Page 11 of The Summer of Everything

“Exactly.” Nico fills Wes in on what he’s missed. It’s not much, but Nico talks as if he’s breaking down the plot to every Marvel film ever made. Wes finds himself smiling at hownormalthis is. At how normal they are.

“Oh, man,” Nico says between laughs, “and Cooper…”

Cooper’s the new guy. Wes hasn’t met him yet. He’s also not sure if he’s flattered Mrs. Rossi had to hiretwoemployees to replace him while he was away or if he’s been undervalued this whole time. He knows it’s for the sanity of the bookstore, but maybe he’llsuggestan increase in his hourly rate next time they’re alone.

Wes kicks his feet up on the coffee table next to Nico’s, nearly knocking over Savannah’s books. At six-foot-one, Wes has a good four inches on Nico, something Nico’s not fond of. But, thanks to fanfiction, Wes is absolutely obsessed with the height difference and the idea of leaning down to kiss Nico.

“…and he’s cute, leaning toward hot—”

Wes snaps out of his daze. “Say what now?”

“I said he’s kind of—”

“Yeah. Got that,” Wes says, cutting Nico off. He hopes the stiffness in his voice isn’t noticeable. The fact that Nico finds someone else attractive flusters him. But why? Of course Nico can check out another dude who isn’t Wes.

Wes hasn’t made any romcom-style declarations of his infatuation. Yet.

“So, is he, um, hotter than…” Wes is ashamed at how his voice trails off.

“Hotter than you?”

Wes’s face scrunches. Slowly, he nods.

“Hold up. Doyouthink you’re hot, Wesley?”

“I think.” Wes pauses, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “I think I’m acceptably attractive on a scale of one to that guy who’s in all the teen Netflix movies.” He’s proud of that response. “I also think this city’s—this state’s—full of good-looking guys.” A factual statement.

Nico stretches his arms above his head, then casually drops one around Wes’s broader shoulders. “Well, then he’s just any guy from the city, right?”

It’s not the response Wes was hoping for.

They fall into an easy silence. The loft’s windows are open. Downstairs, someone’s car blares Tom Petty’s “Free Fallin’,” and Nico hums along. Wes does too. Another example of why Santa Monica’s magic. They trade food cartons. Nico chugs soda while Wes picks at sesame chicken.

“This is good,” he whispers.

“Always.”

Heat radiates where their hips touch. The heady scent of ocean air sinks into the loft. Under that layer of iodine and salt, Wes can smell sweat and teriyaki sauce and Nico’s deodorant.

It’s a comfort. What is not a comfort for Wes is when he peeks down at Nico’s rising chest and sees the emblem in the corner of his T-shirt. A white block S with a redwood tree in the middle.

Stanford.

While Wes has spent his life with UCLA as his endgame, Nico had another plan after sophomore year of high school. In September, he’ll be attending Stanford. He wants to study premed. Nothing against UCLA and its rep, but they both know Stanford University School of Medicine is one of the premiere schools in California. Wes hoped Nico would at least complete his undergrad with him. But he knows why Nico’s doing this. It’s also more motivation to make this the Summer of Wes and Nico.

After they finish eating, Nico cleans up the trash. Wes acquires more drinks. He’s deliberately not thinking about how cozily domestic this is. Who spends Sunday nights with their crush, crashed on the sofa, knees touching, tucked into each other’s sides? Their faces are so close, Wes could lean forward and—

Do nothing.

Wes deserves an Academy Award for Best Actor in a Dramatic Friend-Zone Role.

“So, Wesley.” Nico has a controller in one hand; the other fumbles with the remote. “Kill aliens or go Donkey Kong on your lame Yoshi ass.”

Wes yawns, shrugging. “Whatever.”

“I’ll play, you watch?”

“Perfect.”

---