Page 32 of Salvation (Clover-Hills #1)

Blake

“ A s much as I admire your hard work, I’m a bit scared you’re going to break that mug."

I’m furiously scrubbing at a spot on a white ceramic mug, glaring at the blonde bimbo sitting at a table with Wesley when Whitney comes up beside me.

I mumble an apology, cheeks turning red, but only replace the mug with a new one.

If I don’t, I might launch it at the very booth they’re sitting in. “You, okay?”

“Fine!” I answer in a perky tone. But my teeth are clenched, and I’m on the verge of blowing a pupil. She clocks the two sitting in front of us, shock etching into her tone.

“Is that –"

“Yup.”

“Is he-”

“Mhm.”

Whitney looks from me to Wesley, to me again. Her mouth is wide, and brows shot halfway up her forehead. She looks like she just saw a man with three heads walk by. I can’t imagine my expression is much different.

We both know Brittany. She’s one of the only mean girls we’ve ever encountered in this town.

The girl went after every guy I talked to in high school and made it her personal mission to embarrass me at every chance possible.

One time, she even went as far as to tell everyone I slept with the whole football team just to win votes for homecoming queen.

My date dumped me the day before, and I lost homecoming queen to her.

Not that I cared very much about winning to begin with, but we were sixteen at the time.

It was the most exciting thing to happen at that age, and the most devastating to know I lost it to my mortal enemy.

And now she’s on a date with Wesley? He’s on a date with her? After he almost kissed me?

I know that I am acting like an emotional teenager, and I know I need to get a grip, but I want nothing more than to go over there and poke one of her fake boobs with a ball-pen.

I, of all people, have no room to be this upset over what Wesley Conway does with his life, not when I’m the one who’s meant to be recovering from a fresh heartbreak.

I dated after leaving, it was stupid not to think about how he probably has, too.

“If it makes you feel any better, she didn’t age very well,” Whitney mutters next to me. She’s turned around now, leaning against the counter, and trying to stifle a smirk.

“Clearly, he doesn’t think so.”

“Are you… jealous ?” Whitney whispers, but she may as well have shouted into a megaphone. I slam the mug on the counter, and it hits with a large thud. Unfortunately, drawing the attention of Brittany, herself. Whitney and I both cringe when her gasp floats through the shop.

“Oh, wow.” Brittany laughs, jumps from the table, and makes her way toward the coffee bar.

I don’t miss the way she adds an extra sway to her hips for Wesley or how she bends over the counter like she’s putting on a show.

Her eyes rake down my frame with distaste written all over her face.

“Blake? I haven’t seen you since…what? High school?

” She waves her hand around. “What a nice… job you have here.”

“So great to see you, too, Brittany.” I smile sweetly.

“What can I get for you?” But she ignores me and chooses to hike a thumb towards her date, who now looks like he’s currently trying to hide behind his menu.

He briefly greeted me when he came in, but otherwise seems to be avoiding any further conversation like the plague.

“You know Wesley, right? You two used to be so close," She says, a knowing glint in her eye.

I frown. She knows just how close we were. Everyone in this damn town knows how close we were. “Our moms are friends," I mutter, my voice tight.

I don’t look at Wesley, but I know that comment strikes a chord when he lets out an awkward cough.

Stoic silence fills the air, and she hums. Then she leans in a little more, whispering so quietly that only Whitney and I can hear her.

“He got hot, didn’t he? I’m so hoping he takes me home after this.

” She winks at us like we’re all best friends, and she just let us in on one juicy secret.

“Wesley has always been hot.” I fire back. Heat blooms in my cheeks before I can shut it down.

Whitney coughs next to me. Fuck. Me. Did I seriously just say that out loud?

I grimace, peeking over at Wesley, thanking the god above that he remains blissfully unaware of my idiocy.

Brittany straightens, her face screwing into a nasty look of disapproval.

She spews out a stupidly complicated order, and I pretend to write it down on the notepad before me.

But I’m really just playing Hangman. I may or may not add horns to the stick figure, too.

Whitney takes the notepad, gives her a warm smile, more forced than friendly, and lets her know we’ll get it right out to her.

Once Brittany returns to Wesley, I watch as Whitney glances down at the paper.

An uncontrollable giggle bursts from her lips, and she slaps a hand over her mouth when Brittany shoots us a weird look.

“Who knew you were such an amazing artist?” She whispers. I glare at her, but she only chuckles again in return. “I won’t fire you if you want to punch her in the face. Or spit in her coffee.”

I want to laugh, but it comes out as a huff. A scowl so firm it feels like it will be permanent is the only thing I can manage. “Oh, please. I don’t hold grudges.”

Lie. Lie, lie, lie. Because this…I’ve never felt this before.

I could dig her grave and etch “Bitchy Brittany” into her headstone with a jackhammer, dying happy knowing it’ll still be there long after I’m gone.

That revelation is like a slap to the face.

Wesley isn’t mine. Who cares that he’s on a date with someone?

I peek over at them, only to watch as she lays a hand on his, and he gives her a smile that pops one of those stupid dimples on his cheek.

I need to go before my sanity finally crumbles.

“I’ll put some of these away!” I snatch some of the books from Whitney’s hand that she’s just picked up and scurry toward an aisle of books I can hopefully get lost in. The silence doesn’t last long when a towering, familiar shadow fills up the space behind me.

“Can I help you?” I ask Wesley as I shelve one of the thick books clutched in my hand. Ironically, the title reads The Jealousy Cure.

“Looking for the bathroom.”

It sounds more like a question than a statement, and I can’t help but laugh in his face. He knows where the bathroom is, and it’s not between the bookshelves. I turn toward him with a sigh. “What do you want, Wesley?”

“I don’t know.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “You seem upset.”

I narrow my eyes at him. Is he serious right now?

Of course, I’m upset. Yes, I know whatever happened in the kitchen meant nothing.

Physical attraction doesn’t mean romantic attraction.

It makes sense that he’d try to lay one on me if he’s just trying to get laid.

Clearly, he decided Brittany was the more rational alternative.

And that’s fine. But it doesn’t mean I’m immune to feeling scorned over the revelation.

“I think you should get back to your date. Don’t you?”

He watches me for a few beats, but doesn’t say anything else as he turns to leave. I lean back against the bookcase. My shoulders slump, and I finally let loose a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.