Page 23 of The Ex Project (The Heartwood #3)

HUDSON

Wren is charging towards me. She’s clearly angry.

She’s furious. And she’s beautiful. That stupid dress with the puff sleeves is doing something interesting to me.

The big kinky hair secured in a messy high ponytail, the deep red on her lips that stands out against the pink polyester.

I’ve never seen Wren in pink. It’s a funny contradiction to the evil glare she’s wearing on her face.

“Real mature, Landry,” Wren barks.

“I thought you would have known it was a joke.” I throw my hands up in innocence.

“Not my fault you didn’t see the actual invite.

” I can’t keep the grin from my face. This is fucking great.

It’s exactly the type of thing Wren and I used to do to torture each other as teenagers.

Pulling a successful prank on her or beating her at some dumb game always gave me a special thrill, and this might be my best work yet. I’m on top of the world.

It’s even more satisfying because it flies in the face of everything this new version of Wren is.

The impeccably dressed, stuck-up version I don’t recognize.

That version of Wren probably came here tonight hoping it would give her some confidence boost, seeing all the people we went to school with who never grew up and left Heartwood.

But throwing some fancy career in people’s faces doesn’t quite have the same effect when you look like … that.

Her blood-red mouth works as she thinks of something to snap back with.

She stammers, and then gives up, and to my surprise, she laughs.

She throws her head back and laughs, and the sound of it is incredible.

Ever since she and I laughed together on her patio, I’ve wanted to hear it again.

It still sounds the same as I remember. Because at her core, that’s who she is.

Someone who doesn’t care so much about other people’s opinions.

Someone who is uninhibited, free, full of joy.

And here she is, that version of Wren unlocked.

“You’re fucking insufferable, you know that, Landry?” she says.

“You look fucking incredible, you know that, Miller?” I let out a soft chuckle, and our eyes linger a little longer than usual when she looks up.

“Yo, Landry, beer pong?” One of my old buddies slaps me between the shoulder blades on his way past me, as he jogs over to the table in the corner of the gymnasium. I glance quickly back at Wren.

“I’m gonna go,” I start.

“Sure, fine, whatever. This isn’t over, by the way,” Wren says. “Your little joke tonight?” She points her index finger toward me. “You’re going to pay for it.”

My mouth slides into a cheeky grin.

“Bring it on. ”

“Let’s hope you can play under pressure.” I’m not sure what she means by it, but by the time I’m set up on my side of the table, ready to throw my first ball, I do.

She’s gathered Ally, Spencer, and Poppy, and they’re all sitting on the bleachers, watching me intently. I give my head a shake. Having Wren’s eyes on me right now is a little unnerving. It keeps a small part of my attention on the sidelines. She’s distracting.

I pull my hand back and aim, and right as the ball leaves my fingers, one of the girls shouts “Don’t fuck it up!” and my ball goes flying off to the side, missing all the red solo cups. Shit.

“Drink, drink, drink!” Another one of them shouts. I don’t know who it was, and I refuse to look over there. I refuse to let it show how much of an effect Wren has on me.

A ball lands squarely in one of my cups, meaning I drink again. At this rate, I’m going to be smashed by the end of the night. And it’ll be all Wren’s doing, because her eyes on me are all I can focus on.

The heckling continues, and I do a decent job of ignoring them. I don’t look over once, but I know it’s her. I would know Wren’s voice anywhere. The smooth, buttery way she says my name sends a shiver down my spine every time, even when she’s bullying me.

Regardless of how well I’ve done ignoring them, I lose the game, throwing the girls into a frenzy of cheering for my opponent.

“Throw a ball much?” Wren jeers, so I turn toward where she’s sitting.

I march straight up to her, not looking at the others as I stride over.

Leaning down, I cage her in between my arms, bracing my hands on the bench behind her.

Our noses are almost touching as I fix my gaze on her, her eyes widening.

“Think you can do better, Miller?” The corner of my mouth tugs upward. “Come show me.”

She tips her chin up and hands Spencer her beer, which Ally then grabs from Spencer before setting it down on the ground.

“I think you’ve had enough of that,” Ally mutters. Spencer pouts.

Now Wren is on her feet, a little unsteady, and I wonder how many drinks she’s had tonight.

More than a few, by the looks of it. She probably needed it to get through the night dressed the way she is.

