The Games We Play - Chapter 30: Chapter 30

"I hit puberty early," I say, my voice soft but steady, as though I'm reciting something I've been keeping locked away for years.
The room is quiet, except for the soft patter of rain against the window.
I'm sprawled on my back, naked, my body warm, flushed, and humming with the aftershocks of the last few hours.
Wes lies on his side beside me, just as naked, one hand propping up his head above me. The sheets are pushed dangerously low on his hip, just barely covering all of him—and all of me, too.
His thumb traces a slow line down the center of my chest, his fingers splaying briefly over my stomach before moving back up. His hand is warm, soothing, like he's trying to ground me with every gentle touch.
"By the time I was thirteen, I already looked like I was sixteen," I continue, my gaze fixed on the ceiling.
The bedside lamp bathes the room in soft light, and I can feel Wes' eyes on me, steady and patient, as if he can hold the weight of my words for me.
"By the time I was sixteen," I go on, my voice tightening, "I looked like I was in college. And... everyone noticed."
I can feel his eyes on me, heavy and steady, but he doesn't interrupt.
His hand moves lower, fingers brushing down the center of my stomach now, light and deliberate. He stays close, his body pressing against my side, the warmth of his skin seeping into mine.
"The girls hated me for it," I say, letting out a quiet, humorless laugh. "They called me a slut before I even knew what sex was."
I trail off, my throat tightening.
Wes leans in again, his lips brushing over the curve of my shoulder, then lower, trailing faint, featherlight kisses down my arm.
Dear Lord.
That one tiny little action has tears brimming in my eyes.
His hand stays steady on my stomach, his thumb sweeping soft, soothing circles against my skin.
"They'd pass notes in class," I continue, my laugh bitter and humorless. "Calling me a feral sex fiend who needed to be tamed. They'd write the most disgusting shit—stuff that wasn't even true—and pass it around for everyone to read. And when a teacher finally got ahold of one of the notes? I was the one who got detention."
Wes' jaw tenses slightly, his body pressing closer against my side.
"They keyed my car once," I say, swallowing hard as the memory surfaces. "Wrote 'slut' on the hood in big, ugly letters. Threw eggs on the windshield so it would dry in the sun and be impossible to clean off. Sometimes they'd fill condoms with mayonnaise and leave them in my locker, like some disgusting prank."
"Jesus Christ," Wes mutters, his voice low and rough, but I shake my head slightly, forcing myself to keep going.
"And the boys..." I trail off, my throat tightening.
Wes shifts again, his chest pressing fully against my side now, his hand sliding up to cup my cheek.
"The boys weren't any better," I say finally, my voice cracking. "They'd flirt with me, ask me out, tell me I was beautiful—like I was supposed to be flattered. Like I was supposed to feel lucky. And I was stupid enough to believe them, at first."
I can feel Wes' thumb stilling against my stomach, his fingers curling slightly as if he's holding back from gripping me tighter.
He just waits, his body pressed against mine, solid and steady.
"They'd walk me to my car after school," I continue, the words tumbling out in a rush now, "and the second we got there, they'd push me against the door. Or worse, they'd drive me home, park in my driveway, push the seat back, and climb over me. They'd trap me there and..."
I swallow hard, trying to shove the lump in my throat back down.
"It was just kissing," I whisper, my voice brittle, as if saying it softer might make it sound less awful. "Just kissing, but they didn't ask. They didn't care if I wanted it. They wanted it, and that's all that mattered."
Wes' thumb starts moving again, slow and deliberate as he traces those same soothing circles against my skin. His other hand slides up to cup my cheek, his fingers brushing lightly along the edge of my jaw.
"Cam..." he starts, his voice low and wrecked.
I turn my head toward him, and the look on his face is almost too much to take.
His blue eyes are darker than I've ever seen them, a storm of anger and something softer, something deeper, swirling just beneath the surface. His jaw is tight, the muscle there flexing and twitching as if he's physically biting back every curse, every angry word, every instinct to fix what can't be fixed.
And worst of all... there's pity.
I can't stand it.
My gaze darts away, back to the ceiling, my chest tightening painfully as I try to ignore the lump forming in my throat. "Don't look at me like that," I whisper, the words trembling as they leave my lips.
