as I watch him unravel the story piece by piece.
"It was the end of last school year," Wes goes on, his hand still warm and steady on the back of my neck. "I didn't even wanna go. Got dragged there by a couple of the football guys stickin' around for the summer. I was standin' in the kitchen, drinkin', tryin' to come up with an excuse to leave when..."
He lets out a soft, breathy laugh, his thumb brushing absently over the curve of my neck.
"When you walked in."
My chest tightens even further, and I can feel his other hand flexing slightly on my hip like he's grounding himself in the memory.
"You were upset," Wes says, his voice softening. "I don't know what it was about, but I could see it all over your face. And all I wanted to do was make you feel better. Like you did for me."
His eyes darken slightly, his gaze dropping to the spot where my forearms overlap at the back of his neck.
"But I couldn't get anywhere near you. You were in the livin' room with all your friends around you, talkin', drinkin', and laughin', and not once did you look my way. Not once."
I swallow hard, the image of him standing alone in the kitchen, staring at me while I didn't even notice him, making my stomach twist painfully.
"I just stood there," Wes admits, his voice dropping lower. "Stood there like a fuckin' love-sick puppy, drinkin' my beer and starin' at you like you hung the damn moon. And you didn't even know I was there."
He pauses for a moment, his jaw tightening again, and I can feel the faint tremor in his hands where they touch me.
"I went out onto the porch for some air," he says finally, his tone rougher now. "Was tryin' to pull myself together, to talk myself outta hopin' for somethin' that wasn't gonna happen. And then, by some sheer miracle..."
He exhales slowly, his lips curving into a faint, crooked smile. "You stumbled out with Scarlett."
I blink at him, my breath catching in my throat as he continues.
"You were rantin' about some poor guy's tiny dick," Wes says, his smile widening slightly, and despite the tension in the room, I feel my lips twitch involuntarily. "And I swear to God, Cam, it was like the clouds parted. Like the stars aligned. I knew, right then and there, that I had one shot. One chance to get to you. And I wasn't gonna waste it."
His grip on my hip tightens slightly, his thumb brushing small, soothing circles against my skin.
"You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen," Wes says quietly, his voice dipping lower. "I wanted you so bad I could hardly fuckin' breathe."
The weight of his words presses down on me, and my chest feels tight, my breath shallow as he goes on.
"And then, by the grace of God, you agreed to go home with me," Wes says, his gaze locking onto mine again. "And, fuck..."
The word comes out rough, almost strangled, and I feel my heart skip a beat as his hand moves to cradle my cheek again, his thumb brushing lightly over my skin.
"You were so damn good," Wes murmurs, his eyes darkening. "Your body under mine, the way you felt, the way you tasted. The way you squeezed me so tight and good, like you were made for me."
His voice drops even lower, a rough edge creeping into his drawl as his eyes flick to my lips.
"You didn't feel like anyone I'd ever had before. You felt like everything I'd ever needed."
I can't breathe. Can't think. The weight of his words, the intensity of his gaze—it's too much and not enough all at once.
"And then you ran out on me," Wes says, his voice breaking slightly at the end, his lips pressing into a thin line.
His thumb brushes absently along my cheek, his voice dipping lower as he speaks.
"When I woke up, and you were just... gone."
I blink up at him, my throat tightening as the weight of his words sinks in.
"No note, no text, nothin'," he continues, his jaw clenching slightly. "Just an empty bed and my shirt folded up nice and neat on the nightstand. Like you were tryin' to leave as quietly as you came into my life."
"Wes..." I whisper, my voice barely audible, but he shakes his head, his grip on my waist firm.
"I couldn't believe I let you run off on me again," he says, his eyes darkening with something I can't quite name. "Twice, Cam. I let you slip through my fingers twice. And it drove me fuckin' crazy."
I open my mouth to say something, but the way he looks at me—like he's unraveling and putting himself back together all at once—makes the words catch in my throat.
"But I wasn't gonna give up on you," Wes says softly, his fingers tightening slightly on my hip. "I didn't care how long it took. I knew I'd find you again. Somehow."
My chest aches as he pauses, his gaze dropping to where my forearms still overlap at the back of his neck.
"And then I saw you," Wes murmurs, "at the start of the semester. Walkin' across campus, lookin' just as gorgeous as the first time I saw you."
I freeze, my eyes widening slightly as I stare at him.
A startled laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it, and I drop my forehead to his shoulder, my face heating with embarrassment. "I panicked!"
"No fuckin' shit," Wes drawls, his laugh rumbling deep in his chest.
