Page 75 of Love Marks

I pull the blankets over my chest, feeling suddenly nervous in this empty bed.

Where is he? Did he leave?

Well, it is a Wednesday morning. Who knows what time it is? I glance around at the messy room, at Wesley’s strewn clothes on the floor. I should probably clean that up. Right?

I sit up, wrapping the blanket around myself, and try to make a mental game plan.

Put my clothes on, then get out of here faster than the speed of light and immediately quit?

That feels unlikely. Okay —first step. Get my clothes.

Oh god. My mom is probably worried sick. I can’t believe I didn’t call her and tell her that I was staying the night out. Shit.

Focus, Quinn.

I glance over at the bedside table for a note from Wesley, anything, but there’s nothing. Maybe he sent me a text and I just haven’t seen it. I need my phone. Game plan: clothes, phone, evaluate.

I grab my now-dry clothes from the bathroom and slip them on quickly. I tiptoe into the living room and cross towards the kitchen when I see Wesley, standing shirtless in front of the stove, his back to me. He’s holding a spatula and has an apron — the pink one I usually wear — wrapped around his waist.

I clear my throat and he turns at the sound.

“Good morning.” He reaches for a coffee mug and places it in front of me. “I thought you were still sleeping.”

“I thought you left.” I take a sip of the coffee.

He puts the spatula down and comes around the island, stepping towards me. He takes the coffee from my hands and sets it back on the counter, then lifts me up next to it as if I weigh nothing.

“You’re always thinking I’m going to leave you.” He presses a soft kiss on my lips. “You can’t get rid of me that easy.” His mouth dips lower, his warm breath dancing against my neck.

I’m putty in his hands, melting for his touch. It’s scary how much I can get used to this — waking up to Wesley in the kitchen, wrapping my legs around him on this counter every day. My heart gallops in my chest at the thought, a wild, fluttering feeling.

I pull back and press my hand against his chest, avoiding his eyes. If I look into his eyes, I'm doomed. “I need to find my phone and call my mom. She’s probably worried.”

He steps back. “Good idea. Breakfast will be ready soon.” He rounds the island back to the stovetop.

I quirk an eyebrow. “Oh? You’re cooking?”

He must hear the smirk in my voice because he turns back with a hand on his hip. “Yes, I’m cooking. I can cook, you know. Just not nearly as well as you.”

I smile at his compliment and go to the laundry room to gather my clothes. I slip them back on and go back into the living room to search my bag for my phone. When I find it, there’s three missed calls from my mom. Shit.

I dial back and she answers right away, sounding out of breath.

“Quinn! Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine! I’m so sorry. I didn’t have my phone and I completely forgot to call you.”

My mom sighs on the other end. “Sweetheart. C’mon. You can’t worry me like that. I almost called the police.”

“I know, I know. I really am sorry. It won’t happen again, I swear.”

I feel like a teenager, getting scolded by my mother for staying out too late. But I know it’s my fault — I know how she worries, and I really should have remembered to call.

I change the subject as I pad into the dining room to see Wesley setting the table, a small grin on his face. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good, actually. Joe is coming over later and we’re going to the movies.”

“Any nausea today?”