"Like what?" Wes asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Like you feel sorry for me," I mutter, my gaze fixed firmly on the shadowy patterns the rain makes on the ceiling. "I don't need your pity, Wes. I'm fine."
His hand on my stomach stills again, his fingers pressing lightly against my skin.
"Baby," he says softly, and I can hear the tension in his voice, the way he's carefully choosing every word. "This ain't pity. This is me wantin' to go back in time and break every single one of those little shits in half for even thinkin' about hurtin' you."
My lips twitch despite myself, but the laugh that almost bubbles out gets caught somewhere in my chest.
"You were a kid," Wes continues, his thumb resuming its gentle, soothing circles. "You shouldn't've had to deal with that. You shouldn't've had to deal with any of it."
"I got over it," I say, the words automatic, but even as I say them, they feel hollow.
"You survived it," Wes corrects gently, leaning down to press his lips to my temple. "That's different."
I blink hard, the tears brimming in my eyes threatening to spill over. The soft press of his lips against my skin is almost enough to break me, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from completely falling apart.
"Some tried to go further than a kiss, but I knew in my gut it was wrong, and I'd fight like hell," I say finally, my voice shaking as I force the words out. "It made me feel... dirty. Like it was my fault. Like I was just something they could use and throw away when they were done."
Wes lets out a slow, uneven breath, his lips brushing against my hairline before he pulls back slightly, his hand shifting from my stomach to rest just above my hip.
"That ain't on you," Wes says quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "None of that shit is your fault, Cam. You hear me?"
The tears finally spill over, sliding down my cheeks silently, and I exhale a shaky breath, the weight of his words settling over me like a warm blanket.
"I thought it would stop when I started dating," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "I thought maybe if I found a boyfriend, people would leave me alone. But it just made things worse."
Wes stays quiet, his hand sliding up slightly to rest on my lower back, the weight of his palm grounding me.
"There was this guy," I continue, my voice breaking. "I liked him. Trusted him. He was the first person I ever slept with. And after it happened..."
I trail off, the words getting stuck in my throat, and Wes leans in, his forehead pressing lightly against mine as his thumb moves up to brush away the tear slipping down my cheek.
"He told everyone," I finish finally, my voice cracking. "Made it sound like I was desperate. Like I was easy. And all the rumors I'd been trying to outrun for years came back ten times worse."
"Fuck, baby," Wes mutters under his breath, his voice low and sharp.
"You'd think I'd learn, huh? But nope—every time, I still believed them. When I got to college..." I pause, swallowing hard as I try to collect myself. "When I got to college, I told myself it would be different. I told myself, I'm different now, so maybe everyone else will be, too."
Wes shifts beside me, his chest pressing more firmly against my side, and I feel his breath brush against my temple before he presses a kiss there—soft and lingering.
The sarcasm in my voice is sharp enough to cut glass, and I let out a hollow laugh.
"I reinvented myself, you know? I decided to leave all the bullshit behind. The rumors, the labels, the guys who thought they could take whatever they wanted and call it a favor. I built this whole new version of me—this confident, bubbly, socially perfect version that everyone liked. That no one could hurt. And for a while, it worked."
"For a while?" Wes asks softly, his thumb brushing faint circles along my lower back.
I let out another humorless laugh. "For a while, yeah. But you can't just erase everything, you know? You can't just wake up one day and poof, the old you is gone. The whispers are still there, even if they're only in your head now. The fear's still there. And the second a guy actually started to get close, I'd..."
"You'd what?" Wes prompts, his voice careful, like he's afraid of pushing too hard.
"I'd ruin it," I admit, my voice small. "I'd find a reason—any reason—to end things before they got too serious. I told myself I was just being picky, that I was waiting for the right person. But the truth is, I was scared, Wes. Scared they'd see through me. Scared they'd figure out I wasn't enough."
Wes' hand slides across my stomach and curves around my waist, his fingers spreading wide as he presses his palm flat against my skin.
"When I finally got my group of friends," I say softly, my voice trembling, "Scarlett, Jude, Tasha, Yasmine, all of them... for the first time, I felt normal. I felt like I could just be. Like I didn't have to prove myself, or hide who I was, or..." I trail off, my throat tightening. "They liked me for me. And it felt so good, Wes. But it didn't fix everything. It didn't fix me."
