Daphne's Questionable Bet, page 25
Not caring about the time, I texted him.
Me: The photos are deleted. The ones Rosalind had.
I went to toss my phone to the side when I saw the little dots dancing across the screen. Weston was already replying. Then the dots stopped. Then they started again. Then stopped.
Okay, this guy was killing me.
Suddenly, my screen lit up. He was calling.
I cleared my throat before I answered, trying to sound calm, even though my heart was about to burst out of my chest. “Hey, Weston.”
“Are you serious?” he asked, so much hope in his tone.
“Supposedly.” I grabbed some of my damp hair, twirling it around my finger. “Even if she has some secret photos somewhere, I don’t care anymore. I’m done with her and anyone else trying to ruin my life.”
Weston blew out a loud, long breath. “You have no idea how happy this makes me.” Pause. “I’ll be there in ten.”
He ended the call.
Be here in ten? He was coming over? I glanced down at my onesie, debating what to do. Did I change? I couldn’t get back in my fancy dress. It was ruined from the cider shower—and bleeding on it.
I touched my cheek before I hopped out of my hammock chair, running to the mirror behind my closet door.
I was a total mess. My right eye was black and blue, all the skin swollen. No makeup. In a Care Bear onesie. A bandage covering the stitches on my cheek. Hair still drying from my shower, all wavy and out of control.
But this was me. I didn’t care what those other girls or Rosalind said about me. I wasn’t a freak. I wasn’t weird. I was Daphne. A little quirky, yeah, but that was what made me fun.
If Weston couldn’t accept me like this, then what was the point?
Chapter Forty-Seven
After pulling my hair back in a ponytail—I didn’t want to give myself the opportunity to twirl it—I snuck outside, sitting down on the porch steps.
It was a little chilly out, but with my onesie, it kept me nice and warm. Seriously, they were the greatest creation ever.
When Weston’s van pulled along the curb, I went to stand, but dizziness overcame me, so I plopped back down. My head was still woozy from the hit.
Weston got out of the van, coming around to the sidewalk, pausing when he saw me sitting there. The streetlamp let me see his gorgeous face and that adorable crooked smile. He held something in his hand—I think a couple of bottles of soda—but my focus couldn’t peel away from his face. He came closer, his smile fading when he finally saw my face, his eyes going wide.
He rushed forward, dropping to his knees in front of me, setting the bottles down, and resting his hand on my good cheek. “What happened?”
I pressed my fingers against my bandage. Oh, yeah. “Guess you didn’t hear?”
He shook his head. “No. I was with …” He trailed off, his hand leaving my face, but I quickly grabbed it, putting it back against my cheek.
“Mercy,” I said. “You can say her name.”
Closing his eyes, he sighed. “I never actually liked her. Not like that.”
I smiled. “I saw the picture of her kissing your cheek.” I squeezed his hand. “Can’t hide a blush.”
His eyes shot open. “Yeah, I went red. In embarrassment, not, like, in happiness or anything.”
I didn’t know why, but I loved how frazzled he was acting. It reflected what I felt on the inside.
“I couldn’t believe how forward she was being,” he muttered. “I just met her.”
I went to lower my hand, realizing that I, myself, was being a little forward, having him so close to me, his hand on my face.
But Weston freaked out again. “I’m not talking about you! You can be forward all you want. I mean. That’s not!” He mumbled something under his breath, making me smile.
Scooting over on the step, I patted the spot next to me, which he happily took, relief flashing in his eyes.
I needed, no wanted, to get everything off my chest.
“I made a totally stupid, questionable, and ridiculous bet.” I spewed the words out so fast, I was surprised they didn’t send Weston flying backward.
“What?” he asked.
I took a deep breath and then dove in, going all the way back to the beginning, telling him all about my mom, my dad, and Mrs. Winters. I divulged everything about my bullies in elementary school, calling me a freak and weirdo, and my inability to stand up for myself back then. I told him about the bet with Sierra, Rosalind’s involvement—including the blowup at the party—and how it had been killing me, because I hadn’t been expecting so much collateral damage.
