“What, you think just because he’s a man, that means he made the first move? This is the modern world, John. Women initiate all the time.”
“Don’t fucking call me John, Garrett.”
Oh no, they’re full naming each other.
This is dire.
From my spot on the sectional, I send Gigi a silent plea.Help us. Please. She’s the only “nonparty” (as my father phrased it) who was allowed entry to the great room, because apparently this is a Graham/Logan interrogation only. Everyone else has been banished outside to the deck, which I’m grateful for. I didn’t miss the hurt on Beau’s face when he realized Wyatt and I have been hooking up. I’m not ready to have to explain myself to anyone.
“It doesn’t matter who initiated,” Gigi puts in. “So they’ve been hanging out. Big deal.”
“What is ‘hanging out’?” Garrett demands at the same time as my father growls, “Define hanging out.”
Hannah exchanges a look with my mom. “Okay,” she interjects. “Let’s all take a breath and calm down.”
“Yes, let’s calm down,” a voice pipes up.
“There’s no reason to freak out,” another voice chimes in. “We always knew this was gonna happen someday. I just assumed it would be a Golden Boy.”
We all turn to see Tucker lurking at the kitchen counter. Then Dean pops up too like a whack-a-mole. They must’ve snuck back inside through the front door and crept up without anyone noticing.
“Go away,” my dad snaps at them. “We’re dealing with a national emergency.”
“Fine, we’ll go, but we need an update in the group chat later,” Dean begs.
“Obviously,” Dad huffs.
Their footsteps thud in the hallway, and we hear them laughing as they exit the house.
On her end of the couch, Mom loosely clasps her hands in her lap and glances at me. “Look, obviously you don’t owe us any explanations—”
“Like hell they don’t,” Dad and Garrett say in unison.
“Oh my God,” I mutter, my cheeks hot with embarrassment. “We’re just spending time together. It really isn’t a thing.”
“So it’s a rebound?” Dad grumbles. “Rebounds are always a bad idea, sweet pea.”
“No, they’re not. Sometimes they’re a nice palate cleanser.” From the corner of my eye, I see Wyatt’s lips twitch, as if he’s amused by thenotion that he’s a palate cleanser. “Would you rather I was still with Isaac?” I direct the challenge at my father.
His jaw drops. “Don’t put me in this impossible situation. The potato versus the fuckboy?”
“Hey,” Hannah cuts in, jabbing a finger at my father. “I get this is your only daughter and you’re—how do I say this nicely?—psychoticallyoverprotective—”
My mom snorts softly.
“But you’ve known Wyatt his whole life,” Hannah finishes. “He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Wyatt murmurs.
It’s the first word he’s spoken since the interrogation began. But he doesn’t seem uncomfortable in the slightest. He just sits there looking like the easygoing, unbothered bad boy he is, looking at his sneakers and twisting his rings around on his fingers. I’m not the only one who notices, as my dad suddenly narrows his eyes on Wyatt.
“Stop acting all cool,” my dad says to him. When I laugh, it earns me another glare. “Don’t laugh at him being cool.”
“I’m not laughing at him. I’m laughing atyou.” I heave an exhausted sigh. “Guys. You seriously need to chill. We’ve just been hanging out this summer. Enjoying each other’s company.”
“Have you had intercourse?” Dad demands.
“I amnotanswering that.”
