The Complication (The Program #6)(32)

“You’ll really sleep on the floor?” I ask.

“Yep,” he says, putting his hand over his heart like it’s a solemn oath. “But are you tired now? We can watch another movie. I’ll even get us some chips and sodas. I had my mom put a fridge down here.” He grins as if acknowledging he’s outrageously spoiled, and I roll my eyes.

“Fine,” I say, tossing my clothes onto the closest chair. “But no more aliens.”

“Romance?” Wes asks with a smile.

“Thriller,” I suggest instead. He nods that it’s a good plan and goes over to the computer. He clicks through his movies, searching for an appropriately scary one that will allow us to forget the real horrors outside his basement bedroom. And this time, as we watch, his hand gently grazes mine, resting there.

But he never holds it.

? ? ?

It’s just after midnight when we go into his room, not really talking. My heart is beating fast, like the plan will change somehow. But it doesn’t. Wes takes one of the pillows off his bed and tosses it onto the floor. He opens his closet and takes out a sleeping bag. He unzips it and lays it out, then grabs a folded blanket from the edge of his bed and puts that on top. It doesn’t look too awesome, and I’m about to suggest the couch, when he points to the bed as if he’s telling me not to argue.

I smile and climb onto his oversize bed, slipping my bare legs under the covers. His bed has always been ridiculously plush and comfortable. I hear Wes’s knee crack as he climbs down, a little groan, and then he takes a deep breath.

The room is dark with just a small light on his dresser and the clock on his nightstand. Outside the window, the wind still blows—although admittedly not as hard.

“So . . . ,” Wes says from the floor. “How’s that bed?”

I smile, knowing Wes can’t see me up here, and I turn on my side. “It’s way too soft,” I tell him. “Like lying on a cloud.”

“Ugh, I hate that,” Wes says in an equally serious voice. “If you want, you can try out the floor with me. It has the perfect buoyancy.” He reaches over and knocks on the floor, a hollow echo of concrete under the carpet.

“Wow, that does sound comfy,” I say.

“You should come down. There’s plenty of room.”

I peek over the side of the bed to where Wes is lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. The little bit of light cast perfectly across his face.

“Okay,” I say, and see him instantly smile.

I climb down from the bed, taking my pillow with me, and lie next to him on the unfolded sleeping bag. I curl on my side, and my hip and shoulder ache from the pressure of the hard floor. I tuck my hands under my chin, and across from me, Wes mimics the movement. We’re a pillow away, but curved in, our knees nearly touching.

“I’m curious about something,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Have I ever asked you out before?”

I smile softly, not willing to lie. I like how he flirts with me. I don’t really want him to stop. “Maybe once or twice,” I offer.

“Twice?” he repeats. “I bet it was more.”

“And why do you think that?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Because I’m persistent. And it helps me understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Why I feel this way,” he replies.

A wave rolls over me, and I’m breathless when I ask, “And how do you feel?”

“Like I know you,” he whispers. “Know everything about you, but just can’t remember.”

I realize that I want him to guess our relationship—say it out loud so I can’t deny it. Make me tell the truth. Make me hurt us both with it, but at the same time, set us both free.

“And I feel . . .” Wes pauses like this is the most important part. “I feel like lying on this hard-ass cement carpet floor is almost bearable because I’m close to you.”

Silence falls over the room, and I see the first twitch of a smile on his lips.

“You want to move to the bed, don’t you?” I ask.

“Definitely,” he responds immediately, like that was the point all along.

“Fine. But only because this floor sucks.”

Wes laughs, and we grab our pillows. We head to opposite sides of the mattress. I watch him, unsure of how serious he was about knowing me. Where does his joking end? Where do my lies end?

We climb onto the bed, me under the covers, him above. I murmur good night, and he says it back. But the lightness is gone from his voice, and I wish we hadn’t moved from the floor. There we could play off the conversation. We could pretend.

I turn on my side, facing the door. I feel Wes do the same in the opposite direction.

We’re quiet, and I may have dozed off at one point. It’s still dark outside, and Wes’s breathing is calm. I can’t believe he’s next to me. I can’t believe I’m in his bed again. The way I’ve missed him is torturous. I shouldn’t have come here. I should have known it would be too difficult.

I can’t live in this constant state of dishonesty. I can’t keep things from him, not if I love him.

“Do you want to know the truth?” I whisper softly, and turn to look at the back of his head.

I don’t expect him to answer, but almost like he was waiting, he whispers back, “Yes.”