“The thing is, I like Bentley,” I rattled off, staring at my hands. “He’s been a good friend, but there was never that spark, you know? I mean, we touched and nothing. Then I barely touch you, and I’m like totally freaking out, sparks flying everywhere. I worry they’ll set everything around me on fire. Or me. This girl is on fire!” I sang that last part, because I can’t dial myself down when I’m cranked up. “The whole bet was stupid. I wasn’t expecting to fall for you during the whole event. It just happened. You’re just unbelievably perfect and beyond gorgeous. And that smile? Swoon.”
I went to grab some of my hair to twirl, but then remembered I’d pulled it back. So, I settled on twiddling my thumbs. “Your taste in music is amazing. I love that I can sing and dance in front of you, and you don’t look at me like I’m a freak. I mean, you’ll join me, which is awesome. You’re like the guy of my dreams.”
I leaned back, placing my palms on the porch. “From the moment we practiced those dances in my living room, I knew I wanted to go to the ball with you and not Bentley. And don’t even get me started on the date.” I scoffed. “Veronica told me to stop flirting with you, but I didn’t realize I was flirting. It’s just natural around you. Hormones, am I right?”
I glanced over at Weston, only to see him staring at me with his jaw hanging wide open. What was his problem? It was just a bet. Nothing to get worked up over.
Then I clamped my hand over my mouth, realizing I’d laid my feelings for him out there, not even batting an eye while doing it. I had said that stuff OUT LOUD.
I was the one with the problem.
I froze, not sure what to do. Did I go into the house and lock the door? Curl into a ball on the porch, assuming the fetal position? Tell him I was just joking and to disregard everything I’d said? Only, then I’d be lying to him again.
Maybe I just needed to move on. Pretend the whole thing was normal.
I smiled at him. “Would you like to go to the ball with me tomorrow night?” I glanced at my watch, seeing it was already after midnight. “Well, tonight, technically. I know it’s totally last minute, and you don’t have to dress up. I mean, I am. And my mom and Cody are as well, but you don’t have to. Will that be weird? Going on a double date with my mom and her twenty-four-year-old boyfriend?”
His lips moved like he wanted to speak, but nothing was coming out. Crap. I’d broken Weston.
I had to stop myself from pulling the hood of my onesie over my head and slinking away. Yet my mind kept spinning, my mouth unable to stop.
“I mean, there’s always the bright orange cummerbund. Maybe Bentley would let you borrow his suit. Although, he’s taller than you. But I guess my mom could pin the legs up or something.” I snapped my fingers. “Duh! The Mr. Bingley outfit you wore for the skit. He’s my favorite. Seriously, if I had to choose between him and Mr. Darcy, there would be no hesitation on my part. I’d snatch Bingley right up.” I pulled my legs into my chest, wrapping my arms around them. “I’m still talking out loud. Why can’t I stop?”
Closing my eyes, I took deep breaths, feeling the panic attack coming. I’d told Weston that I fell for him. That was pretty much the equivalent of saying, “I love you.” And now he’d lost his ability to speak. I had turned him mute.
The deep breaths weren’t working. I wheezed, grasping at every breath I could. The fire sprang to life in my lungs, spreading like a wildfire throughout my body. Sweat broke out on my neck and forehead. Plus, like every other part of my body.
I found myself rocking where I sat, squeezing my legs so hard against my chest like I could squeeze the panic attack out of me.
My lips. So dry. Same with my mouth. I needed water. An extra freaking large Cherry Coke. Chapstick would have been good, too. Maybe a new personality. Or a muzzle for my yapping mouth.
Maybe it wasn’t too late to move back to Utah. Yeah, the house had sold rather quickly, but we could find somewhere else. Or live with Aunt Shannon until we found a place.
A warm hand landed on my cheek, and I peeled my eyes open to see Weston kneeling before me, holding two bottles of Cherry Coke. What?
Slowly lowering my legs, I stared into his calm eyes, everything coming into place.