I can't help but laugh again, the tension in the air breaking just slightly, but when I pull back to look at him, the warmth in his eyes hits me like a punch to the chest.
"But then I got damn lucky," he says, his voice softening. "Overheard a group of sophomores talkin' to some of the new football guys at the Watering Trough. They were explainin' how they shouldn't go through the allocated tutoring program, that they should use a separate one."
He pauses, his lips twitching faintly.
"One dude said, 'Ask for Cameron Cole.' And the second I heard your name, I knew."
My stomach drops, and my fingers twitch slightly where they rest on his shoulders.
"I knew it was you," Wes says, his hand sliding to the back of my neck, his thumb brushing lightly against the curve of it. "Knew it was my girl."
My heart is racing now, my mind spinning as his words sink in.
"Found out you only tutored in art history and design—and I went straight to that damn admissions building and swapped my media studies class for Grady's."
"You..." I start, narrowing my eyes at him. "You told me art history was a required gen ed."
Wes grins, the expression both sheepish and infuriating. "Well, technically it was a gen ed option."
My eyes widen, my chest tightening with a mix of disbelief and anger. "Wes."
His grin only widens, his hands tightening slightly on my waist.
"I had to beg Will to get into your tutoring program," Wes says, his voice dropping lower as his thumb brushes absently against the curve of my neck. "You weren't even a tutor there anymore. He told me you'd stepped back to focus on other things. But I begged him, Cam. Swore up and down I needed the help, that I couldn't pass without you. And I'd do it again. In a fuckin' heartbeat."
My jaw drops, and I stare at him, utterly floored. "Oh my God, you're obsessed with me."
Wes grins, not even pretending to deny it. "Oh, absolutely," he drawls, his eyes sparkling with a mix of humor and sincerity. "But you already knew that. I've never exactly been subtle about it, have I?"
I blink, stunned into silence, my mind spinning as the weight of his words settles over me.
He's not lying.
He never has.
Every time Wes had looked at me like I was the only person in the room. Every time he'd shown up with that easy, crooked smile that made my heart do stupid flips. The way he was always so damn proud of being obsessed with me, like it was something to brag about.
He's never hidden it. Not once.
He didn't care who saw him staring at me like I hung the stars. Didn't care who heard him calling me "his girl." He didn't care about anything except making it clear that I was the center of his world.
And now, here he is, holding me like I'm something fragile and precious all at once, openly admitting he'd moved heaven and earth just to get close to me.
The thought makes my chest ache, and for a moment, it feels like the ground beneath me isn't steady.
"Hey."
Wes' voice pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts, and I blink up at him, startled by the softness in his gaze.
"You're slippin' away again, baby," he says quietly, his thumb brushing a slow, steady line along my jaw. "Stay here with me, yeah?"
I nod, swallowing hard as I force myself to focus on him—on the warmth of his hands, the steadiness in his eyes, the way he holds me like he's afraid I might vanish if he lets go.
"I fell for you that night," Wes says, his voice soft but firm. "On campus. When you picked up my phone and basically told my dad where to shove it. I fell for you, Cam. And I've been fallin' ever since."
My breath hitches, and I stare at him, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might break through my ribs.
"I want you," Wes says, his voice unwavering, every word landing like a vow. "Not just in my bed, not just as a friend. I want you. I want to see my name on your back, to look up in the stands and know you're there, watchin' me, cheerin' for me. I want to know that when I run off the field, I'll be runnin' to you."
I swallow hard, my chest aching at the raw sincerity in his words.
"I want all of it," Wes continues, his hand shifting to cradle the back of my head, his fingers threading gently through my hair. "All of you, Cam."
The intensity in his gaze, the warmth in his voice—it's too much. Too much and not enough all at once.
Before I even realize what I'm doing, I lean forward, my hands sliding into his hair as I press my lips to his.
Wes freezes for a heartbeat, and then he melts into me, his hands tightening on my waist and neck as he kisses me back.
The world falls away, leaving nothing but the warmth of his mouth, the strength of his hands, and the overwhelming feeling that I'm finally right where I'm supposed to be.
I gasp against his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to tilt his head, his tongue sweeping across my bottom lip before slipping inside, slow and deliberate. The kiss is hot and overwhelming, and I can't stop myself from sliding my fingers into his hair, gripping the soft, damp curls at the nape of his neck as I press closer.
Wes' hands are rough and warm as they slide under the hem of my T-shirt, palms gliding up the bare skin of my sides. The heat of his touch sends a shiver racing through me, and I gasp into his mouth, my body arching instinctively toward him.
