Page 36 of John Wilder Gets Schooled
I stopped what I was doing and listened, and there it was again. I hurried to the door and swung it open to find Wilder standing there.
“Hey,” he said, looking at some point over my shoulder. “About the cookout.”
My stomach dropped. Here it came: he was here to rescind my invitation. He couldn’t have done itbeforeI’d put the potatoes in the pot? “Sure,” I said brightly. “Well, thanks anyway.”
I tried to close the door except his foot was in the way.
He pushed the door open again, his expression wary. At least he made eye contact this time. “What?”
“You’re here to tell me I’m not welcome,” I said.
“No, I’m not,” he said. He looked over my shoulder again. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.” I stepped aside and Wilder came in. He stood in the entryway awkwardly until I said, “Come on through,” and led the way to the kitchen. His gaze flicked to the pot on the stove as I turned to face him. “Potato salad,” I said, even though he hadn’t asked. I leaned back against the counter and folded my arms, aiming for casual while I tried to figure out why exactly he was here if not to tell me I wasn’t welcome. “So.”
“So,” he repeated, rubbing a hand up and down his forearm. “I didn’t really want to talk about the cookout.”
Color me surprised.
Wilder cleared his throat. “It’s… I wanted to apologize. For kissing you.”
Ouch.
I nodded and forced a smile. “Okay. I get that you were hurt and tired. It never happened, okay?”
He blinked at me. “What?”
“It never happened,” I repeated. “We can go back to being friends, or…notfriends, and you’re Gracie’s dad and I’m her teacher, and we’re neighbors, and that’s it.”
“No,” he said, his brow furrowing. “I wanted to apologize for how it happened. I’m not—I’m not sorry it did happen.” The furrow deepened. “Unless you are?”
My stomach clenched and my heart kicked up a few beats. “You’re not?”
He shook his head. “I should have asked. Made sure we were on the same page before I did it, but I was kind of loopy at the time.” The furrow in his brow vanished and he gave me a lopsided smile. “I think I was as surprised as you were.”
“I doubt that,” I said. “I thought you were straight.”
Wilder ran a hand through his hair, making the long strands dance. “Uh, yeah. I thought I was too. But it turns out a cute guy and a Percocet were all it took for me to figure some things out.” His smile widened, became flirty, and it didn’t take a genius to work out that he wasn’t mad about his discovery.
My pulse picked up and I said, “To be clear, I’m not sorry it happened either. And you’re pretty cute yourself.”
Wilder’s cheeks flushed pink. “Thanks.”
Ireallywanted to kiss him again. But I didn’t. Instead I said, “Do you want to talk about it?”
He dragged his gaze to meet mine, and whatever he saw on my face must have reassured him. He took a deep breath and said, “I like you, Avery, but this is all super new to me. Being attracted to a guy, I mean. I know that kissing you felt right, and I’d like to maybe try it again sometime, but after that? I have no idea what the hell I’m doing.”
His expression reminded me of my six-year-old nephew the first time he’d ridden his bike without the training wheels—determined, excited, and low-key panicked all at once. And as eager as he was, Wilder was going to need a steadying hand to make sure he didn’t crash out as he navigated this whole thing.
I hoped he’d find someone who’d be good to him and teach him what he needed to know. Because he might have a kid of his own but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still young himself. I kind of hated the thought of someone treating him badly or going too fast and expecting too much from him when he wasn’t ready.
And to be clear, it wasn’t that I thought Wilder was some blushing virgin or anything, but gay sex was a whole other deal, and he deserved to be treated right and introduced to it at his own pace. I just wasn’t sure he’d meet anyone like that in the bars where he stripped or in Goose Run for that matter.
Ideally, he’d meet someone who would take their time, let him figure out what he liked without pressuring him.
Someone like you, maybe,my brain whispered.
And once I’d thought it, I couldn’t unthink it.