"It's not about fixin' you," Wes says gently, his thumb brushing along my jaw. "You're not broken, Cam. You've just been hurt. And none of that shit was your fault."
I blink up at him, my chest aching at the raw sincerity in his voice.
"When I met you," I say quietly, "I told myself it'd be the same. That you'd be like the rest of them. I mean, you're... you. You've got the looks, the charm, the whole quarterback thing going on. I thought... maybe you were just better at hiding it than the others. But I kept waiting for you to slip up. Waiting for you to prove me right."
"And did I?" Wes asks softly, his voice careful but steady.
I glance back at him, my lips twitching into the faintest smile. "No. You didn't. And that was even scarier."
Wes' hand shifts, his palm sliding down to rest lightly on my hip, his fingers curling around the curve of it. "Scary how?" he murmurs, his forehead brushing mine.
"Because it made it real," I say, my voice breaking slightly. "Because you're not like the rest of them. And if I let you in—if I let myself believe in this—and then you left anyway? I don't think I could handle it."
"Baby," Wes says softly, his thumb resuming its slow circles against my jaw. "You don't have to—"
"I do," I interrupt, my chest heaving as the words tumble out. "I need to say this, okay? Just let me—"
Wes nods, his hand on my hip squeezing gently as he stays quiet.
I exhale shakily, my gaze dropping to where his hand rests against my skin. "With you, it's different. I can't just... tell myself you're not worth it, or that you're going to hurt me, or that I don't care enough to try. Because I do care. I cared the second I met you, and that terrified me."
My throat tightens as I meet his gaze again, my voice trembling. "You make me feel things I've spent years trying to avoid. And it's not just because of the way you look, or how good you are in bed, or any of that surface-level stuff. It's because of you. Because you're kind, and thoughtful, and you make me laugh when I don't even want to smile. Because you make me feel like maybe I'm worth something more than just..." I trail off, swallowing hard. "You make me feel like I'm enough."
Wes exhales slowly, his thumb brushing up to sweep a tear from the corner of my eye. "You are enough, Cam," he says quietly. "You always have been. And if it's me that scares you, baby, then tell me what to do. Tell me how to make it easier for you, because I'll do it. Whatever it takes."
I let out a soft, shaky laugh, wiping at my cheeks. "You already make it easier, Wes," I say, my voice trembling. "That's part of the problem. You make it so easy to fall for you, and I keep trying not to, but..."
Wes leans in, pressing his lips to my forehead, then to my temple, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of my head.
"You don't have to try so hard not to," he murmurs, his voice low and warm. "I'll catch you if you do, Cam. I swear to God, I'll catch you."
The tears finally spill over, sliding silently down my cheeks, and I let out a shaky breath as I turn into him and press my face into his shoulder. His arms wrap around me, strong and steady, pulling me close like he's trying to shield me from every hurt I've ever felt.
For a long moment, neither of us says anything. The rain against the window fills the quiet, the soft rhythm matching the rise and fall of Wes' chest against mine.
"You're mine now," Wes murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as his lips brush the top of my head. "And I'm yours, Cameron. Always."
I don't say anything. I can't. But I nod against his shoulder, my arms tightening around his neck, and for the first time in years, I feel like I don't have to carry it all alone.
Wes pulls back slightly, his arms still wrapped around me like he's afraid I might disappear if he lets go. I feel the warmth of his breath against my temple, and before I can say anything, he leans in and kisses me.
It's not like the other kisses we've shared—the ones that always led to fucking.
This is different. Softer. Slower. His lips brush mine with a kind of care I'm not sure I deserve, like he's trying to pour all the things he can't put into words into that one single kiss.
It doesn't demand anything. It doesn't expect anything. It just... is.
He kisses me just to kiss me.
I melt into him, my hands sliding up to rest against his chest, and he kisses me like I'm fragile and precious and like he never wants to stop.
It's not about desire or need; it's about everything else. About the way he sees me, all of me, and still wants to stay. About the way he makes me feel like I'm enough, just as I am, without having to fight for it.
Wes pulls back from the kiss, his forehead still resting against mine, his breath brushing softly over my lips. His thumb moves up, brushing a tear away from my cheek, his other hand sliding gently to cup the back of my neck.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice low and rough. "I'm so fucking sorry, baby."
