reach for the second dish. “Better stick to one,” he semi-whispers (I don’t think he’s capable of full-on whispering because his voice is so loud). “If I’m going to be here through Christmas, I’m going to have to watch it or the gym’ll kick my ass when I get back.”
“Wimp,” I challenge.
“You want me to lose this amazing stomach?” He smacks his abs and does a caveman grunt. I elbow him right in that “amazing” stomach.
“Not a big loss in my opinion.”
“Kayla, when are you going to start being nice to me?”
“When you start deserving it.”
“Damn.” He snaps his fingers and straightens his stance. Whoa, I didn’t even notice how close his face was. “It’s a good thing I kind of like it when you’re mean.”
“Oh great. Now I can’t be mean without you liking it. How will you ever know how much you annoy me?”
He pretends to pull his heart out, and I do it with him, just to make fun. He laughs and I laugh, then we laugh harder because we’re laughing at something so stupid.
“Are you ever going to get Wes’s plate to the table? Because dinner’s ready.” Dad looks at us like he caught us having sex. Wesley’s ears get a little pink as Dad glares him down, all mob boss style. Weird. Usually I’m the embarrassed one around here.
“I knew I recognized that voice.” Mom scoots around the corner, and Wesley wraps her up in a hug. My heart kind of dances against my rib cage as I watch him be so delicate with her. It’s been two years since she finished her treatments, and though her hair took a while to grow back, it’s right above her ears now. She looks so good, with all the color in her cheeks and the laugh lines in the corners of her eyes. Every time I see her it puts a smile on my face.
Wesley lets her go, and she walks straight to Dad and squeezes his middle, resting her chin on his back. “You’re not giving him a hard time, are you? Wes is my favorite of Kayla’s friends.” She winks at us, and Dad’s mob boss attitude totally melts as he turns around to kiss her. I suppose the normal kid reaction to seeing parents kissing is “ew, gross,” but not for me. Their relationship is totally something I want someday.
Wesley also seems to think it’s just as adorable, not even getting all squeamish around my totally-in-love-and-not-afraid-to-show-it parents. I grab his plate, nudging him out of the way. Just for fun, I set it next to Dad’s at the table. Then stifle that evil-genius laughter.
“Ugh,” Wesley moans as he falls onto my bed. His fingers go to his belt and he tugs it open, like it’s preventing that flat-ass stomach from breathing. And okay, he does have abs. I catch that much when his shirt slides up. Even though they aren’t as chiseled as Talon’s, Reagan will be a lucky girl.
No way am I mentioning that to her, though. Not after the whole jacket thing.
“What’re you staring at, Mickey?” He pushes himself up on his elbows, the metal on his belt buckle making this clinking sound that sort of causes the hairs on the back of my neck to prickle. And not in a bad way, either. My hormones must be in max-out mode if Wesley ismaking them act up.
“Shouldn’t have filled your one plate up twice,” I say, motioning to his open belt. Why is that driving me crazy? He should do it up pronto. “Are you in any condition to do this?”
He nods and waves his hand, flopping back onto the mattress. “Plot away. I’m listening.”
I sit at my desk and pull out my progress reports. Tapping my pen on the journal, I say, “Oh, and Wesley … call me Mickey again and you’ll be whipped with that belt.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
“Ass.”
“Is that where you’ll start?”
“I hate you.”
He goes for that pretend-ripping-out-his-heart bit, and I toss a crumpled piece of paper at him before he does.
“Okay,” I say, getting down to business. No more screwing around. Time to be organized and efficient. I open
“Wimp,” I challenge.
“You want me to lose this amazing stomach?” He smacks his abs and does a caveman grunt. I elbow him right in that “amazing” stomach.
“Not a big loss in my opinion.”
“Kayla, when are you going to start being nice to me?”
“When you start deserving it.”
“Damn.” He snaps his fingers and straightens his stance. Whoa, I didn’t even notice how close his face was. “It’s a good thing I kind of like it when you’re mean.”
“Oh great. Now I can’t be mean without you liking it. How will you ever know how much you annoy me?”
He pretends to pull his heart out, and I do it with him, just to make fun. He laughs and I laugh, then we laugh harder because we’re laughing at something so stupid.
“Are you ever going to get Wes’s plate to the table? Because dinner’s ready.” Dad looks at us like he caught us having sex. Wesley’s ears get a little pink as Dad glares him down, all mob boss style. Weird. Usually I’m the embarrassed one around here.
“I knew I recognized that voice.” Mom scoots around the corner, and Wesley wraps her up in a hug. My heart kind of dances against my rib cage as I watch him be so delicate with her. It’s been two years since she finished her treatments, and though her hair took a while to grow back, it’s right above her ears now. She looks so good, with all the color in her cheeks and the laugh lines in the corners of her eyes. Every time I see her it puts a smile on my face.
Wesley lets her go, and she walks straight to Dad and squeezes his middle, resting her chin on his back. “You’re not giving him a hard time, are you? Wes is my favorite of Kayla’s friends.” She winks at us, and Dad’s mob boss attitude totally melts as he turns around to kiss her. I suppose the normal kid reaction to seeing parents kissing is “ew, gross,” but not for me. Their relationship is totally something I want someday.
Wesley also seems to think it’s just as adorable, not even getting all squeamish around my totally-in-love-and-not-afraid-to-show-it parents. I grab his plate, nudging him out of the way. Just for fun, I set it next to Dad’s at the table. Then stifle that evil-genius laughter.
“Ugh,” Wesley moans as he falls onto my bed. His fingers go to his belt and he tugs it open, like it’s preventing that flat-ass stomach from breathing. And okay, he does have abs. I catch that much when his shirt slides up. Even though they aren’t as chiseled as Talon’s, Reagan will be a lucky girl.
No way am I mentioning that to her, though. Not after the whole jacket thing.
“What’re you staring at, Mickey?” He pushes himself up on his elbows, the metal on his belt buckle making this clinking sound that sort of causes the hairs on the back of my neck to prickle. And not in a bad way, either. My hormones must be in max-out mode if Wesley ismaking them act up.
“Shouldn’t have filled your one plate up twice,” I say, motioning to his open belt. Why is that driving me crazy? He should do it up pronto. “Are you in any condition to do this?”
He nods and waves his hand, flopping back onto the mattress. “Plot away. I’m listening.”
I sit at my desk and pull out my progress reports. Tapping my pen on the journal, I say, “Oh, and Wesley … call me Mickey again and you’ll be whipped with that belt.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
“Ass.”
“Is that where you’ll start?”
“I hate you.”
He goes for that pretend-ripping-out-his-heart bit, and I toss a crumpled piece of paper at him before he does.
“Okay,” I say, getting down to business. No more screwing around. Time to be organized and efficient. I open
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