A Boy Like You (Like Us Book 1)(26)

"Here, I'll throw everything in the dryer," he says, reaching for my things.

Without thinking, I give him everything and follow him to a small  closet-sized room right off of the garage. He opens the dryer and lets  my clothes roll from his hands into the machine, but my bra slides out  from the fold of my shirt along with my panties.

"You … uh … you changed everything, huh?" Wes says, swallowing hard.

"Had to," I say, my voice cracking as I clear my throat.

"Right. No … of course," he says, punching buttons and starting the dryer  before turning around to face me. I'm fully covered, but for some  reason, when Wes turns to look at me again, his eyes lingering just a  hint below my eyes, I feel barer than before.

"Lunch is served," his dad says, his voice echoing down the hall, snapping us both out of a trance.

Wes finally looks up into my eyes and nods toward the door for us to  leave, but not before swallowing hard one more time. I walk ahead of him  toward the kitchen, and I put more effort into every step than I ever  have before. I'm purposely working my hips, and when I realize that I'm  trying to draw attention to my ass, I feel ridiculous. I really am close  to bows and glitter in my hair now.

Fuck.

"Joss, really glad to finally meet you," his dad says as I step up to  the counter and grab one of six plates with a sandwich and chips on it.  "The boys have told me all about the girl that hits Wes's curveball."

His dad laughs through the end of his words, laughing even harder when Wes rolls his eyes and sighs.

"It wasn't a curveball. It was his changeup," I say, sitting down at the  table next to Levi on a long picnic bench. I put a whole chip in my  mouth and glance to Wes, offering a smug smile.

"It was a slider," he says, raising his eyebrows at me in a challenge as  he lifts his plate and carries it to the seat opposite of me.

I hold his stare for a few seconds and wait as he takes a bite of his  sandwich, proud of his pitch. I lean back and pull one leg up next to my  body and chuckle before popping a whole chip in my mouth and crunching  it.

"Like hell it was," I say.

Wes quirks an eyebrow and pauses mid chew, and I lean forward on my  elbows and stare into his hypnotic blue eyes. I'm lost to them, but I'm  not losing me and going all gushy just because he's the cutest boy I've  ever seen.

"Change. Up." I bite down after the last syllable and give him a  matter-of-fact, tight-lipped smile. TK busts through the quiet quickly,  laughing so hard, he actually chokes on his sandwich.

"I like her," his dad says, stepping into the bench seat next to Wes and  leaning into him. Wes is still frozen in his reaction to me, but I can  see the amusement in his eyes, and when his mouth slowly starts to chew  and grin at the same time, everything inside me goes warm.

"Joss, you can call me Bruce, by the way," his dad says, wiping his hand  on a paper towel and reaching it over the table to shake mine. I grasp  it firmly, to show I'm not weak, and I can tell his dad notices that as  well. "How's your sandwich?"

"Good sir … I mean Bruce. Thank you," I say, never fully taking my attention away from the boy across from me.

One thing about a table of athletes is they never eat for long. We're  all done with our plates in a matter of minutes, and I help Levi clear  the table and rinse dishes off, dry them, and put them away. There's a  Warriors game on the television in the living room, and I follow Levi  in, stopping behind the couch when we reach the rest of his family in  the room. He hops over the back and sinks into the well-worn blue sofa,  patting the cushion next to him.         

     



 

"Oh, no … it's okay. I should go," I say, glancing at Wes, whose eyes are  bouncing from the TV to me. If he wanted me to stay, I'd think he'd ask,  or at least be more interested.

"Ah, come on, Joss. You can't leave the middle of a Warriors game. It's  bad luck," Bruce says, holding up his bottle of water to toast me. I'm  struck by the irony that in my house, that hand would be wrapped around a  beer. And my dad wouldn't be toasting me, either.

Reluctantly, I round the couch and slip into the corner of the sofa,  giving most of my attention over to the TV. TK and Levi seem to be more  into basketball than Wes or Bruce, and eventually, the room is divided  into two conversations, one over who the Warriors should have picked in  the draft, and one about whatever truck part was in the box Bruce  brought home.