The words are simple, but the weight in them makes my chest ache. My throat tightens, and I turn my face away, unable to hold his gaze any longer.
His hand shifts, his fingers tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, the touch so gentle it almost unravels me.
"Don't," he whispers, his voice steady but soft. "Don't look away."
I blink hard, forcing myself to meet his eyes again, and the raw emotion I find there nearly steals the breath from my lungs. There's no pity in his expression—not like before. Just sadness. And anger. And something so deep, so steady, it makes me want to cry all over again.
"You shouldn't have had to go through that alone," Wes says quietly, his thumb tracing slow circles along my jawline. "I wish..." He trails off, exhaling sharply, like the thought is too much for him to finish.
I let out a shaky laugh, but it sounds more like a sob.
"It's over now," I say, my voice breaking even as I smile. "It doesn't matter anymore."
"It matters to me," Wes says, his voice firm but quiet.
His hand slides down from my jaw to rest lightly on my shoulder, his thumb brushing over the curve of my collarbone. The touch is so careful, so deliberate, like he's trying to remind me that I'm still here, still whole.
"You deserved better," he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "You should've been protected, loved, someone to have your back. And you didn't, and—fuck, that breaks me, baby."
The tears spill over again, and I let out a soft, broken sound, pressing my face into his chest as my hands clutch weakly at his shoulders.
Wes wraps his arms around me, pulling me close, his chin resting lightly against the top of my head.
For a long moment, neither of us says anything. The rain outside fills the quiet, the soft rhythm matching the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek.
His lips brush my temple, warm and lingering, before he pulls back slightly, just enough to look at me again.
"I'm here," he says softly, his hand sliding back up to cradle the side of my face. "And I ain't goin' anywhere."
The words are simple, but the way he says them—low and steady and full of something I can't name—makes my breath hitch.
He leans in again, his lips finding mine in another kiss.
This one is softer, slower, like he's trying to tell me everything he doesn't have the words for. His hand slides into my hair, his fingers threading gently through the strands as he kisses me like he can't bear to let me go.
When he pulls back, he's just watching my face, gently wiping my cheeks of tears.
"Should we make some tea?" he asks with a small smile, and a giggle bursts from my chest before I can stop it. A grin lights up his face as he notices my smile and he insists, "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I nod with a small laugh.
"Yeah?" Wes repeats with a bigger smile as he leans in and kisses my lips again, swiftly, briefly, sweetly.
"I'll make the tea—you stay here and order food." I smile up at him as he hovers just above me.
"Hungry?
"Worked up an appetite." I smirk as Wes moves down my body and begins to attack my stomach with tiny little kisses.
I laugh out at the ticklish sensation. "Wes!"
He grins up at me from low on my belly. "What? This not enough?"
"That ain't part of the five-a-day regime."
"You're part of mine."
"Alright, alright." I laugh, rolling my eyes as I reach down to his shoulders and push him off. I sit up, throwing my legs over the bed. "I'm thinking Thai—maybe like a green curry and spring rolls type beat."
"Mmhmm," Wes hums, kissing my shoulder from behind. "And chicken satay. With extra peanut sauce."
"You don't even like peanut sauce."
"But you do."
I turn my face, my hand coming up to sink into his blonde curls as he lifts his head from my skin.
He leans over my shoulder, pressing his lips to mine.
I literally cannot stop kissing him. It's like an addiction at this point.
"I want the lumpy strawberry mug for my tea, please and thank you ma'am," Wes beams at me. I scoff, standing from the bed and spotting my baggy gray tee on the floor.
I walk over to it, feeling Wes' eyes on me the entire time. I bend down, making sure to give him a show of my ass, and slide the tee over my head.
Wes lets out a low whistle as I tug the shirt down.
I glance over my shoulder at him, catching the way his lips curve into that lazy, crooked grin that always makes my stomach flip. He's on his back, my sheets lying so low they only cover one hip, the top of the other thigh completely exposed.
Fuck, he's beautiful.
He hums, gesturing vaguely at me with one hand, his grin widening. "You're ruining the view."
"Food. Now." I point sternly at him with one hand while the other gathers my hair out of the collar of the shirt. I quickly scurry from the room before I dive back into bed with him.
