Page 17 of Resist

He arched a brow. “What are you doing?”

I stayed silent for once, giving him a taste of his own moody medicine.

His brows knitted together as he turned around to face me. “Are you planning on sleeping on the ground tonight or what?”

I tipped my head back and just stood there, hip cocked out, serious lines all over my face. I channeled my inner Chelsea and made sure I matched his attitude as best as I could.

He pulled his hands out of his pockets, crossing them over his chest, biceps bulging. And that sent a flush of warmth throughout my body that caused my heart to quicken and spurred the desire to touch them…just a little. Just to see if they were as smooth and firm and tight as they appeared, stretching the fabric of his shirt, leaving me a little weak in the—

Get a grip, Mara! Get. A. Grip.

Why did he always have this effect on me? I straightened my back, trying to hide the rush of hormones coursing through me. And then it was on—the moody stare down where we both locked gazes and did our best to hide what was going on inside of us from the other person. Sometimes I liked to pretend we were playing a game. The only problem was, I was super bad at it. But tonight was different. Maybe it was because he was on some good drugs, but tonight he broke the silence first.

“Mara, what are you doing?” His voice held the hint of his familiar growl, but mostly, he just sounded tired.

I went for it. “I’m trying to tell you how much I appreciate what you did for me yesterday—”

“I heard you,” he cut me off.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That!” I pointed to him, exasperation consuming me. “That thing you do where it’s all short responses or no responses at all. Ihatethat.”

He took in a deep breath, his head rolling backwards as he closed his eyes. “Come on, Mara, let’s just get you back so—”

“Don’t do that either. Don’t try to shut me down because I’m not willing to play this weird, bullshit, tiptoe dance we’ve been doing for the past several weeks.”

His head rolled forward, brow arched. “Tiptoe dance?”

“Yes!” I rubbed my eyes as I let out a quick sigh. Then I looked at him again, dropping my hands to my side. His expression was blank, but his eyes showed me he was listening. “Wes, I’m trying to tell you that I appreciate you helping me. When no one else was willing to go, you did, and I don’t know how I would have done it without you, okay? And I really appreciate it.”

He remained quiet, part of his face shadowed in the dark as his eyes flickered with emotions I couldn’t read.

I sighed again. “Are you going to say something?”

He grunted, body stiff and unyielding. “Is there something specific you’re looking for?”

“I don’t know…something,” I urged.

“Fine. You’re welcome.”

Silence fell between us again, and Wes stood like a perfectly sexy marble statue. This wasn’t what I was looking for. I wanted a conversation, some real talk, but all I was getting were these short little answers. It was like he had built a wall up—one so high I just couldn’t climb. And it was frustrating and confusing as all hell. I mean, did he want something to do with me? Were we friends?

I groaned. I knew I shouldn’t have even tried. “You know what, never mind.” I waved a hand at him, motioning for him to go. “Just…just go home. Thanks for walking me.” I turned on my heels, waving a hand in the air back at him. “See you around.”

I took several steps, and then I felt pressure on my right shoulder, pulling me back.

“Mara…” I turned to see Wes, only a foot away from me, his hand on my shoulder, holding me in place until I was facing him. And then he dropped it to his side.

I looked up, catching his eye, and all the warmth came fluttering back up, low in my body as my stomach churned, making me feel slightly nauseous. I swallowed, trying to choke down the anxiety clawing its way up inside me. But I stayed quiet. It was my turn to be the stoic one.

His eyes shimmered, alive and vibrant. “What do you want from me?” It wasn’t caustic, or bitter, or angry, or anything like that. It was a genuine question, and I could feel this underlying tension, this need, that his question invoked. But I didn’t understand it.

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. And I realized…I didn’t know what I wanted. I didn’t know what I expected from him. All I knew was I…I was lost. I closed my eyes and looked away, my fingers coming to my lips as I chewed on my thumbnail. I had no response for him. “I don’t know.”

His eyes flickered, his gaze intent on mine, and I could feel everything within me tensing up, the anxiety piling high.

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