Page 78 of Make Me Laugh

“You said you tore it twice. Did you re-injure it when you went back?” I ask, hoping his answer isn’t that he didn’t get to play his senior year.

Something shifts in West, his eyes losing the life in them. I almost think he won’t answer, but then he starts to. “No, I was in a c⁠—”

“West!” Megan’s voice echoes over the lawn. “West, are you out here?”

I try to stay still like she won’t be able to find us if we don’t move, but West doesn’t do that. He lurches forward, sending the swing flying back. We tip off and I tumble to the ground, falling on top of him.

He puts his hand on the back of my head, pulling it against his chest seconds before the swing would have knocked me out. “What are you doing?” I hiss, putting my arm up to stop the bench from swaying.

“Shhhh,” he puts his hand over my mouth, and on instinct I bite. Not hard, but enough for him to slide down to my jaw and yank my face to his. My lips are inches from his. “I bite back, Joey baby.”

A chill runs down my spine.

“West, is that you?” Megan’s voice is closer now.

“Go, run,” he whisper shouts, helping me off him.

“What about Enzo and Kell?” I grab my bag and hat, West’s arm already slipping around my back to force my feet into moving.

“They’re big boys! They can find their way back.” West doesn’t even look over his shoulder as we dart around the side of the house, the loud music from within masking the sound of our footsteps against the crunchy leaves. When we reach the sidewalk, West goes right, and I go left.

Immediately, we turn around and bump into each other.

We laugh, and I rub my forehead. West looks frantic in a playful way. I can tell he’s having fun by the way his eyes light up under the streetlight. “Which way is the apartment?” He’s given up on talking quietly.

I slip my hand in his, lacing our fingers together, tugging him in the direction I was going.

The apartment is only a ten-minute walk, and I don’t realize I’m still holding West’s hand until about halfway. There’s no one around, only a few passing faces here and there. I don’t let go until we’re back inside the apartment building.

We kick our shoes off at the front door, and West heads for the kitchen. “Kell’s gonna need something to eat. Do you want anything?” he asks, opening the pantry we stocked with some groceries for our stay this weekend.

I shake my head, feeling energized and exhausted at the same time. “I think I’m gonna call it a night.” Because if I don’t, I’m afraid we’ll put ourselves in another situation like we had on the swing—seconds from breaking the stupid contract I put in place.

Ugh, morals!

West nods once, putting the box of mac and cheese down. “Okay.” There’s disappointment in his voice, and even though he gives me a smile, I know it’s not a real one.

I can tell the difference now.

It’s been one week to the day since we met, and every day I find myself wanting West just a little bit more than I did the day before.

Lying to myself is easiest—I know the feeling will go away.

“Okay,” I mimic. “Well.” I pause, unable to get my feet to move. “Night.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, but the rest of his body is still. “Night, Jo.”

Oh, no. I hate that.

Jo’s what everyone else calls me. Not West…

On instinct, when I recognize the feeling in my chest, I pivot, spinning quickly in my socks and head towards my room.

“Hey,” West calls.

His voice is like a rope, tugging me to a stop. I turn around slowly this time, swallowing the lump in my throat.

He stares at me, and a long pause stretches between us before he finally chuckles. “I know we got close to breaking your rules tonight”—your rules, he says. Not mine, he means—“but Jo didn’t feel right when I said it.”