Weston. Cherry Coke.
I fell for him all over again.
Snatching one of the bottles from his hand, I twisted off the cap and started chugging. The sweet, cold, bubbly liquid against my throat was just what I needed. It flowed like a river through me, something beautiful and magical. My hand reached out, fumbling to find the other bottle. When I finally got it, I pressed it against my neck—still drinking the other one—and let the cool plastic do its work.
My heart slowed, but still raced way too fast.
When I finished the bottle, Weston took it from my hand. I kept the other one against my neck, still needing to cool down.
Weston placed a hand on my knee, looking me straight in the eye. “Breathe, Daphne. All the happy things. Cherry Coke. Your family. Friends.” He smirked. “Me.” When I sucked in a sharp breath, my breathing intensifying, he quickly shook his head. “Nope. Not me. Sorry. You weren’t ready for that.” He scrunched his face, thinking. The sight alone brought my heart rate back down. Calming me.
His fingers drummed along my knee, though I wasn’t sure he was aware he was doing it. “Mr. Bingley? Care Bears. Uh. Let’s see. Captain America, obviously. He’s the epitome of cool and collected.”
I nodded my agreement, making him smile. Our eyes locked, and his nose inched up, that adorable crooked smile taking over his face. Instead of sending my heart skyrocketing like I thought it would, an immediate calm wove through me.
I set the bottle on the porch and then turned back to Weston, wrapping my arms around his neck. With his arms around my back, he pulled me closer, hugging tight.
My heart steadied, finding the same rhythm as his. We breathed together, holding one another close, and man, this moment was perfect.
Weston lightened his hold on me so he could pull back and look at me. “Yes.”
I furrowed my eyebrows, my arms still around his neck. “Yes, what?”
He smiled. “Yes, to the ball. I’d love to go with you.”
I grinned madly before my cheeks flared. “I really said all the stuff in front of you, didn’t I?”
He slowly nodded, then pressed his forehead against mine. “It’s okay, though, because I feel the same way.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
I interlocked my fingers behind his neck, tugging him lightly. Just enough to say, hey, kiss me already, but without being too forceful.
Every moment with Weston had been intense. Suddenly blazing hot, difficult to breathe, not being able to think straight. But when his warm lips met mine, all the noise around us shut off, an instant peace. It was just him and me, our lips moving in a harmony way better than our singing voices, and just as beautiful. Everything about it felt right. Perfect. Just the way it was supposed to be.
Songs switched around in my head, like it was trying to find the right song for the moment. “Dibs” by Kelsea Ballerini. Static. “At Last” by Etta James. Static. “The Way You Make Me Feel” by Michael Jackson.
Static.
My mind finally settled on “10,000 Hours” by Dan + Shay. Perfect.
Something inside me lit up, not in a fire way like I’d be sweating in seconds, but in a clarification way. A moment of all the stars in my mind aligning.
Weston was the one.
My parents always said they had an instant connection. Something raw and real. They knew they’d spend the rest of their lives together, even with stupid Kimber … uh, whatever her maiden name was … trying to interfere.
It would sound crazy to anyone, but I’d found my Ian. I wasn’t sure if Veronica or Taylor would understand. I mean, we were seventeen for crying out loud. Mom might possibly understand since she went through the same thing, but I’d hold this nugget of information to myself for a long time. Although, maybe I could make some bet on it. I’d totally win.
Okay, no bet.
Weston pulled back, a soft smile on his face. “What song was playing in your head while we kissed?”
I ran a finger along his jaw, making him shiver and me smile. “What makes you think there was a song playing?”
He chuckled. “There’s always music playing in there.” He twisted his lips in thought. “I went through a whole bunch. ‘All of Me’ by John Legend. ‘If I Can’t Have You’ by Shawn Mendes.” He shrugged. “I finally settled on ’10,000 Hours’ by Dan + Shay.”
Not containing my smile, I kissed him again, my hands on his cheeks. He really was my person.
“Daphne.” Mom’s voice rang out from the doorbell system, startling Weston and me.