While Wes is involved in his conversation with his father, his eyes keep  glancing to the side, checking on me, and it feels nice. I catch him  more than once, and I smile and even give a thumbs-up once or twice to  let him know I'm okay. After a few minutes, he gets up and says he'll be  right back. I stand to follow him, but he holds up a hand.

"Just checking something on that box Dad brought home," he says, urging  me to stay where I am. I like that he doesn't want me to leave his home,  so I step back toward the couch, this time sitting on the other end,  closer to his father.

TK and Levi are engrossed in the game. The Warriors are playing the Lakers, so I get it.

"You guys have a favorite baseball team?" I ask, immediately getting  three different answers. TK says the Dodgers, Levi the Padres, and Bruce  is a Texas fan. I laugh at how different they all are.

"Maggie, that's my wife, she likes the Yankees," he says, and I wince,  because I'm more of a Red Sox kinda girl. Bruce laughs at my reaction.  "I know, and to think," he says, leaning forward and whispering, "I  married her anyway."

He leans back again with heavier laughter, the full-belly kind that  shakes his shoulders. I've only met him today and yet feel like he's  some uncle I've had for years. I like Bruce. I like his entire family,  and I bet I'd like his wife too.

"Thanks for having me over," I say, pulling my legs up and tucking them  underneath me so I can sit sideways and talk to him more. This is how  Sundays should be. I have vague memories of mine being this way. I was  young, too young for the memories to really stick-but before my mom  left, I know we used to do things like this. I watched games with my dad  on the TV, and Mom would make us snacks. Everything was perfect.  Fake … but perfect.

"Wes … he likes you, you know?" Bruce says, surprising me. My stomach  drops with rollercoaster strength, and I work to keep my reaction away  from my eyes.

"He's really nice," I say, my cheeks warming with my blush. Bruce's  cheeks dimple with his smile as he looks at me sideways and takes a  drink from his bottle. He sees right through me, and he knows I like Wes  too.

"Yes he is," he nods with a soft laugh. "You know, Mags and I always  talk about the things we love most about our boys. What makes us proud  of each one? Levi is loyal."

"Like a dog," Levi answers over his shoulder, barking twice. TK hits him  on the shoulder, but Levi shrugs it off, going right back to the game.

"TK is our funnyman. He brought joy to this house the moment he jumped  up for a piggyback ride and let me carry him through the door," Bruce  says. TK threatens to stand up and jump on him for a ride now, and Bruce  holds a hand to his back. "That only worked then. You're twice my size  now."

"Maybe this way," TK says, patting his head.

"Ha ha, very funny," Bruce grunts out, folding his hands over his belly.  He gives in with a real laugh soon, and TK moves into the kitchen to  grab another drink.

"What about Wes?" I ask, wanting nothing more than to sit here for hours  and hear stories about the boy hiding out in the garage.

"Well you had it right. Wes is kind. I'd like to say we raised him that  way, but he just came that way. We adopted him at nine, after a few  months of living with us as a foster kid," he says, staring down at his  hands and smiling at the memory. "We threw a birthday party for him  before the official adoption. Mags had just lost her job at the bank,  but we didn't talk about that stuff in front of the kids. Somehow,  though, Wes … he must have heard us. He crawled up next to her on the  couch the night before his party and said he didn't want any presents.  When Maggie asked him why, he just shook his head and said there was  nothing he needed. But she knew … and so did I. He didn't want us spending  money on him when we didn't have much to spend."         

     



 

"That's sweet," I say, my chest squeezing, trying to picture the little  boy who did that. My head pictures Christopher instantly. I'm about to  ask for a picture, when the front door opens and Wes steps inside, and  all of my inner thoughts fizzle at the sight of him. Seeing him-looking  at him-it takes over everything.

"It's the wrong size. Thanks for trying though, Dad," he says, wiping  his hand with a rag from the garage. "I saw the receipt. I'll take it  back today; get the right one. No big deal."