She teeters down the bleachers and turns to the girls, waving her arms in a gesture encouraging them to cheer.

I glance around—most people have started filtering out already and there’s only a small group of us left playing beer pong.

“Do you want to fill your cups with water or something?” I offer. Wren doesn’t seem like she needs any more to drink.

“Don’t underestimate me,” she snaps back with a little burp and takes her place at the opposite end of the table. “What are we playing for?” She rests her hands on the table and leans on them, staring me down.

“I don’t know, bragging rights?”

“Pfft. No chance, Landry. There’s no way we aren’t setting stakes.”

I consider her proposition, what I would want if I were to win. Watching her now, I know exactly what it is I want .

“A date,” I say, before I lose the nerve.

“A date?”

“A date. With me. You have to go on a date with me if you lose.” She glances around the gym, thinking.

“What about Emma?” Her eyes narrow on me, and my skin feels hot under her gaze.

“Don’t worry about Emma.” It’s all she needs to know. I’m not about to admit there’s a good possibility I couldn’t make things work with Emma because Wren showed up in town.

“Okay, fine.” She waves her hand as if losing is not even a concern. The alcohol is making her overconfident. Lucky for me, it’s probably also throwing off her aim. “And me?”

“I’ll wear something of your choosing to fire drill next week,” I say, my voice sure and confident.

“It can even be that gorgeous dress if you want. Think of it as retribution.” A borderline evil grin forms on her face as she no doubt imagines all the possibilities, the horrible outfits she could make me wear, the teasing I’ll have to endure.

Joke’s on her; I win either way. I don’t care what awful things she has planned for me.

I just want to spend more time with her.

“Deal.”

“Ladies first,” I say, and she shifts into position, eyebrows furrowing as she focuses. Poppy interrupts her by placing a hand on her shoulder and leaning in to tell her something.

“We’re heading out. Ally is tired and Mason is here to pick her up, so I’m going to catch a ride.

Are you okay to get home?” Wren nods, oblivious to the way Poppy’s gaze is darting between her and I, like this is some a setup.

I glance down towards the glossy hardwood floor, rubbing a hand on the back of my neck.

“I can walk home,” she answers. But the interruption was clearly enough to throw her off, screw up her focus for her first throw.

Maybe it was that she had to turn her head and now she’s dizzy.

Whatever the reason, she throws her first ball, and it goes flying off the side of the table, off into the gymnasium.

Not a great start.

The next one she throws lands in one of my cups, but the one I throw after does, too.

We go back and forth like this for a while, and eventually our score is tied up, but I can tell the drinking is catching up with Wren. Her hand is shakier, her balance off-kilter. And I can hold my own right now.

Now we’re down to one cup each. I sink my shot, and stand back from the table, arms crossed over my chest, eyeing Wren as she takes her aim.

It’s going to be a hard one to make. She closes one eye, holding the ball up in front of her face.

She looks so concentrated. But when she finally launches it, the ball misses by a long shot.

Wren groans, slapping a palm over her face, and I throw my fists up into the air. Victory.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Her words are slightly slurred together, and she’s unsteady, so I walk over to her and put my arm around her shoulders, half in consolation and half to keep her upright.

“We should get you home.” I glance around the gymnasium. It’s only us left, except for a janitor who seems annoyed we’re still here .

“I’ll be fine,” she says, looking up at me, eyelids heavy.

“I’ll walk you home.”

“You don’t … you already drove me …” Wren mumbles, not finishing a single one of her sentences. I bring my hand up to brush a stray lock of kinky hair out of her face.

“I don’t care how many times I have to do it, I’ll always make sure you get home safe. Come on, let’s go.” She wobbles on her heels and manages to find her purse in the bleachers where she and the girls were sitting, and then she’s next to me, leaning into me as we leave the gymnasium.

I get her outside and the night air is cool, which perks her up and she stands a little taller as she walks beside me. We’re the only ones on the quiet, dark street, lit up by the yellow glow of street lamps.

“I can’t believe you beat me,” Wren whines, and scuffs her feet along the ground like a child who has been told no. “You did it in cold blood, too.”

“How did I have anything to do with you losing? You threw a lousy ball.” I nudge her shoulder, trying to keep the conversation light.

“You knew what you were doing, standing there with your body and your face.” I can’t help but grin. Wren was looking at me. I was enough to distract her, steal her attention.