Watching him do his thing made me realize how hard he works to hide all of this from people. He was intelligent, kind, smart, mature, focused, and even good with kids. It made me sad that our peers thought he was a stereotypical dumb jock who only cared about sports and hitting on chicks.
We finally reached my house. I got off the bike as Mike collapsed to the grass. I laughed at him and asked, “Is this the part where you fall asleep for the rest of the night on my front lawn? Because I’m not strong enough to carry you home. I’ll get you a blanket, though, when it gets dark.”
Mike had his eyes closed and his hands behind his head. He was breathing hard, but he answered me between breaths. “I shouldn’t be lying down at all. I’m going to get a cramp. But the grass is cool, and I’m a hot, sweaty mess.” Then he opened his eyes and gave me a wicked grin. “Are you telling me that if I couldn’t make it home, you wouldn’t offer me your bed? You’d expect me to lie out here on the grass all night? It’s starting to get chilly when it’s dark.”
“I said I’d bring you a blanket,” I defended. “And I thought you said you didn’t joke about sex?”
“No, I said I wasn’t crude about sex. Being a guy, I obviously think about it. A little innuendo is healthy. Keeps our testosterone balanced.” Mike grinned, and I snorted. “Besides, I never said you’d be sharing the bed with me. Don’t you have a guest room? I know you at least have a couch. I’m sure there are plenty of other places for you to sleep.”
“I’m not sleeping on the couch in my own house. There’s no way I’d sleep on that piece of crap.” I scoffed, knowing how uncomfortable our sofa was. “And I’m definitely not letting a stinky boy commandeer my bed. If you can’t make it home, you can have the couch.”
“How generous,” Mike said sarcastically. “Lucky for me, I suddenly have the energy to get up.” He groaned as he stood. “Can I at least use your bathroom before I leave? Or do guests have to use the bushes?”
“Normally, it’s the bushes, but I’ll make an exception for you,” I replied, holding out a hand to pull him up. “I thought runners just peed down their legs when they went long distances?”
Mike gave me a flat look. “I wasn’t running a marathon.”
He unstrapped his water pack and took it off, followed by his shirt. Then he used it to wipe the sweat from his face and arms. I’d gotten a brief glimpse of his abs the night he flashed them, but there was no way to prepare for the amazing sight in front of me. Mike was skinny, so you wouldn’t expect him to be ripped. But he had practically zero body fat, so you could see the definition of every single muscle. He was super cut, and I had to avert my eyes before I got caught staring.
Mike started to put his shirt back on, but I stopped him. “Gross! You can’t put that back on. It’s even sweatier now than when you took it off.”
Mike looked at the shirt. “I didn’t want to offend anyone by walking into your house half naked.”
“Don’t worry. I already told you nobody else is home, and I don’t mind. It’s no different than being in a swimsuit.”
“You don’t mind, huh? On a scale of one to ten, how much do you not mind?” Mike asked with a devilish grin.
“Like an eight,” I replied without hesitation.
Mike’s eyes narrowed when I answered so quickly. “Which end is eight on? The I don’t mind at all end or the I mind a lot end?”
“I’m not telling. You should have thought about that before you asked me to rate you. Now I guess you’ll never know.” I shrugged carelessly to hide that an eight meant I didn’t mind shirtless Mike. In fact, I might have preferred him. Wait, no! Oh my gosh, what was I saying? That was my hormones talking, not me.
He followed me inside, and I pointed him to the foyer bathroom. When he came out, he glanced around my house and whistled. “Wow. Your place is nice. Makes mine feel like a dump.”
“Don’t be silly. I think your house is one of the coziest I’ve ever been in. It feels so welcoming. This place feels sterile.” Mike turned in each direction to take everything in. Our house wasn’t huge, but even I had to admit it was a little opulent.
“You have a library?” he asked in awe.