Scarlett's door is ajar when I reach it, and I knock lightly before peeking in. Her room's always such a vibe, candles and a huge bed with a cream comforter and so many damn pillows. Soft SZA is playing through her bluetooth speaker and she's got her big glasses on her nose.
She's propped up against her pillows atop her bed, her laptop balanced on her knees, a grin on her face so wide it pisses me off.
"What's with the Cheshire Cat smile?" I ask, stepping into the room.
Her grin only widens, her eyes sparkling as she looks up at me. "Oh, nothing. Just thinking about how I haven't seen you or Wes in hours."
"Do you want some food? We're going to order," I mumble, standing by her desk and mindlessly flicking at the corner of a notebook hanging over the edge.
"I had my AirPods in, in case you're wondering," Scarlett says, pointing to her ears. "Whatever happened, I'm none the wiser."
I hum. "It's Thai. What are we feeling? Curry? Noodles?"
"He looked pretty pissed when I opened the door," she continues with a cheeky grin. "Did y'all fuck out that aggression, or what?"
"I'm going green curry. Spring rolls too," I mumble, tapping my chin. "I feel like that would be good for my soul."
"Cam."
"No." I point at her.
"Cam." Scarlett smirks as she begins to crawl off the bed.
"No," I giggle, walking backward out of her room and closing the door before she can pounce on me and wring me for dirty details.
Her soft laughter follows me to the kitchen. I busy myself with making tea, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up my neck.
I perch up on my toes, grabbing two mugs. Mine is a plain speckled white, and the other is the lumpy strawberry mug I made in a free pottery class. It's the same one Wes was drinking out of the morning we started this whole friends-with-benefits thing.
And it's the same one he drinks out of every time he's over. Doesn't matter if it's tea, coffee, or even just water—it's always the strawberry mug.
I smile faintly as I pour the boiling water into both mugs, the swirl of blackcurrant tea staining the water a deep, ruby red. The scent fills the kitchen, fruity and warm, and I stand there for a moment, just breathing it in.
The rain is still going strong, tapping steadily against the windows like a rhythm only it knows. The only light in the apartment comes from the floor lamp in the living room, its soft golden glow pooling across the floor and bleeding into the kitchen. It feels quiet. Cozy. Heavy, but in a way that feels... nice.
Really nice.
I haven't thought about my trauma in a long time—not like this, at least. I've never spoken about it out loud the way I just did with Wes. It's always been this thing I've shoved down, ignored, pretended didn't matter. But telling him? Seeing the way he reacted?
It was everything.
The knot in my chest tightens, and I blink hard, trying to shake off the sudden swell of emotion. I pick up the mugs and head back toward my room, my bare feet silent against the wood floors as I weave through the soft shadows of the apartment.
The sound of a ringtone echoes down the hall, and my heart stumbles in my chest. It takes me a second to realize what it is, but when I do, my eyes widen.
"Shit," I mutter, hurrying toward the bedroom.
The ringtone grows louder as I get closer, and my heart races when I hear Wes' voice.
"Hey, baby, your phone's ringing—"
"Don't—!" I shout, but it's too late.
By the time I stumble through the door, my hands tight on the mugs, Wes is picking up my phone, and his palm brushes against the screen.
I burst out, "Don't! It's a FaceTi—"
Wes grabs my phone, but his touch accidentally answers the call.
The familiar faces of my mom and dad appear on the screen, both leaning in close like they aren't sure how cameras work.
Mom sighs. "Dammit, Donnie. You dialed the wrong number again."
"I did no such thing," Dad replies indignantly, jabbing a finger at the screen. "That's Cameron's room. Look at the curtains! I recognize them."
Mom squints, tilting her head as if the change in angle might reveal something new. "Those are her curtains, but that's not Cameron."
Wes lay frozen in my bed, holding the phone like it had suddenly turned into a live grenade. He glanced at me helplessly, clearly unsure of what to do.
I quickly stepped forward, dumping the mugs onto my desk as I plopped down on the bed beside Wes, snatching the phone from him and angling it so only I was in the frame.
"Here I am!" I exclaimed, lifting a finger to pull away a strand of hair stuck to my cheek. "Hey, you two! I'm so sorry I forgot to call ba—"
"No, Cameron," Mom said, her tone slow and deliberate. "Turn it back to the handsome boy. Who was that?"
"And why is he in your room?" Dad added, his eyebrows practically hitting his hairline.
