For the next ten minutes, we run around the driveway, using their truck for protection, and take turns spraying and laughing. This is what it must be like to grow up in a house full of brothers. The joy in my chest is intense, and my cheeks hurt from smiling.
The water war finally breaks up when an older sedan pulls up next to the truck, and a heavyset man with a full mustache and beard steps out. He's carrying a box under one arm as he moves around the front of his car and eyes the boys' truck.
"You know, the cleaning thing only works if you actually get the water on the truck right?" he says, teasingly, quirking one eyebrow at Wes.
I'm standing behind the truck with my arms folded over the bed when he notices me. The man's lips grin, and he glances over at Wes's brothers.
"Well she's too pretty for you hooligans. Anyone want to fill me in on our guest?" He hands the box to Wes, then dusts his hands against his belly, wiping away dust and dirt from whatever he was carrying.
"This is Joss. She's coach's daughter," Levi answers. Wes busies himself with the box, letting his brother's answer stand on its own. I don't know why, but I want him to say more, to make me … more. I'm not coach's daughter-I'm something to Wes. I have to be.
"Nice to meet you, Joss. You stayin' for lunch?" he asks, pulling his glasses to the tip of his nose and looking at me over the rims.
"Oh, no … it's okay. I was just stopping by," I say, remembering my lame card and chocolate, which is probably both drenched and melted in the driveway.
"You should stay," Wes says, not looking away from the box. His shoulders are stiff, and the fact that he's refusing to look at me almost means more than if he did. My lip pulls up into a smile against my will, and my tummy goes all butterfly gooey. I hate it. I love it.
"Okay. Uhm … yeah, sure. Thanks," I say, smiling and nodding to the man. I still don't know his name, but I'm too awkward to ask, and I'm pretty sure my bra is outlined through the shirt I'm wearing.
TK and Levi throw a few more wet sponges at each other, but pick up the buckets and walk over to Wes, looking in the box with him.
"Sweet. Dad got the part," Levi says, pulling out some shiny chrome something that I'm guessing is for the truck.
"I'll work on it next weekend," Wes says, dropping the part back in the box and carrying it into the garage.
"See ya inside, Joss," TK says, smacking Levi on the back of the head as he takes off toward the house, Levi running after him.
Wes walks back out toward me when the garage door shuts behind him, his brothers leaving us alone. My body shivers once from the breeze blowing against my wet skin.
"Your dad seems nice," I say.
Wes smiles with a short nod, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he steps to the front of the truck, leaning against it. He dips his head forward and runs his hand through his hair, pushing the wild strands back from his eyes.
"He is. I'll introduce you the right way when we go inside," he says, his eyes not quite making it to mine, glancing away from my body and darting around the truck and front yard. The outdoors suddenly feels suffocating, and I can't think of the next thing to say. Wes fills the gap for me.
"Don't forget whatever you have in the bag, over there?" He points to the end of the driveway, and my stomach grows tight remembering my original plan. It feels even sillier now.
"Oh, yeah. That's … I sort of … I brought something for you," I say, holding up a finger and jogging to the back and bringing it to the front of the truck. I stop closer to Wes and set the bag on the hood. He watches my hands, but still seems to be avoiding my eyes. He takes a deep breath and covers his mouth with his palm.
"Here," I say, handing him the card and a very heavy package of Reese's. "It's a thank you card. It's … it's dumb. I didn't really know what else to do though, so … "
"It's nice. Thanks," he says, taking the card and dragging the melted candy bar closer to him along the hood.
"I didn't really think through the chocolate," I say with a light laugh. Wes chuckles too, picking the bar up and holding it on top of the envelope.
"I'll put it in the freezer," he says, his eyes finally sliding over to meet mine. They halt there, and I don't move or breathe under their scrutiny. I keep my embarrassed half smile in place as my fingers work against my palms in awkward fists at my sides, my heartbeat speeding up the longer Wes's eyes hold me hostage. They are blue and perfect and exactly as I imagine them when I close my own.
Slowly, his gaze falls to my mouth and chin and then to my chest and shirt, and I notice his lip twitch as he stares at the rest of me for longer than I think he wants to, eventually bringing his hand back over his mouth as his eyes flit to meet mine.
"I have some dry clothes you can wear," he says, and my eyes shoot wide in realization. I glance down and see my breasts on full display, every curve of my body obvious as my wet clothes cling to my skin. The cold air has made my nipples hard, and I am overcome with the fact that Wes was staring at them.
"Oh my god," I say, folding my arms and leaning against the warm truck. I lay my head forward and rest it against the hood, rolling it away from him, wanting to die.
Oh my freaking God!
"Come on," he chuckles, reaching for my hand and forcing it into his. He turns his back to me, but tugs me along behind him. "Just stay close to me."
I step closer, until my front touches his back, and Wes pauses when our bodies meet. He sighs, and I lean my head against him, feeling both mortified and turned on from this touch.
"I'm so sorry," I squeak out, feeling his body rise and fall with his long breath.
"You're a beautiful girl. Don't be sorry," he says, his head tilted to the side enough that I am given the gift of looking at the line of his jaw and chin. His eyes glance over his shoulder and meet mine briefly before he inhales once more and leads me through the door while I replay what he said over and over.
Beautiful girl.
"Sandwiches okay with you, Wes?" his father hollers from the other end of the house. I can hear pans and cabinets moving and opening.
"That works," Wes yells back, looking side to side, I'm assuming for his brothers, as we step into what is clearly their room.
"Your friend okay with that?" his dad yells, a hint of teasing to his tone.
Wes winces as he shuts his eyes tight, leaning his head out the door, but looking back at me quickly first. "You okay with that? It's probably ham or turkey. It's always ham or turkey," he whispers.
I nod and laugh to myself silently.
"Yeah, Joss likes sandwiches. Thanks. We'll be in to help in a sec. Just drying off!" He closes the door carefully, resting his head against the wood. I'm standing behind him with my arms still folded, and I swear I can feel the pull of something bigger trying to push us together. Wes presses the lock in before turning away from me and moving to a set of drawers, pulling out a dry pair of sweatpants. He takes a few steps backward and bends down to pick up a black hoodie and two shirts that he holds to his nose.
"You weren't kidding about your room," I say through my grin he can't see.
"Yeah, we're fuckin' pigs. Sorry about this," he says, throwing his first selection of shirts into a pile in the corner and picking two more up from the floor.
He's finally satisfied with a gray one and he turns to the side, handing everything to me.
"These are clean … ish," he says, shaking his head with a short laugh, still careful not to look my way.
"Thanks," I say. "You know, I'm still clothed. You can look at me now."
Wes chuckles again and steps to his door, opening it and resting his forehead against the edge, peeking at me briefly.
"I better not, Joss," he says, tapping his knuckles a few times against the wood grain and laughing as he turns away. "I better not. I'll wait for you out here."
The door closes behind him, and my smile comes hard and fast. I really like this boy. I bring his clothes to my face and inhale, happy that his things smell like him. I slip my wet clothes from my body, including my soaking bra and panties, and step into Wes's sweatpants and shirt, letting the soft material hug my body.
Before I pull his sweatshirt over my head, I pull out a few new bandages from my drug store bag and replace the wet ones on my arm, throwing the old one in my bag and tying it shut. I gather my pile of wet things in my arms, stepping through his door to find him leaning against the opposite wall and waiting for me in a dry shirt of his own. He smiles the kind of smile that meets his eyes and leans his head to the side as he looks at me.
"Thanks for letting me borrow this stuff. Do you have a plastic bag or something? I'll just put my shoes in your yard or something to dry," I say, trying to hold my wet belongings away from my now-dry self.