“Yes, but I bet half of those books haven’t been read. My dad thinks they look regal. I think he just wants to impress people. Everyone stores things digitally nowadays, so it doesn’t make sense to have them in print—unless you want to show off. He doesn’t even come in here. I’m the only one who uses this room, and I mostly use it to practice.” I nodded to my violin, which was sitting across the top of our baby grand piano. If my dad saw that, I’d be grounded for life. I’d been practicing earlier, while the cookie dough was chilling, and forgot to put it away.
“Practice? Oh, that’s right. You said you play the violin.” Mike’s eyes got wide. “Do you play the piano, too?”
“Yes, but not well enough to justify a baby grand.” I laughed. “Again, it’s more for show.”
Mike nodded. “Do I get a free concert?” he asked.
“Only if you want to come to my recital tomorrow. I did my time for the day. Don’t want to overwork the artists,” I joked, wiggling my fingers at him. I’d seen Mike run, and it made me view him in a totally different light. It made him vulnerable in my eyes. I wasn’t sure if it would be the same for him watching me play, but I wasn’t ready to find out.
“Where is it, and when?” he asked, surprising me. I didn’t honestly think he’d go. That’s why I’d offered.
“The performing arts center, at six p.m., but I was just kidding. You don’t have to go. You’d probably be bored.”
“There you go again, making assumptions. Why do you automatically think I’d be bored? Am I not allowed to like classical music?”
“Well, no,” I fumbled.
“I’m not?” He raised an eyebrow.
“No, I mean you are. Are you telling me that you’re a classical fan?” I asked in disbelief.
“I don’t listen to it regularly or anything, but I enjoy hearing it live. One of my favorite albums is S&M by Metallica and the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra.”
“Huh.” I grunted in approval. “Anything else I should know about your music preferences?”
“I bet you think I only listen to rap,” he said. That was a big affirmative. He was always busting out some silly rap in class. But I guess that’s what he wants everyone to think he likes. Everything about school Mike was a complete farce. “It’s okay, but it isn’t my favorite genre. I like a little of everything.”
“Who’s your favorite band?” I asked, thinking I’d catch him off guard.
“The Beatles,” he replied without hesitation. I wasn’t expecting that.
“Who’s your favorite solo artist?” I fired back.
He scrunched up his face in thought. “That varies, depending on my mood. If I’m in a happy mood, I like T-Swift.” I coughed and choked on my spit. He gave me a dirty look that could rival one of my own. “Hey, don’t judge!” he barked, and I pretended to zip my mouth shut. “If I’m in a sad or angry mood, I lean toward Adele—you can guess what I was playing when you showed up.” He gave me a flat look, followed by a smirk. “And when I’m in the mood, it’s got to be Bruno Mars. But if I had to pick only one all-time favorite solo artist, hands down, it’s Michael Jackson.”
“I would not have pegged you for a bubble-gum pop-rocker. You never cease to surprise me.” I shook my head as my eyes drifted down to his abs again, then shot right back up. I’d been so good about keeping eye contact, too. But come on, the guy was half naked and leaning on my baby grand. There had to be a bizarre fantasy wrapped up in there somewhere. I was so focused on keeping my eyes at an appropriate level that the conversation stilled.
Mike cleared his throat. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think this room is sweet, and I’m jealous.” Mike wandered from the piano back over to the shelves and ran his fingers along the spines. Possibly another fantasy in that, too… “But where are all the fun books? You know, the roma
nce novels and the crime thrillers?”
“You’re into romance novels?” I teased, but his cheeks turned red, and I giggled. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”
“I’m not into romance novels…my mom is.”
“Right,” I said sarcastically. “Have you not met my dad? Oh, wait, you haven’t…because you’re lucky. In this house, books are for learning. We don’t waste our time on drivel that doesn’t sharpen the mind, or that fills your head with fantasies and unrealistic expectations. Of course I read that stuff. So does my mom. But we have to hide the contraband.”
“He can’t possibly be as rigid as you say he is,” Mike replied while looking at a picture on the bookshelf. It was of my parents and me at my middle school graduation. “You all look happy in this picture. He’s even smiling.”
