Hearts On Campus: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance, Flora Ferrari [best authors to read .txt] 📗

I nod, hoping he’s ordering anything that’s got fish as long as it’s not-

“Sushi alright?” he asks briefly, double-checking before hitting send.

“My favorite,” I squeak, kicking myself straight away.

Kissing the rest of my weekend goodbye.

I hate Sushi.

Every time I have it, it makes me nauseous.

But when Wes Heart asks me if I like something and he’s buying?

I love it.

It’s my favorite.

I could eat it all night.

Idiot.

“Done,” he calls out in triumph. “I hope you don’t mind, I ordered for us both. I eat in a lot,” he confesses.

I strain a smile and watch his amusement grow. “You sure you like sushi?” he asks me again, and I only make it worse by insisting it’s my favorite.

He beams with pleasure, until I turn my attention to his photos, wanting to change the subject.

“Are all these you?” I ask, getting up and having a closer look.

The change in his mood is instant, and I feel like I’ve done or said the wrong thing.

“It used to be me,” he says gloomily, his shoulders sagging. His eyes moving to the empty space on the wall, where at least one picture used to hang.

“Sorry,” I whisper, “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright,” he says, suddenly gripping his lower back and wincing, as if the memory is physically painful as well.

“Just ancient history,” he says, trying to smile but I feel like I’ve ruined the moment.

Agreeing to sushi, and then mentioning the one thing I probably shouldn’t have without even knowing what it is.

Dammit!

CHAPTER SIX

Wesley

She looks even cuter when she’s mad, giving me a sour look when she has to speak to another female about me, even over the phone.

Maybe I stand a chance after all.

I don’t think I could have hidden my annoyance at being interrupted by that security guard much more either.

Cuter when shy or mad, even when she’s lying she’s beautiful.

Just a little white lie, but I can read people well enough to know when someone’s agreeing to food they hate just to squeeze out of an awkward situation, like bringing up a man’s past he doesn’t want to think about let alone discuss on a first date.

Is that what you think this is, a date, Wes?

Almost feeling the wrath of my fellow teachers, professors, and coaches, I remind myself this isn’t a date.

I’m only here with Katelyn so she can get my computer up and running.

Just a thank you meal and then I’ll walk her home.

And if that’s as far as it goes then fine.

I’ll just rub myself raw ‘til I’ve drained my balls then go join a monastery.

I’m trying to not think about her like that, I really am.

Anyone else who fibs about loving raw fish and then eyeballing my past like it’s a topic of conversation, I’d have shown them the door already, computer be damned.

But I can’t not think about her.

I’ll never be able to now, it’s too late.

I’m in deep and unless I can figure out a way to tell her how much I want her I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself much longer.

She looks awkwardly at me, and then out the window, I can tell she feels like she’s upset me.

But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“I wasn’t always a college gymnastics coach,” I volunteer. Sighing some, I figure I may as well tell her.

Put myself out of my own misery too for even remembering.

“I didn’t mean to-” she starts to say again, and I step closer to her, breaking the first golden rule as I clasp one of my hands over both of hers.

“I know you didn’t,” I whisper to her, feeling her tremble under my touch.

Feeling her, finally, even just this little bit is enough to steady me.

It steadies us both.

The fire in me is there, that’ll never go, but just being able to touch her sets me at ease and I feel her relax too.

“The space on the wall used to have another picture, one where I was in a body cast for my back,” I tell her, my own back wincing at the memory again.

She gasps, full of concern. “What happened?” she asks me, catching herself before she reaches for my hands again and I take a seat instead, figuring she might not be so interested in me once she knows more about the great Wes Heart.

The real Wes Heart.

“I started with college football first, state team,” I tell her nostalgically.

“Then I was shifted from football to a gymnastics scholarship once it was clear just how good I was, high and fast I could leap. All six plus feet of me,” I chuckle.

“They were fast times, and I went from state finals to the national champ, next stop was the Olympics…” I trail off.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Katelyn says, shifting uneasily in her seat, her eyes glossy with tears already.

Always the same, this part of the story. Folks just know it doesn’t have a happy ending.

But I do have to tell her.

If what I feel inside is gonna be a real thing, if what I know to be right is gonna come to pass, then she has to know.

“I was in a car crash, it was nobody’s fault just one of those freak things,” I tell her. Telling myself more than anyone.

Still gotta learn to just accept it for what it was.

“A tree branch or a whole tree really just came down on all three cars, heavy snow on a bend in the turnpike in the middle of winter.

“Crushed the first car flat, the next one half as bad, and me. Well, I ended up going straight into all of them, couldn’t stop in time.”

I can still hear them screaming, still smell the gas. But I don’t tell Katelyn that part.

“What happened?” she finally asks after a long silence.

I wanna get this off my chest anyway before our food arrives too. Some first date this is turning out to be.

“Long story short?” I ask her, creasing my mouth as I