And he’s adorable. Fuck, I can barely stand it. His bright-blue hair is sticking up every which way, almost looking like he just woke up. The short strands are messy and out of place, and there’s one curl that’s dipping down over his forehead.
I can almost imagine running my fingers through his hair, straightening it out for him. It would be soft. Soft and smooth. And since he’s a bit taller than me, I’d have to stretch up to reach. He’d steady me with his hands on my waist, and his cheek would brush against mine, his breath hot on my neck.
That’s probably not how it would really happen. He’d probably swat me away and tell me to fix my own hair.
But I can pretend.
I purse my lips, ignoring the rush of heat low in my groin, and I send him a short text back.
Nico (5:13 p.m.):On my way
Alex (5:14 p.m.):rad! mom and i r setting up to eat outside. we’ll wait for u
It shouldn’t hit so hard, his last sentence.we’llwait for u.It shouldn’t, but it does. It hits me right in the chest. That, coupled with the question in his earlier text—when will u be home?—and I’m shaking again.
Home.
They’re waiting for me at home. Him and his mom. It’s not my home; it’s his. But hell if I can’t pretend with this, too, right? I can pretend he’s inviting me home, welcoming mehome. With him.
I’d better start driving before I’m too much of a mess.
Alex’smomtalksalot. She’s always analyzing things, giving advice, making sure Alex has everything he needs to succeed. And it’s not that she micromanages. Just that she’s, I dunno,there. She wants to make sure he’s thought of all the options, that he’s got all the opportunity, that he understands the ins and outs of everything.
Maybe that’s why he’s a freaking genius valedictorian who got a full-ride to Stanford.
So I shouldn’t be surprised when she sits us both down for a “talk” after we’ve done the dishes. Alex returns my look with a shoulder shrug, though there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that suggests he’s maybe a little uneasy. But he motions to the kitchen table, and we both sit.
His mom takes a seat across from us and gives me a gentle smile that should put me at ease. But it doesn’t, and my chest is suddenly tight as I hear echoes of words from that morning.What’s that little fucker doing here?I see a flash of dark, angry eyes. A sneer. And my mom’s texts, telling me I’m not welcome at home anymore.
Fuck. What if Alex’s mom is about to tell me I’m not welcome here, either?
“I-I’m sorry, Ms. Hayes, I—” My hands wring together in mylap as I stop talking, unsure what I was going to say or what I was even apologizing for. My heart’s racing, and I close my eyes as my stomach churns.
“No, no, sweetie.” The soft voice contradicts everything I’ve been hearing in my head, and I suck in a breath through gritted teeth as she continues. “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. Alex told me what happened this morning. And I just wanted to make sure you know you’re welcome here.” She pauses, and I manage to lift my eyes back up. She’s still got that gentle smile on her face. “You’re always welcome, Nico. Okay?”
I’m not really sure and not really okay. But I give a small nod anyway, and her smile softens even more.
“I do have a few rules, but nothing much, and it’s just so we’re all happy, you know? First, no parties”—she gives Alex a glare, and he shrinks back into his seat sheepishly—“and no loud music or anything, please, because Idowork from home most of the time. Pick up after yourself. We all respect each other and contribute to the chores, as I think you know already. Oh, and please, please,please, do not—”
“—leave the laundry in the washing machine overnight,” Alex jumps in. “It’s my mom’s worst pet peeve. Or maybe her only pet peeve. Well, that and people who forget to put on their blinker when they’re turning. She gets really mad about that.”
Alex’s mom rolls her eyes but then looks back at me with that soft smile.
“You are welcome here. No strings attached. No anything at all. Okay, sweetie?”
I lower my eyes as I nod slowly, and there’s a moment where I wonder if it’s too good to be true, really. Any time now, she’ll laugh and say she’s kidding. Rent’s due on the first of the month or my ass is kicked to the curb.
But then she just starts talking again, her voice kind and sweetand caring.
“I usually go grocery shopping on Sundays. If you need anything, we keep a list on the fridge. You know Alex is allergic to cinnamon, so please be sure you don’t bring anything in the house that has cinnamon in it. Oh, and I often need to back my truck up to the garage to load things from my studio, so park your car along the curb, not in the driveway, unless you’re unloading groceries or something...”
She keeps going on for a few more minutes, similar things that are just common courtesy and expectations, and I risk a glance at Alex. He’s watching me, his eyes soft and understanding, and he gives me a tiny smile and nod, like he’s saying, “See, everything will be fine.”
When his mom finishes, she looks from me to Alex and then back again, and something flickers in her smile.
“Okay,” she says, setting both hands on the table and then pushing herself up to stand. “I’ll let you two boys do whatever it is you’re going to do. I’ll be in the garage finalizing some paperwork and things for the framing company. Oh, Alex! Actually, can you help me out tomorrow? They called while you were picking up dinner and said they can get me in tomorrow. Do you already have plans?”
Alex seems to startle a little, as though he wasn’t really listening to her question, and then he fidgets in his chair and shakes his head.