“That’s because I got an award for outstanding academic achievement that day. They only gave it out to one boy and one girl in the whole school. They recognized us at the graduation ceremony and made a big deal about it.”
“It is a big deal. Wasn’t he proud? He looks proud of you.”
“Yes, that’s one of the few times he was proud of me. But I graduated with straight As and even tested into all the sophomore level courses for my first year of high school. And if I hadn’t gotten that award, do you know what he would have done? He’d have told me that I should have gotten it, but I just didn’t work hard enough.”
“I don’t believe you.” Mike turned around. He was serious but sympathetic. “He’s your dad. He must know what you’re capable of. He’d have to be blind not to. I’m sure that’s why he pushes you so hard.”
I felt my chest warm at the compliment. I’m not even sure Mike realized how much his words meant to me. “Well, if he is proud of me, he never says it,” I grumbled.
“At least your biological father loves you enough to be an active part of your life,” Mike said. He wasn’t trying to call me out or make me feel bad, but it did slap me out of my pity party. Here I was complaining because my dad never seemed proud of me, when he’d never even met his real father. I couldn’t imagine how that felt. My dad was a good provider. He came to my events and asked how I was doing. Occasionally he told me he loved me. As far as fathers were concerned, I could have done much worse. I could have had Mike’s.
“I’m so sorry.” I felt the tears start to come and forced a joke to keep them from falling. “Boy, I just can’t seem to be nice today. Maybe I should stop talking altogether.”
Mike pushed me gently in the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I was only trying to help you see what you have. Contributing DNA doesn’t automatically make someone a parent. You’re forgetting that I do have a dad, a great dad. We might not be related by blood, but he treats me like I was his own. He always tells me how proud he is of me—probably more often than I deserve.” Mike grinned, and I felt relieved that I hadn’t hurt him…again.
MIKE
We were having another moment—which was getting more and more common—when suddenly, Jayden’s stomach growled loudly. I laughed. “That thing has a mind of its own.”
“Yes, it does. And it’s vocal at the absolute worst times,” Jayden replied, slapping her hand to her stomach. “I hadn’t expected to stay at your house very long, so I didn’t eat before I came over.”
“I should let you go, then. I didn’t eat, either. Hopefully my mom saved me something.” I tried not to sound disappointed.
“Do you want to have pizza with me?” she blurted.
“Do you want me to eat pizza with you?” I shrugged casually but secretly celebrated. I wasn’t ready to go home.
“If you like pizza. I can’t eat a whole one, and it’d be nice to have company.” Jayden almost looked shy as she made the offer. If I didn’t know her so well, I’d think she was nervous.
“I don’t know. What if your parents come home early and find a strange, shirtless guy alone with you? From what you’ve said about your father, I don’t think he’d be too pleased.”
Jayden shook her head. “Won’t happen. Neither of them will get home before midnight. But if you’re that worried, you could borrow one of my shirts.” I lifted an eyebrow. I wouldn’t put it past her to bring down something pink or frilly. I guess she could read my mind, because she answered my silent question in exasperation. “Not a girly shirt. I have plenty of baggy T-shirts that would fit you.”
“But I smell bad,” I argued.
“I don’t care. I can’t smell you from here anyway. Just don’t sit too close to me,” she teased. At least, I think she was teasing.
I wanted to stay, because we were acting like normal friends for once. You know, not beating each other up with our words. I was honestly enjoying her company. It’s not like I was going to sit on her lap or anything, but I wanted to sit next to her without making her gag. “I might make your couch smell bad,” I replied, wrinkling my nose.
“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. It was only a suggestion.”
“No!” I cut her off quickly, sounding way too eager. “I want to stay. What I don’t want is to offend your olfactory senses. If you’re sure you don’t care…”
“You’re fine,” she promised, sneaking a peek at my bare abs. She’d done it multiple times since I’d taken my shirt off. And that little fact wasn’t encouraging me to get dressed. I hung out with guys like Brady and Cam. I was never the one getting checked out. But if she kept looking at me that way, I’d think about kissing her again, and this time, I might do it. But I didn’t think she wanted me to make a move, and even if she did, I couldn’t…because I stunk.
