I look at her like she’s insane. “Of course I do.”
“If he won’t let you have a life of your own and you clearly don’t want to mess around with anyone else, then make his life a living hell. Use the sexual tension going on between the two of you to make him admit he sees you like a woman and not a little sister. Once you get him to acknowledge that, then you’ll have the upper hand.” Her voice gets loud but deep as she gets super close to my ear. “Give him what he wants but don’t let him have it at first.”
My chin falls to my chest as I look up at her in confusion. “Pardon?”
“The man’s a horse, and you need to dangle the carrot and then take it away. It’s a great way to punish a man or open his eyes. Either way, you’ll see I’m right,” she says the last part with a little shimmy.
“And if you’re wrong?”
“I’m not.” She points at me and then shrugs. “But if I am, then he’ll see you’re not backing down, and hopefully, he’ll just give up.”
“Fine, I’ll do what you say, only to prove you wrong.” I pause, and it comes to me. “Hold on. Is that how you got Chad from friend-zoning you to dating?”
She hushes me quickly. “If you tell him, I’ll die. It’s girl code.”
A slow, wide smile graces my face. I’m going to get Wesley Knight back for years of torture. If he won’t let me date anyone, then it’s on. I need to show him I’m not the little girl he once knew in more ways than one.
And it’s going to be so much fun.
Chapter Four
My first opportunity to put Nicole’s plan into action comes fairly quickly and with very little planning.
Wes always comes back to the apartment after his morning classes on Thursdays because he has a gap before practice. I’m settled in at the kitchen table, studying and holding a banana when he walks through the door.
His heavy footsteps echo around the room, and he pauses when he sees me sitting here. “Oh. Hey,” he says, obviously not expecting me.
“Hello.” I barely give him a glance as I keep my focus on my book.
“What are you studying?”
“Human Sex and Love. It’s a Sociology requirement.” I grin up at him. “Where are you coming from?”
“Class. I have a break, so I wanted to come back and get some work done.” He drops his backpack on the floor and takes out his laptop. “Mind if I sit here too?”
“Mi casa es su casa,” I say as I flip the page of my textbook.
Wes gets his computer started and places a legal pad and a pen beside it. As he switches his hat backward, he zeroes in on the screen. If there’s one thing I remember from growing up with Wes, it’s that he’s crazy smart and he takes school very seriously.
I lean back in my chair and curl a knee up to my chest, pulling my book closer to read. As I study, I bring the banana to my mouth and slowly circle the tip along my parted lips, as if I were lost in thought and so entranced by the words on the page, seemingly having no idea that I’m aimlessly gliding the banana just outside my open mouth.
As I turn another page, I glance up and see Wes staring at me. I give a small smile and go back to my reading as I take a bite.
There’s a bowl beside my textbook, filled with chocolate syrup. I dip my banana into the bowl and coat as much of it as I can, so when I lift it, chocolate starts to drip down the shaft of the fruit.
“Dammit,” I say with a pout. “I hate when that happens.”
I dart my tongue out to the base of the open peel and glide it up the side of the banana, all the way to the tip, licking up the chocolate. Smashing my lips together, I let out a small moan as I close my eyes and enjoy the yummy goodness.
Wesley’s fingers stop tapping on the keyboard.
I grin and lay my tongue back on the shaft, flattening it as I do the action again.
He clears his throat, and his chair creaks as he adjusts in his seat before he goes back to typing. When I look up at him, I notice his tense expression. I give him a smile and take another bite of my banana.
“Don’t you need some kind of food when you study?” I ask, and he just shrugs. “I need something sweet in my mouth when I study.”
His chest puffs out with a deep inhale as he goes back to his studying.
I can’t tell if my little performance is working. By the time I’m finished with eating my banana, I’ve read zero pages, and I’m ridiculously attuned to his body language.
I take my finger and dip it in the sauce, licking the syrup from my flesh. This time, when he looks up, I hold his gaze.
His chin lifts as I slip my finger out of my mouth.
His chest rises when I get a smudge on my lip and have to lick it off.
His thighs spread as I reach for more. I bite at the end of my thumb, where drops of chocolate fell.
Without a word, he gets up from his chair, and in a calm voice, he states, “Dammit, I forgot I left my Psychology textbook at Matt’s. I’ll be back.”
The front door opens and closes quickly, Wes having left without even closing his laptop or putting his stuff away. My plan didn’t even work. Instead, it made him think about Psychology. Obviously, he must think I’m a lunatic.
Oh well, looks like I’m winning my bet with Nicole.
While it’s all fun and games with Wesley, there is one downside. At the end, I’m just left with a sticky hand.
Chapter Five
“Don’t go rushing off yet. I have to give you your favorite part of the college experience. The term paper.”
We all groan as the professor taps on his watch, letting us know there’s still a minute left of this lecture.
“I want three thousand words on the pros and cons of technology on personal engagement, especially in the work environment.”
I write down the information he puts up on the smart board even though I’ll be able to find it on the class website. As the professor dismisses us, I scribble down the last few notes from his presentation.
“You know you can get that online.”
I turn to see a girl with shoulder-length pink hair standing over me with her laptop bag slung around her body.
“Yeah, I just find I absorb the information better if I write it down. The whole sensory approach to learning.” I close my book and place it in my tote bag.
“That makes sense. I haven’t written anything down in years. I think I’d get a cramp if I picked up a pen.”
I stand to face her more. “What about if you wanted to give your number to a guy?”
“Punch it into his phone.” She shrugs.
“Grocery list?”
“Text myself.”
I try to think of something you would need to write down. “A check?”
“What are we, a hundred years old? Who writes checks anymore?” She giggles, and I find myself laughing as well.
“Wow, I guess we don’t have a purpose for pen and paper anymore.” I take a step, and she joins me as we head toward the door. “Stacey Brightmore.”
“Amanda Millionetti,” she says as we walk out of the lecture hall.
“I like your hair.” I point to the pink strands as she runs a hand through it.