Broken Compass

West would really be proud to see me, I think. Then I remember he’s sick, and I text him.

‘Have you seen Nate?’ he asks, and I don’t want to tell him no, that he wasn’t there, that I got banged up because he didn’t show up.

‘Can I come over?’ I reply, and he texts back, ‘Yes.’

My calm is quickly giving way to anger. Turns out I’m upset with Nate. He could have at least called to let me know he wouldn’t be there. Or maybe I’m just angry because I got so scared. When Kash found me, I wasn’t crying because it hurt, but because I had been terrified.

I guess I got used to having the boys protecting me. Grew complacent and let my guard down.

Never again. Those guys won’t get the jump on me ever again. Nobody ever will.

I try to ignore the fear seeping back in, whispering at me that I’m all alone, that I’m lucky Nate and West took it on themselves to protect me. That they owe me nothing.

But I twist that fear into anger, too, and let it warm me. Better angry than scared, right?

I shower, put on loose summer pants to cover the Band-Aids on my knees, and a tank top, let my hair down and use concealer to cover the bruise. Then I slather on cherry lip gloss, and climb down the stairs to knock on Weston’s door.

Ignoring Nate. Doing my best not to think of him, not to care. The guy I sort of kissed and who didn’t kiss me back. Who didn’t show up when I needed him.

I need some better defenses against these boys, some buffer that won’t get my feelings trampled on and shredded apart. I knew that, but with the trouble they both were in, and with the fight they had, I’d sort of forgotten, pushed it to the back of my mind.

They have each other. They don’t need me. Nobody needs me.

Then West opens the door, dressed only in low-slung sweats, and all my decisions fly out the window. I’m gaping at him, and I bet I have little hearts in my eyes.

Whoa. Heat alert. This is not a drill. How can a girl keep a cool head with such a hottie as a friend, huh?

Where Nate’s chest is leanly muscled, West’s is powerful, with chiseled abs and defined pecs, and when he lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck, his biceps bulge. This boy sure works out a lot, and his face is made of angles and shadows. Beautiful.

And… I should stop gaping and enter.

He shoots me an amused look as I saunter inside. Guess he caught me looking. I was that obvious. “Hey, Syd.”

“Hey… home alone?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t elaborate. He’s usually more relaxed when his family’s not there, but…

“They left you home alone when you’re sick?”

“Ah… I’m much better now.” He pads across the living room to his room, and I follow, staring at his tight ass.

He does look good.

Christ, Sydney. Stop.

“You missed school. You can’t be well already. Talk.” His bed is made, covers neatly tucked under at the corners, his pillows stacked on top. I sit down and grab one pillow to hug against my chest like a teddy bear.

It smells of West, I belatedly realize, of soap and male musk and something I can’t name that reminds me of him. I curl around the pillow on his bed, my face heating when my body reacts, heat pooling in my belly.

It doesn’t help that he’s standing there, shoulder propped against the wall, powerful arms folded over his bare chest, dark hair falling in his blue eyes. He looks… lickable.

My face heats more at the thought of licking his bare chest, then lower… and lower.

Crap.

“You okay?” He lifts a brow at me. “You’re kinda flushed.” He frowns. “Is that a bruise on your face?”

“Nah, I’m fine.” I hide a bit more behind his pillow. “So spill. Why didn’t you make it to school?”