Poison Ivy

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Entertaining.

Staring across at Wesley as I sipped my Vanilla Latte gave me time to consider the type of friendship I had managed to build with him. He grinned crookedly, swirling his wooden coffee stick in his drink - he always was such a stirrer - and cocked his head to the side.

"So," he began, his grin never faltering - I liked that about him, I liked that he was always cheerful... sometimes it was the type of cheerful you just want to shove off the end of a bridge, but it was cheerful nonetheless, which inadvertently made me feel cheerful, too - "how's things?"

I shrugged, cupping both hands around my coffee cup, linking my fingers together. "Alright, I guess. How are things with you?" I leaned forward, pressing my elbows into my thighs. "You still entertaining Angus?"

Wesley smirked, nodding. "I certainly am," he told me jovially. "How about you? Are you still entertaining Andy?"

I snorted, trying to keep the blush from my face at the thought of Andy perhaps only just leaving my house. "I was never entertaining Andy." I replied.

Wesley's laugh was another thing I really loved about him - it wasn't light or polite, it was loud and crude and it never failed to make me smile. Everyone in the vicinity of our table turned to stare for a moment as Wesley's head fell back as he chortled abruptly.

Being friends with Wesley from when we were just kids gave me the advantage over everyone else of not being shocked by his antics. Though, I always used to find myself apologising to everybody around us for his brash, shameless laugh and overall behaviour, as time went on, I slowly became accustomed to it myself and found that it wasn't something to apologise for. Wesley was Wesley and he wasn't trying to hide that with a false laugh that didn't disturb other people's conversations or polite topics of conversations that didn't make women with young children rush past, scowls on their faces. And I stopped apologising for him, because I realised he didn't apologise for himself because there was nothing wrong in him being himself.

"Ivy," he almost wheezed, patting his knees. "Don't make me wet myself."

I found myself laughing alongside him, shaking my head. "I'm serious." I told him despite sounding like anything but. "I'm not entertaining him."

Wesley shook his head slowly, his laughter dying down, as he looked across at me. His eyes shone brightly in amusement. "Look, I know you have this self-loathing thing, but I'm sure you're not that bad at sex."

I scoffed at him, sticking my tongue out childishly. "I didn't mean that, I meant I'm not entertaining him at all, period."

"Oh, c'mon Ivy! Why the hell not?" he almost whinged. "He's hot, god damn it, you should be taking advantage of the fact that he obviously finds you attractive, too!"

I felt my cheeks warming and my neck prickled with heat that fluttered up from the pit of my stomach. Wesley wasn't one for ever being serious very often, in fact, I think if it wasn't for his budding career in party planning (or as he constantly reminded me it was called events organising and management), I'd put a solid million bet on it that he would be a comedian. But as I watched him across from me, slurping his double mocha, shooting me pointed glances as he did so, I knew he was being one hundred percent serious and honest with me, and it made my heart melt into oblivion.

"Wesley-" I started, but he cut me off, holding his hand up, palm flat towards me, halting my words completely.

"Don't, Ivy, you know I don't do soppy or serious, so this is really difficult for me." He told me, holding his now free hand, after placing his coffee back down on our table, to his lips and blinking his eyes frequently as if he were about to burst into tears. "You have to let me finish, Kanye."

I nodded slowly, rolling my eyes - I told you he didn't do serious very often - waiting for him to go on.

After he had finished his charade of emotion, he propped himself on the very end of his seat, placing his arms stretched out across the table towards me, palms up, fingers wriggling. "Give me your hands." He said, and I arched my eyebrows in a 'are you for real' kind of way, earning a simple nod.

I placed my hands precariously in his and his fingers latched on, his grip tight so I couldn't escape him and I sighed, leaning forward as he gestured for me to do so with his head. He leaned in, too, placing his forehead against mine.

To anyone else, this would probably look like the sweetest thing ever, but to me it was just utterly weird.

"Ivy," he breathed out, a small smile twisting its way onto his lips. "I'll never fully understand vagina lovers, but, trust me when I say this... Andy likes you. A lot."

I felt my bottom lip quiver and I hoped Wesley hadn't seen it - who am I kidding? He was barely even inches from my face, of course he had! - and I watched him grin wider at me. "And I know god damn well you've been entertaining him."