Wyatt didn’t know how he was supposed to react to that, or if it was an insult or not. He watched Izzy warily and tried not to let on how uneasy he was.
“Something smells good.” Izzy moved closer. “You’re the one that cooks, right?”
Wyatt managed a nod. He fumbled with his backpack, opening it and pulling out one of the containers. He thrust it toward Izzy, and he wasn’t even surewhy. He couldn’t tell if he was afraid and trying to placate him, or if some part of him was still trying to impress the new guy. “It’s lasagna. You can take one.”
Izzy looked surprised as he took the container. “Really, dude?”
Dude. Wyatt didn’t like the word, but it settled something in him all the same. Dude was a word that regular guys used, right? Guys who weren’t going to laugh at him—or worse—for being too brown, too queer, too in-between, tooWyatt.
“Sure,” he said. “My dad made too much.”
Izzy lifted a corner of the container, hissing at the steam burn. He raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t make this?”
Wyatt shook his head. Izzy was close enough to touch.
Izzy set the container down on the table and stuck his finger in his mouth. He sucked and said, around it, “You made the cookies from Saturday, right?”
Wyatt tore his gaze away from Izzy’s mouth. “What?”
Izzy took his finger out of his mouth with an audible pop, and inspected it briefly. “The cookies. You made them?”
Wyatt’s dick stirred in his pants. “Um, yeah.”
Izzy flashed his brilliant smile again—that one that made him go from serial killer to heartthrob in a second. “They were really nice.”
“Thanks.” Wyatt hated how breathy he sounded.
Izzy didn’t seem to notice, or—most likely—he just thought Wyatt was a freaking weirdo.
The door to the breakroom squeaked on its hinges, and Wyatt took a step away from Izzy even as he looked to see who was interrupting this—whatever the hell this was.
It was Justin, tugging off his cap as he entered the break room and shoving it in the back pocket of his jeans. “Hey, Wy,” he said. “What’s all this?”
“Dad went a bit crazy,” Wyatt said, his throat dry. He was aware Izzy was still looking at him. “It’s lasagna. He sent me over with it.”
Justin leaned out the door again. “Ignacio!” he yelled. “Del overcooked again!”
Ignacio was one of the workers who lived on site. “Oh, man,” he said when he turned up to collect the lasagna. “This is great. You know what I was gonna make for dinner tonight? Beans and rice, man, beans and rice.”
“Nothing wrong with beans and rice,” Justin told him with a grin.
“No, there is not,” Ignacio agreed. “But I’m no chef either. Everyone’s gonna love this.”
Justin clapped him on the back.
“It’s okay to freeze too,” Wyatt said. “You can reheat it in a microwave. It’s not as good as fresh, but it’s still okay.”
“You guys tell Mr. Abbot he can cook too much any time!” Ignacio said.
“We’ll let him know,” Justin assured him. “See you tomorrow, okay?”
“See you!” Ignacio left, loaded up with containers of lasagna.
“Still here, Izzy?” Justin asked.
“Yeah, I was just taking a shower,” Izzy said. “I don’t mind driving home stinking of dirt, but I draw the line at sh—at manure. I just gotta grab my stuff and then I’ll let you guys lock up or whatever.”
He vanished back into the locker room, and reappeared moments later without his towel, and tugging a shirt over his head. There was a ratty old backpack hanging over his shoulder.
