Jack mumbled something and reached for her hand, which she squeezed, but she didn’t stop until she stood right beside the long lines of hay bales we’d already placed.
“What’s all this?” she asked.
I glanced at Jack, waiting for him to answer, but he only chewed the corner of his mouth and adjusted from foot to foot.
“Pumpkin bowlin’,” I said.
“Oh my. That sounds—messy.”
I nodded with a big grin that only widened when Jack’s scowl darkened. “It is. They put out the really ripe ones. Makes it easier to bust ’em open, which is all anyone wants to see.”
She laughed, then stepped closer. “I’m Alissa, Jack’s mom.”
I took off my glove to shake her offered hand. “Cal.”
Alissa eyed me up and down. “You don’t play soccer, do you?”
“No, ma’am. Football. Jack and Ty are really good, though. If we’d had a decent team before I started football, I might’ve joined.”
Alissa glanced at Jack, who was still frowning a few feet from us. “They are good. We’re really proud of them. How come they’ve got you two out here doing all this?” She glanced around, probably noting the lack of other students helping.
I was close to telling her this was punishment but stopped. She had to know about him getting detention, but I didn’t know if Jack had told her the rest of it.
“This isCal, Mom. The dipshit I got in trouble with.”
Well, I supposed he’d told her everything.
“Jack.” Alissa rolled her eyes.
“Yes, ma’am. I amthatdipshit. Good to know he talks about me at home.” I winked at Jack to piss him off more. It worked, so I smiled even wider.
“I’ll let you get back to it, then. It was nice to meet you, Cal.”
I nodded. “Ma’am.”
Alissa turned to Jack, then gripped his arm and steered him the way she’d come. He glared over his shoulder at me long enough the sweat turned cold on my back, then lowered his gaze to his momma. I got busy moving hay bales around and didn’t notice he’d returned until I straightened and got an eyeful of his ass.
Bent over, nudging a bale to the markers, Jack grunted and huffed, doing his damnedest to derail my good sense without even knowing it. The hem of his long-sleeved T-shirt had slid just enough to show off the pale skin of his lower back above the band of his white Calvin Klein boxers.
Funny story, I was actually named after Calvin Klein because my granny’s favorite movie wasBack to the Future. A part of me wanted to say something about him having my name on his underwear, but that’d tell him I’d been looking.
His faded blue jeans were tight across his ass. Admittedly, it was a nice ass. Did I want to see more of it? Feel it? Hold it? Squeeze it? Did gay guys do that to each other? Not that I’d committed to being gay, but I was keeping an open mind about labels.
In the next instant, Jack righted, the moment was over, and my disappointed sigh was a little louder than I expected it to be.
Legs spread and braced, Jack twisted his upper body and growled, “Don’t talk to my mom.”
Uh … “What?”
“You heard me. I don’t need you being fake nice to her.”
“What the hell? That wasn’t fake. Iamnice.” I threw my hands up. “Why do I even try to defend myself to you as if it matters.” I stomped over to the bales, picked one up for myself, but tossed it in his direction. Maybe I was pissed. Maybe I was showing off.
Since Jack was scowling at me, he saw it coming and batted it out of the way of hitting him. “Very mature, Winters.”
“Calling me Winters now? A step up from dipshit.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