I looked over my shoulder at the camera. “I’m getting my birthday kiss, woman!”
Weston choked on a laugh in front of me.
“Technically, your birthday is over,” Mom said through the speaker.
“Yeah, okay, fine.” I sighed. “Just one more minute.”
“Sixty seconds, starting now.” She sounded like a robot.
I turned back to Weston. “Guess that’s my cue.”
Weston stood, helping me to my feet as he did. He patted his pockets, his eyes going wide in concern.
“What?” I asked.
He grunted. “In my rush to come over, I forgot your birthday present.”
“I thought the Cherry Cokes were my present.”
“Those were emergency backups in case you had a panic attack.” He took my hands in his. “I’ll bring your real present tomorrow, promise.” He leaned in, softly kissing me on the lips. When he pulled back, he wore a shy smile that made my heart flip. “Will you be my girlfriend?”
“YES!” I threw my arms around his neck with so much force, he stumbled backward down the walkway, but luckily saved us from crashing to the ground.
“I need to start bracing myself for your hugs,” he said through his laugh.
I kissed him repeatedly on the cheek. “Yeah, you do.”
“Ten seconds,” Mom sang.
My eyebrows shot up. “Do you think something will explode if I don’t get inside in time?”
“I don’t want to find out.” He leaned back, kissing my non-stitched cheek. “Goodnight, Daphne.”
“Night, Weston.”
I hurried inside to find Mom standing in the entryway.
“Speaking of stalkers,” I said.
Mom rolled her eyes. “Hey, if you’re going to spy on me, I’ll do the same.” She grinned. “Did I hear the word ‘girlfriend’?”
“You were listening, too?”
Mom put an arm around my shoulder. “Just a little bit.”
“Well, yes, you did.”
She hugged me tight. “I’m happy for you. I really like him.” When she released me, her face turned serious. “But if I ever catch Weston over here after midnight again, I’ll ground you for the rest of your life.”
“Yeesh. Got it. No late night rendezvouses. For either of us.”
She backed toward the hallway. “What do you think he got you for your birthday?”
I clasped my hands together, doing a little shuffle in my steps. “I don’t know, but I can’t wait to find out!”
Mom blew me a kiss. “Night, my Daphne girl. Love you.”
“Love you, too, Mom.”
She stood in the hallway, arms folded, eyebrows quirked. She really wanted to make sure I made it to my bedroom. Alone. What kind of girl did she think I was?
“Get your mind out of the gutter, young lady!” I said.
I ran to my bedroom before she could retaliate, leaving a laughing Mom behind me.
Chapter Forty-Eight
As much as it pained me to admit, not only did I like Cody, but his friends were freaking awesome. They welcomed Weston and me with open arms, acting like we’d all been friends for years, and it wasn’t weird to have two teenagers there.
It put both Weston and me at ease within minutes of showing up for the party.
I straightened out Weston’s cravat. “You look so hot.”
He held onto the lapel of his blazer, lifting his chin a little. “I daresay, I do look smashing tonight.”
Laughing, I pushed his shoulder. He caught my hand and pulled me close to him, arm wrapped around me, whispering in my ear. “And you look positively radiant.”
That was it. I was investing in a misting fan, because, boy, oh boy, it was hot in the room. I hoped that thrilling feeling would never leave. The overwhelming hormones of having the guy so close to me, saying and doing flirty things. It was the perfect high.
We all lined up in the family room of the guy hosting the party. The ladies curtsied while the men bowed before we began our dance.
As we followed the steps—only messing up a little bit—I couldn’t contain my smile. I loved that Weston was willing to dress up and do dances from the Regency Era with me. How many boyfriends would agree to that?
Then, my smile doubled at the thought of him being my boyfriend.
Weston came close to me, my gloved hand touching his bare hand as we danced to the music.
“Would you really choose Mr. Bingley?” he asked, his eyebrow arched.
“Definitely.” I twirled around him. “Mr. Darcy has nothing on him.”
I spun away from him, moving to my next partner, who happened to be Cody.
