Page 9 of Full Split
"He can add it to all the plates of brownies and cookies he'll inevitably come home with," Weston says, rolling his eyes.
Mom snickers. "All with their phone numbers written on cards or labels, I'm sure. The single moms always did swoon over him in those classes."
"Which is exactly why Sid used to make him teach those classes," I grouse. "I can't believe he still volunteers to cover the class when Mona isn't available. Some of those ladies aren't exactly covert with their attempts."
"Oh, man," Weston laughs. "Do you remember when Sylvie's mom used to show up in those really low-cut tops?"
I do remember, and I'd rather not. Sylvie is a sweet girl and an absolute boss on the balance beam these days, but just thinking about the way her mom used to fawn over Wyatt with her tits practically falling out makes me shudder. "Gross."
"To you, maybe. I think Sylvie's mom might have been my awakening."
"That's fair," I say, stuffing the last half of my banana into my mouth as I take a stack of plates over to set the table. "I mean, since your dad was mine."
Weston groans. Mom throws a handful of cloth napkins at me and tells me to behave.
"What? West can reminisce about Susan Anderson's giant boobs, but I can't appreciate being hot for teacher? That's homophobic," I say, pointing at each of them.
They both roll their eyes, and West and I finish setting the table while Mom sets the food on a big tray and carries it over. She sets it in the middle of the small kitchen table, and we all take our seats. She's made grilled Cajun-spiced shrimp and veggie kabobs on a bed of quinoa and steamed broccoli. West and I both load our plates with enough food to feed a family of four.
"Doesn't matter how many numbers Dad gets, he never calls anyone back. I can't tell if he's just oblivious or uninterested."
Mom hums, considering. "Come to think of it, he's never dated much. Even when you and Niles would stay over here, he was always just doing projects around the house or school work. Never took a break, that one." She starts listing off everything Wyatt was doing back then: raising West on his own, working two jobs, finishing school online. Then starts waxing poetic about how impressive he is and how lucky we are. I can hear her getting choked up.
"He's earned everything he has now," she says. "And I'm so glad we met you both when we did. I can't imagine our lives without the two of you."
Her voice cracks, and I groan playfully, tossing a napkin at her. "Mom,staahhhp."
She chuckles and sniffs. "I mean it. You've grown into such a fine young man, you both have, and a lot of that is thanks to Wyatt. You're on the road to compete in the Olympics," she stresses."That's incredibly impressive, and we have Wyatt's guidance to thank for that. And Weston's friendship," she adds, reaching over to lay her hand on his forearm. Her eyes are watery as she looks up at him. "I can't imagine Niles going through all of this without you by his side. He's incredibly lucky to have such a supportive friend and father figure."
Father figure. Ugh.
It's true that Wyatt has been a role model for me. He was there for me every step of my life, especially after my dad left. He's definitely helped shape me into the man I am today.
But it's more than that. I love him.
It's more than admiration. Not just gratitude for all the opportunities he's afforded me.
I love him in every conceivable way.
My mind drifts as Mom and West talk about the competition schedule. We hit the road tomorrow. Thirteen hours of tight quarters and close company. I wonder if I'll get more of an opportunity to talk to Wyatt about whatever is happening between us. Because there's definitely something there. I can feel it.
I need to be careful. If I'm not, I might end up saying something I can't take back.
Then again… Maybe this is my chance.
The next morning, we load the car in the early morning hours. It's so early, the sun is barely starting to lighten the sky. I hoistmy bag into the trunk next to West's duffel and a few shared gear bags. Wyatt closes the hatch with a solidthunk.
"Remind me again why we have to get up at the ass crack of dawn?"
"Because it's a long drive," Wyatt answers. His voice is extra sexy and gravelly this morning. I barely suppress a shudder as I climb into the front seat.
"And we're driving because…"
"Because I hate flying," Wyatt says, eyes narrowed.
"And it's cheaper," West chimes in.
"And because you want to sprawl out in the backseat like a spoiled cat," I add.
