Page 102 of Love Marks

Even though it was Ben’s idea, party planning is clearly not his area of expertise. He handled the guest list while I did everything else: food, decorations, and most importantly, getting Wesley to show up.

I’m standing outside the hotel, more nervous than ever. I close my eyes and inhale to steady myself for the night ahead.

I feel a hand snaking around my waist and my eyes fly open in time to see Wesley leaning into me before our lips touch. His kiss is demanding, more than expected, like he needs something from me, from this moment. I’m gasping as he pulls back and rests his forehead on mine.

“Hey,” he says.

My smile grows. “Hi,” I whisper back and bring my hands up to his shoulders. “Are you okay?”

His whole body is buzzing with tension. Anger is written all over him, but he nods sharply and steps back, smoothing the front of his button-down. He’s not wearing his jacket and the buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing a tiny glimpse of his chiseled chest below.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just a tough day.” He glances away from me, his eyes distant. “Come on.”

He takes my hand and leads me towards the car. When we get inside, Pete and I exchange pleasantries. The car ride is nearly silent. I glance over at Wesley and he’s clutching a folder to his thighs, his knuckles tight. Something is definitely wrong.

I grasp for something, anything to say. I gesture towards the folder, trying for a joke to lighten the mood. “Talk about bringing work home with you.” He doesn’t crack a smile. “Wes?”

His eyes meet mine and there’s a flare of something — fear? — but he blinks, and it’s gone.

He shrugs and leans forward, sliding the folder into the back of Pete’s seat. “It’s confidential work stuff.” His voice is rough, almost strained.

I blink and look away, taken-aback. Confidential? Does he still think I’d look through his shit? It’s not like I actually care, but what the hell?

The silence in the car is suffocating me. I’m desperately searching for something to say to curb his obvious bad mood. I lean into him and force a brittle smile. “Happy Birthday.”

He stills against me. “How did you know?”

“A little birdie told me.”

His face hardens. “Ben. Ben told you.” I nod and he grimaces, shaking his head.

I roll my eyes and nudge him. “Oh, come on, don’t be dramatic.”

He grumbles nonetheless, crossing his arms over his chest. “I can’t wait for this day to be over. The last thing I want to do right now is think about, or celebrate, my birthday.”

Shit.

I meet Pete’s eyes in the rearview mirror, my panic spiking. He knows about the party since I invited him a few days ago, and my guess is he’s thinking the same thing as me: this is a terrible idea.

It’s too late to do anything. Pete’s already exiting the bridge towards Dumbo and my phone buzzes with a text from Ben that I sneak a peek at.

All set. ETA?

My fingers trembling slightly, I text Ben that we’re five minutes away and slip my phone into my purse.

Wesley sighs from beside me and I feel him wrap his hand in mine, tugging my attention back to him. “I’m sorry,” he breathes out. “I’m not trying to be a dick. I’ve just had a rough day. All I want is to spend a quiet evening with you. No more pouting, I promise.”

He presses his lips to the back of my hand and my stomach drops even further. Oh god. Guilt is crawling its way up my throat. Why do I feel like throwing Wesley this birthday party is akin to ripping his heart out of his chest? Is it too late to call Ben and clear the place out?

I never should have let Ben talk me into this. It’s too soon for me as his girlfriend to be doing something like this — throwing him a surprise party with his friends and family. I should have known that it’s exactly the type of thing that Wes would hate.

The car idles and I realize we’re outside the building. Pete’s voice interrupts my spiraling. “Here we are, boss.”

“Thanks, Pete. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“If not sooner,” Pete mutters under his breath as Wes steps out of the car.

We walk past the doorman to the elevator and I’m nearly shaking. Wes runs his hand up and down the length of my arm. He’s holding that folder in his other hand. “I love this dress. These shoes. All dressed up for me?” He groans and tugs me closer. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”