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“Straighten your shoulders--a slouch looks terrible on you.” Chloé smoothed her hand over Wayhem’s hair, fixing the strands in place with product as he sat on her bed in the Grand Paris. “And try to smile a little less wide.”
Honestly, Chloé thought, wanting to ruffle Wayhem’s hair instead. He’d be cuter that way, she knew, having messed up his hair multiple times in the past. I don’t know why he’s so worried. He’s a knock-out.
“I don’t think I can do this.” Wayhem sighed. “Do you really think I’ve got a chance with her, Chloé?”
Chloé pursed her lips. “I don’t know why you’re wasting your time on Dupain-Cheng.” When he opened his mouth, presumably to object, Chloé placed a finger on his lips. “Shut your face; if I wanted you to wax poetic about her again, I would have asked.”
Wayhem grinned and kissed her fingers instead. “Tough love. My heart can’t take it.”
The constant knife in Chloé’s heart twisted a little deeper. She placed her whole hand on his face, her palm on his nose, and shoved his head back onto the bed. Wayhem erupted in giggles.
He opened his arms to her, and Chloé had no choice but to fall right into them, landing on his chest and knocking the air out of him.
“You’re just laughing because I’ve messed up your hair,” she said, allowing bitterness to creep into her tone. She brushed his bangs--which were still styled to look like Adrien’s--off Wayhem’s forehead. “Admit it. You like my brand of love.”
Wayhem’s grin spread slowly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I admit nothing.”
Chloé stuck her fingers in his armpit, making him squeal and laugh. “Admit it! Admit you like me!”
“Never!” Wayhem rolled over under her, curling into the fetal position to avoid being tickled further.
Chloé straddled his hips, mercilessly striking him where he was most ticklish, until he was breathless with laughter.
“Stop!” Wayhem batted her hands away, and she stopped immediately, checking him over. He grinned up at her, his eyes shining with mirth and his lips completely unrepentant despite his words. “Stop, you win.”
Chloé folded her arms. She raised herself up on her knees and landed with her full weight on his belly, making him grunt and wheeze. “Ha! I knew you liked me.”
Wayhem shook his head, his hair spread around his head on the bed like a brown halo. “Of course I do, Chloé.” He took her hand and stroked her knuckles. “You’re a very special friend.”
Friend. The word was like a jagged icicle into Chloé’s heart, chilling her to the bone.
She looked away from him and closed her eyes, the very thought of his cheerful smile burning her.
“Chlo?” Wayhem’s fingers squeezed hers; the pressure was insistent. “You okay?”
“‘Course I’m okay.” Chloé’s lower lip quivered and it was all she could do to keep speaking. She furrowed her brow to keep her eyes from tightening and filling with tears. Her voice rasped across her throat like a wire brush. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
Wayhem dropped her hand. He struggled to get out from under her, but she closed her thighs around his ribs out of petulance and kept him in place. So he cupped her cheeks instead, his palms hot on her freezing-cold face.
Chloé opened her eyes only to gaze into the warmest brown she’d ever seen. “I can tell you’re lying to me and I don’t like it.” He pursed his lips. “What’s wrong, Chlo?”
Would it kill her to be honest? Chloé didn’t like liars, and she’d called Wayhem out once for lying to her, saying she couldn’t be friends with a liar.
The stink of hypocrisy was pungent.
Chloé wanted to narrow her eyes, wanted to glare down at him, wanted to be strong--but she was a weak-hearted girl who just wanted to be loved.
“Don’t go after Dupain-Cheng.”
Wayhem blinked up at her. His grip on her cheeks faltered. “What?”
“Don’t go on the date today.” Chloé swallowed hard. “Stay here with me instead.”
Wayhem furrowed his brow. “It’s all set up. We worked so hard for this. Why would you want me to--don’t cry, Chlo.”
Chloé couldn’t help herself; tears spilled over her cheeks. She went from sniffling a little to full-on bawling, shoving his hands away from her face and digging her heels into her eyes.
She was making a total fool of herself. She knew crying on him was totally manipulative. She knew she shouldn’t hurt him like this; it wouldn’t bring him to her cause, only alienate him. But she couldn’t stop.
Wayhem sat up immediately, pushing her off him. Thinking he was abandoning her, she cried even harder until he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and tugged her head down to his chest.
“Sshh, you’re okay. You’ll be okay.” He carded his fingers through her hair, undoing her ponytail. “I won’t go.”
Those words were all she needed to hiccup herself into a composed, rational person again, raw and regretful. “It’s okay,” she forced out. “You can go. I’m being stupid.”
“You’re not stupid, Chlo.” Wayhem kissed the top of her head. “I just… didn’t know.”
Chloé sniffed. “Didn’t know what?”
“That your crush was real.”
Chloé scoffed, pushing off his chest and looking him in the eyes. “Of course it’s real, bonehead.”
Wayhem laughed. “I had a date at a coffeehouse today, but I was going with the wrong girl, it seems.” He peeked at her from under his lashes. “Did you want to go?”
Chloé gasped. Then she chuckled. “How about we order room service and play chess instead?”
“Deal.”