𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 | 𝐆𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬

79| Beautiful Eyes.

79 | Beautiful Eyes.

| Sage's POV |

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

"I'm gonna go get the mail, go on inside." Mom said, handing the pizza box off to Rory.

"Okay. I'm gonna go melt some more cheese onto the pizza." She said, already walking up the stairs. Mom nodded, "melt away."

"Hey, can I go over to Wesley's for the night?" I asked.

Mom glanced at me, her eyebrows raised as she waved around us, most likely referring to the fact that it was dark outside. "It's late," she said.

"I know," I nodded, tucking my hands into the pockets of my jeans. "He can pick me up in like ten, he's already in town; we can just go to school together tomorrow. He thinks our economics professor is gonna give us a pop quiz tomorrow and we both just wanna study. But we also both suck at studying economics alone so it's just easier to do together." I explained. "And we can't do it tomorrow because it's our first class."

Mom sighed, rolling on her souls of her feet. "You really think you need to?"

"Yes," I said, completely truthfully. I'm not bad at economics. Neither of us are. It's just difficult to remember because it's so incredibly boring. And besides, I've been trying to force him to watch a scary movie for the last six months now and tonight would be the perfect opportunity.

"Alright fine. No funny business though," she said, pointing her finger at me as I walked backwards towards the house.

I held up two fingers, saluting her. "I will not get impregnated at eighteen by a rich boy, scouts honor. Blondes aren't my type, anyway."

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

"Oh come on! You were literally clinging onto my arm for dear life for like half of that." I teased, smiling when Wesley groaned, turning his head so his face was covered by the pillow.

"I hate that I can't deny that," he mumbled, running a hand through his ruffled hair as he sat up fully.

I snickered, tossing a piece of the popcorn–which he'd spilled all over when he jumped at one of the scares–directly at his forehead. "Loser."

After a moment of sulking, he sighed and stood up. I thought he was gonna turn off the movie as the credits played, but instead he grabbed a pillow and threw it at me.

I shrieked, dodging it within a second, but by that time he was already throwing another one. Said pillow, smaller than the previous, but not as soft, did end up hitting me. "I swear to god, if you messed up by mascara, I will never forgive you!" I called out, jumping up and chasing him as he went to run out of the living room.

Saying Wesley was rich would be more of an understatement than saying Van Halen and Red Hot Chili Peppers were simply mediocre bands. His house was at least nine thousand square feet, all modern mixed with ancient yet elegant architecture. The theme was most certainly white, but the accents consisted of beige and crème.

His bedroom, which was the room he had chosen to run into, was twice the size of mine—not nearly as impressively decorated, duh—and all black and white. His light was a literal chandelier with a stainless silver rim and diamonds etched in.

His bed was at the center of his side wall, so when I ran in after him he was already grabbing one of the pillows and getting ready to throw it at me.

He clearly wasn't worried about breaking any of the numerous expensive items in here, so I also tried not to overthink too much as I ducked behind one of his swirly chairs and heard the pillow hit something. When he didn't give a reaction, I watched him run to grab a beanbag, carefully set it down next to his bed, and walk over to me.

"Oh god," I muttered, moving to get up and run again. His legs were much longer than mine and he also did cross country for two years, so I was essentially screwed from the beginning.

I felt his arms wrap—respectfully—around my stomach and my feet lift off the ground as he picked me up. I quickly understood why he set down the beanbag when he tossed me onto his bed. I didn't fall off his mattress, but I appreciated the thought.

"Ow," I mumbled, groaning as my back started to softly ache.

"Who's the loser now?" He taunted, laughing when I threw another pillow off his bed at him.

"That was for making me watch The Exorcist." He smiled. Instead of using my middle finger like a child, I countered and chose to flip him off with my pinky.

Let's just say the next day at school consisted of a mix of checking my back for a bruise, him dragging me with him into every 'possibly scary' room he went into, and—oh, there was indeed a pop quiz. And we both did indeed pass.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