Page 3 of Unhinged Magic
Knowing I would see him was one thing. But actuallyseeinghim pulled uncomfortable feelings to the surface. Ones I suddenly wasn’t ready to face.
I retreated backwards as if my footsteps could yank me from reality, but with every step I took away from him, he closed the gap between us with his own.
Like a tether I could not break.
A magnet I could not repel.
My attention sprang to Scar, who darted a look between the two of us.
The green avalanche spoke. “Skye?”
Shock pinned me in place, its grip on me relentless.
As he approached even closer, my stomach flipped over. I was convinced I would throw up. Pass out even.
“Hey,” I stammered, barely a whisper.
I turned to Scar for help, but she backed away, giving us space.
When I turned my attention to Wesley again, his stare deepened, haunted eyes quickly disguised by something else.
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “What, you don’t recognize me now I’m all grown up?”
Of course I recognized him. How could I not?
My gaze flew over him, both horror and heat settling inside me, curling my stomach into a hot mess. I was staring atWesley,my childhood friend who I’d grown up with making huts, exploring caves, and riding our bikes around until the streetlights turned on.
His words suddenly registered.
Grown upwas putting it lightly.
Wesley was dreamboat hot in every sense of the term.
Thick, dark hair fell onto his forehead like midnight had settled on his scalp. His green eyes glistened above high cheekbones, which carved chiseled angles into his stubble-free face.
I swallowed deeply.
“You’re back,” he said.
The dismissal in his tone made my heart ache. I owed him answers. But I couldn’t, not right now.
“Yeah, surprise,” I said meekly, wishing I could fix this. Make this less awkward.
His nostrils flared. “A phone call would have been nice.”
Wow. Okay.
This was not the Wesley I remembered. The stranger in front of me was all sharp edges and quipped tongue. A far cry from the boy I used to know.
I struggled to form a sentence, not knowing where to begin or how to approach what needed to be said. When I didn't answer him, his gaze drifted inside momentarily before opting to speak again.
“Age looks good on you,” he said, all swagger and confidence, like changing the subject from what needed to be said and what he just did wasn’t important.
Like me leaving wasnothing.
This was what Scar had warned me about. The new Wesley.
He leaned casually against the post attached to the second level of the house, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze lazily travelled the length of me in a way I wasn’t used to.