"Was that one of those Snaptalk filters or whatever? The ones that make you look like a man?" Mom asked before shaking her head. "I tried one of those. Turned me into your Uncle Nico—I'll tell you, I almost cried."
Wes cut me off as he pushed up on his hands and leaned into the frame. His body curled around me, his face leaning over my shoulder so I was hiding his naked torso.
"Hey, y'all," he said, his voice perfectly polite, his Southern drawl cranked up to maximum charm. "Ma'am. Sir. Mr. and Mrs. Cole. It's nice to meet y'all—I'm Wesley Reed."
Dead silence.
Then—
"Oh dear lord. Donald, I feel faint," Mom announced, clutching her chest.
Dad patted her arm absentmindedly, his gaze still fixed on the screen. "I know you... Reed. The—the quarterback for the Colts, right?"
"Yes, sir. That's me," Wes replied smoothly, nodding once.
"Wesley Reed is in my daughter's room?" Mom demanded, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and delight. "Donald, our daughter is dating a football star!"
"Mom!" I hissed, mortified.
"Kirby," Dad said, his voice full of mock seriousness. "This might be the biggest day of my life."
"Our life, Donnie," Mom snapped. "Cameron is dating Wes Reed. That's going on the front cover of the neighborhood newsletter."
"I'M NOT—!" I cut myself off, side-glancing at Wes, who was just staring at me with big blue eyes. I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Ah—yeah. Yeah, I'm dating him."
The way Wes' face lit up had my heart lurching out of my chest.
"Oh, my heart," Mom whispered, fanning herself dramatically. "Donald, I'm not going to make it through this call."
Dad just chuckled. "Well, nice to meet you, son. Love watching you out on that field. You've got some real talent."
"Thank you, sir," Wes replied, grinning.
"Mom, Dad," I interjected loudly, desperate to end this madness. "You wanna talk about Thanksgiving some more, or—"
"Oh, who cares about that now?" Mom said, waving her hand dismissively. "So, Wesley, what are your intentions with my daughter? I'm getting old, so I just want to let you know that nothing is off the table—"
Dear lord—my own mother is trying to pimp me out.
I slammed the red button on the screen, cutting her off.
The room went silent, save for the sound of Wes' soft chuckle as he pressed his lips to the back of my shoulder. I turned to glare at him, but his grin was so wide and smug I almost lost my train of thought.
"Well," he said, his voice full of mischief. "That went fine."
"No—that went horribly." I covered my face with my hands. "I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to meet them so soon. And then they go and—"
"Hey, hey." Wes wrapped his big hands around my waist and pulled me back into his chest. "I liked them. They seem fun—and they seem like they love you a lot."
"They do." I sighed out with a small smile. "And I love them a lot too."
"Then there ain't nothing to worry about," Wes said as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. "Plus—it seems like they liked me too. Seems you might have a bit of competition."
"Oh, fuck you." I let out a small laugh against his lips, swatting at his chest.
"You ever make the front cover of the neighborhood newsletter?"
"...Page four."
Wes sucked in air through the teeth of his awkward grin.
I rolled my eyes, reaching up to grab his chin. "You're lucky you're cute."
"Oh baby, I know," Wes replied, pulling me closer as we fell back onto the bed, tangled in laughter and limbs.
He kissed me deeply, stealing my breath as usual, his hand sliding under my shirt, pushing it up as his fingers slipped over my bare hips, up my waist, and cupped my breast. His thumb swiped over a hardening nipple, and I gasped into his mouth.
His tongue lapped against mine as he held my jaw steady with his other big hand.
Wes pulled back, and I lifted my head in search of his lips. "Say it again."
I blinked, still in a daze. "Huh?"
"Say it again." Wes nudged my nose with his and smiled. "C'mon, baby. Say the magic words."
I paused, trying to figure out what the hell he was on about. But then it slowly clicked, and I rolled my eyes, a grin pulling at the corners of my lips.
"We're dating," I told him, lifting my head and giving him a quick kiss.
"What about the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing?" Wes asked with a smirk. "We doing that too?"
"Yes." I nodded earnestly. "You're my boyfriend. I'm your girlfriend. We're dating."
"Fina-fucking-ly," Wes sighed out, scooping down to claim my mouth again while I squealed at the intensity.