I opted for safe. “Pizza sounds good. But you better grab me a shirt.”
“Good call.” She snapped her eyes back up to my face, then hurried out of the room, blushing. “I’ll be right back.”
The kitchen was as nice as the rest of the house, and just as sterile. Everything was clean and in its place, like a show home. Like nobody lived here. It was impressive, but she was right; it was cold and uninviting. My house was much cozier, even if the twins messed it up faster than I could clean it. She returned with a T-shirt and tossed it to me. I put it on before noticing what it said—Franklin High School Music Camp. “Are you trying to get me beat up?”
“I won’t tell anyone you’re a band geek if you don’t.” She grinned. “Now how about that pizza?” She unwrapped it, popped it in the oven, and pulled a couple sodas from the fridge, sliding one gracefully across the counter.
“And you think you aren’t athletic.”
“I have my moments,” she replied, and took a seat across from me at the island. “Okay, I have two questions that I’ve been dying to ask you, and you can’t have any pizza until you answer them.”
“That sounds ominous.”
Jayden waved me off. “They aren’t that bad.”
“All right, then, shoot.”
“Why the heck are you in Spanish I? You need two years of foreign language to graduate, but you’re a senior, so you won’t have enough credits. Unless you plan to test out of Spanish II?” She didn’t wait for my answer before slapping her hands on the counter and getting sassy. “Not to mention that I can’t believe your academic advisor even let you register for it. Don’t they know you already speak Spanish? It’s so unfair. You and Angelica both suck.”
Normally I found it annoying when girls whined, but Jayden’s whine was poutier than it was whiney, which made me focus on her lips. Crap, what did she say? Oh yeah, I suck. “How’d Angelica get in? She’s almost as fluent as I am,” I asked, giving my head a little shake to refocus my thoughts.
“Don’t change the subject,” she warned. “You always do that, and it drives me nuts. But, for your information, Angelica got in because her counselor is Mr. Martin, and he’s a sucker. His daughter Kami is on the cheer team at the junior high, and he brings it up anytime he talks to someone from the cheer squad. So, she went in and told all him about how she’s talked Kami up to the coaches and the rest of
the girls. Basically, she buttered him up with bribes, then hit him with the Spanish I request. He was so happy about the cheer thing, he’d have signed her up for men’s choir, if she’d asked him to.”
I laughed heartily. “I wasn’t nearly as manipulative. I have Mrs. Blake, so all I had to do was beg a little. She’s such a pushover. I’d already fulfilled my language requirement anyway, with two years of French, so she said why not.”
“If you have enough credits, why are you taking it at all?” Jayden was appalled.
“The rest of my load was pretty hard. I needed another easy class besides weight training. My options fifth hour were Spanish I, Intermediate Drawing, or Men’s Choir. I suck at art, and the only reason to join choir is for the chicks—so that was out. Spanish was my only logical option. I figured it’d be so easy that I could practically nap and still get an A. But then Coach screwed it up by sticking me with a tutoring assignment. Some bratty chick with a stick up her butt. Maybe you know her?” Jayden’s eyes narrowed, but she was fighting a grin.
“I’ll shove a stick up your…” she mumbled as she walked over and flipped on the light to the oven so we could watch our pizza bake.
“What’s your second question?” I asked.
She put her hands on her hips and got lippy with me. “What was so freaking funny about my answers to your little quiz this morning?”
Had that really been this morning? The afternoon had been dragging until Jayden showed up on my porch. Now it was flying by too fast. I grinned at her. “Do you really want to know?”
“Yes. I must have done something wrong for you to laugh so hysterically.”
“Remember when I told you that things don’t always translate literally?”
“Yeah.”
“When you type a word into any translator from English to Spanish, you should always confirm it from Spanish to English, too. If you put in an English word that doesn’t really have a Spanish meaning, the translator will give you what it thinks is the closest.” I smirked. “But that isn’t always right.”
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