"Why don't we plan a shopping trip while you're in town?" I'm about to agree when Kacey lets out a huff. "Look who showed up."
I turn my head in the direction she's staring, and I can feel my mouth fall open. Wesley Givens has just walked in the front door. He high-fives some guys by the door, and his eyes are sweeping the room as he walks further into the house.
He looks so similar to the Wes I remember from four years ago. He's even wearing the same Cherrydale High Football tee. Well, hopefully, it's an updated version at least.
But he has the same dark blond hair in the same short haircut. Still tall and big, but maybe with a little less muscle.
Even as I'm ogling him, he turns in my direction. He takes in me and Kacey and slowly heads in our direction.
"Hey," he says with a quick flick of his chin in our general direction. "Haven't seen either of you in a while."
"Yeah, because we both went away to college," Kacey says. I continue to practice my mime impression.
"Don't be all holier
-than-thou. I went to college, too. Football scholarship. Remember?"
"Yeah, well we both stayed in college and actually graduated."
I look over at Kacey. Whoa. She's going for the jugular. If I remember correctly, she and Wes never really got along back in the day. Still, ouch.
Wes seems unperturbed, though.
Kacey rolls her eyes and nudges my shoulder. "I'm gonna go say hi to some people. You okay, Lana?"
"Yeah, of course." Then she's gone, and Wes and I are alone. For the first time in four years.
"Hey," he says with another head nod.
"Hi."
Crickets. All this time spent obsessing over seeing Wes Givens again, and I never thought about what to say. Great, Lana, I chastise myself.
"So you in town for a while?" he asks.
"Just for two weeks. I graduated in May, but I was working at a Syracuse law firm until a couple of days ago. Thought I would come to town before I move to DC for law school." It might be the light, but seems like Wes's eyes are glazed over.
"Cool."
"Yeah, it'll be great. So you're still around here?"
"So?" His eyes flick to mine.
"Nothing, just making conversation."
Whoa, defensive much? I cast my mind back to high school and even junior high before that. Did Wes and I ever have an actual conversation? Because we are barely having one now.
He starts saying something about football and preseason games and I tune out. My eyes search out the room for Ford, but I don't spot him. As Wes rambles on and on about tackles and tight ends, I can't help but remember going to Friday night games with Ford. We used to have the best time.
And we always ended up at the diner after. I ordered mozzarella sticks and Ford would get cheesecake.
I wonder if he remembers that. Again, I look around for him as Wes babbles on. Where is he?
Then, the next thing I know, Wes reaches out and snags my hand. Interesting that his touch doesn't feel anything like when Ford held my hand. I don't feel butterflies in my stomach. In fact, the only thing I do feel is Wes's sweaty hand. Gross.
"Let's go somewhere and catch up," he says and then takes off. Yanking my hand, I stumble before catching up to his pace.
"Where are we going?"