He pulls me closer, his grip firm but careful, like he's savoring every second, and I shift in his lap, my knees pressing harder into the mattress at his hips. The new angle has me pressing fully against him, and I feel his sharp intake of breath as I roll my hips without meaning to.
He palms my ass, squeezing the bare cheeks and digging his fingers into the flesh, his hands guiding me into a slow, deliberate grind against him. The friction sends a jolt of pleasure skittering up my spine, and I gasp, clutching at his shoulders for balance.
"Wes," I breathe, my voice shaky as his lips curve into a slow, wicked smile.
"Say it again," he murmurs, his thumbs brushing slow circles into the soft skin just above the lace of my panties.
I swallow hard, my pulse racing, and he tilts his head, his lips brushing against mine in a way that leaves me aching for more.
"Say it again, baby," he drawls, his voice low and teasing.
"Wes," I whisper again, his name slipping out in a breathless gasp as his lips capture mine once more.
The kiss is slower this time, but no less intense. His tongue slides against mine, deliberate and unhurried, and I can't stop myself from shifting in his lap again, grinding against him as my fingers dig into his shoulders.
His hands slide lower, his thumbs dipping just below the waistband of my panties, and the feel of his rough fingers against the delicate lace makes my breath catch.
I whimper into his mouth, searching for his lips when he suddenly pulls back.
Only slightly, though—just enough to look at me, his chest heaving against mine. His thumb brushes over my bottom lip, swollen and slick from his kisses, and I see the faintest smirk tug at the corner of his mouth.
But it's not the cocky smirk I'm used to. It's softer, gentler, his blue eyes filled with something that looks suspiciously like reverence.
"Cam," he murmurs, his voice low and steady. His thumb pauses on my lip for just a second, then drops to my jaw, tilting my face up so I can't look anywhere but at him. "You gotta know... there's no one else for me. No one else who makes me feel like you do."
I blink, caught off guard by the shift in his tone, the sincerity in his gaze. "What?"
"The girl with the beanie," Wes says quietly, his lips twitching into a faint, almost sheepish smile. "She's a Colts cheerleader, Emma, and yeah, I gave it to her. It was just somethin' the management team gave all the boys for the game 'cause they knew the weather was gonna be cold."
I stare at him, trying to process his words, and he exhales softly, his thumb brushing along my jaw.
"She wouldn't stop yappin' about how cold she was," Wes continues, his drawl soft and steady. "And I'm a gentleman, Cam. You know that." His grin widens slightly, teasing. "So I handed it over, just to help her out."
I can't help the small laugh that bubbles out of me, but it's shaky, the weight in my chest still pressing down on me.
"And the girl from the country club?" I ask, my voice quieter now.
Wes' gaze softens even more, and his hand slides back to cradle the nape of my neck.
"Delilah Pressman," he says, his voice full of calm reassurance. "She's my dad's business partner's daughter. Goes to Duke. That's it. That's all she is."
His thumb presses gently against the curve of my neck, his eyes holding mine. "You're my girl, Cam. You're the one I'm thinkin' about all day, every day. You're the one who's got me wrapped around her little finger. No one else comes close. No one else could."
The words hit me square in the chest, and I feel my breath hitch, my hands tightening slightly where they rest on his shoulders.
"You're my girl," Wes repeats, his lips curving into a soft smile. "And I'm your golden boy. You said it yourself."
I let out a shaky laugh, rolling my eyes at him. "You're so fucking cheesy."
Wes' grin widens, and he leans in slightly, his forehead brushing against mine. "I thought you liked that about me," he teases, his voice low and playful.
"I do," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. My fingers slide up into his hair, and I swallow hard before continuing. "I like everything about you, Wes."
He stills, his breath catching as his eyes search mine.
"I really like you," I say softly, my chest tightening as the words leave my lips.
For a moment, Wes doesn't say anything. He just stares at me, his lips parting slightly, his eyes dark and unreadable. Then, all at once, his grin breaks through, wide and cocky and so purely Wes that I can't help but smile back.
"I knew it," he says, his voice smug but full of affection.
I roll my eyes, but before I can respond, his hands tighten on my waist, and he pulls me in for another kiss.
This one is slower, softer, but no less intense. His lips move against mine with deliberate care, like he's savoring every second, and I melt into him, my fingers tangling in his hair as I kiss him back.
When we finally pull apart, my forehead rests against his, both of us breathing hard, our smiles soft and unguarded.
"God, I hate you," I mutter, my voice filled with affection.
"Dear Lord—make up your damn mind, Cameron," Wes teases, his thumb brushing over my hip.
I laugh, leaning in to kiss him again.