A Boy Like You (Like Us Book 1)

by Ginger Scott

  TK and Levi throw a few more wet sponges at each other, but pick up the buckets and walk over to Wes, looking in the box with him.

  “Sweet. Dad got the part,” Levi says, pulling out some shiny chrome something that I’m guessing is for the truck.

  “I’ll work on it next weekend,” Wes says, dropping the part back in the box and carrying it into the garage.

  “See ya inside, Joss,” TK says, smacking Levi on the back of the head as he takes off toward the house, Levi running after him.

  Wes walks back out toward me when the garage door shuts behind him, his brothers leaving us alone. My body shivers once from the breeze blowing against my wet skin.

  “Your dad seems nice,” I say.

  Wes smiles with a short nod, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he steps to the front of the truck, leaning against it. He dips his head forward and runs his hand through his hair, pushing the wild strands back from his eyes.

  “He is. I’ll introduce you the right way when we go inside,” he says, his eyes not quite making it to mine, glancing away from my body and darting around the truck and front yard. The outdoors suddenly feels suffocating, and I can’t think of the next thing to say. Wes fills the gap for me.

  “Don’t forget whatever you have in the bag, over there?” He points to the end of the driveway, and my stomach grows tight remembering my original plan. It feels even sillier now.

  “Oh, yeah. That’s…I sort of…I brought something for you,” I say, holding up a finger and jogging to the back and bringing it to the front of the truck. I stop closer to Wes and set the bag on the hood. He watches my hands, but still seems to be avoiding my eyes. He takes a deep breath and covers his mouth with his palm.

  “Here,” I say, handing him the card and a very heavy package of Reese’s. “It’s a thank you card. It’s…it’s dumb. I didn’t really know what else to do though, so…”

  “It’s nice. Thanks,” he says, taking the card and dragging the melted candy bar closer to him along the hood.

  “I didn’t really think through the chocolate,” I say with a light laugh. Wes chuckles too, picking the bar up and holding it on top of the envelope.

  “I’ll put it in the freezer,” he says, his eyes finally sliding over to meet mine. They halt there, and I don’t move or breathe under their scrutiny. I keep my embarrassed half smile in place as my fingers work against my palms in awkward fists at my sides, my heartbeat speeding up the longer Wes’s eyes hold me hostage. They are blue and perfect and exactly as I imagine them when I close my own.

  Slowly, his gaze falls to my mouth and chin and then to my chest and shirt, and I notice his lip twitch as he stares at the rest of me for longer than I think he wants to, eventually bringing his hand back over his mouth as his eyes flit to meet mine.

  “I have some dry clothes you can wear,” he says, and my eyes shoot wide in realization. I glance down and see my breasts on full display, every curve of my body obvious as my wet clothes cling to my skin. The cold air has made my nipples hard, and I am overcome with the fact that Wes was staring at them.

  “Oh my god,” I say, folding my arms and leaning against the warm truck. I lay my head forward and rest it against the hood, rolling it away from him, wanting to die.

  Oh my freaking God!

  “Come on,” he chuckles, reaching for my hand and forcing it into his. He turns his back to me, but tugs me along behind him. “Just stay close to me.”

  I step closer, until my front touches his back, and Wes pauses when our bodies meet. He sighs, and I lean my head against him, feeling both mortified and turned on from this touch.

  “I’m so sorry,” I squeak out, feeling his body rise and fall with his long breath.

  “You’re a beautiful girl. Don’t be sorry,” he says, his head tilted to the side enough that I am given the gift of looking at the line of his jaw and chin. His eyes glance over his shoulder and meet mine briefly before he inhales once more and leads me through the door while I replay what he said over and over.

  Beautiful girl.

  “Sandwiches okay with you, Wes?” his father hollers from the other end of the house. I can hear pans and cabinets moving and opening.

  “That works,” Wes yells back, looking side to side, I’m assuming for his brothers, as we step into what is clearly their room.

  “Your friend okay with that?” his dad yells, a hint of teasing to his tone.

  Wes winces as he shuts his eyes tight, leaning his head out the door, but looking back at me quickly first. “You okay with that? It’s probably ham or turkey. It’s always ham or turkey,” he whispers.

  I nod and laugh to myself silently.

  “Yeah, Joss likes sandwiches. Thanks. We’ll be in to help in a sec. Just drying off!” He closes the door carefully, resting his head against the wood. I’m standing behind him with my arms still folded, and I swear I can feel the pull of something bigger trying to push us together. Wes presses the lock in before turning away from me and moving to a set of drawers, pulling out a dry pair of sweatpants. He takes a few steps backward and bends down to pick up a black hoodie and two shirts that he holds to his nose.

  “You weren’t kidding about your room,” I say through my grin he can’t see.

  “Yeah, we’re fuckin’ pigs. Sorry about this,” he says, throwing his first selection of shirts into a pile in the corner and picking two more up from the floor.

  He’s finally satisfied with a gray one and he turns to the side, handing everything to me.

  “These are clean…ish,” he says, shaking his head with a short laugh, still careful not to look my way.

  “Thanks,” I say. “You know, I’m still clothed. You can look at me now.”

  Wes chuckles again and steps to his door, opening it and resting his forehead against the edge, peeking at me briefly.

  “I better not, Joss,” he says, tapping his knuckles a few times against the wood grain and laughing as he turns away. “I better not. I’ll wait for you out here.”

  The door closes behind him, and my smile comes hard and fast. I really like this boy. I bring his clothes to my face and inhale, happy that his things smell like him. I slip my wet clothes from my body, including my soaking bra and panties, and step into Wes’s sweatpants and shirt, letting the soft material hug my body.

  Before I pull his sweatshirt over my head, I pull out a few new bandages from my drug store bag and replace the wet ones on my arm, throwing the old one in my bag and tying it shut. I gather my pile of wet things in my arms, stepping through his door to find him leaning against the opposite wall and waiting for me in a dry shirt of his own. He smiles the kind of smile that meets his eyes and leans his head to the side as he looks at me.

  “Thanks for letting me borrow this stuff. Do you have a plastic bag or something? I’ll just put my shoes in your yard or something to dry,” I say, trying to hold my wet belongings away from my now-dry self.

  “Here, I’ll throw everything in the dryer,” he says, reaching for my things.

  Without thinking, I give him everything and follow him to a small closet-sized room right off of the garage. He opens the dryer and lets my clothes roll from his hands into the machine, but my bra slides out from the fold of my shirt along with my panties.

  “You…uh…you changed everything, huh?” Wes says, swallowing hard.

  “Had to,” I say, my voice cracking as I clear my throat.

  “Right. No…of course,” he says, punching buttons and starting the dryer before turning around to face me. I’m fully covered, but for some reason, when Wes turns to look at me again, his eyes lingering just a hint below my eyes, I feel barer than before.

  “Lunch is served,” his dad says, his voice echoing down the hall, snapping us both out of a trance.

  Wes finally looks up into my eyes and nods toward the door for us to leave, but not before swallowing hard one more time. I walk ahead of him toward the kitchen, and I put more effort into every step than I ever have before. I’m purp
osely working my hips, and when I realize that I’m trying to draw attention to my ass, I feel ridiculous. I really am close to bows and glitter in my hair now.

  Fuck.

  “Joss, really glad to finally meet you,” his dad says as I step up to the counter and grab one of six plates with a sandwich and chips on it. “The boys have told me all about the girl that hits Wes’s curveball.”

  His dad laughs through the end of his words, laughing even harder when Wes rolls his eyes and sighs.

  “It wasn’t a curveball. It was his changeup,” I say, sitting down at the table next to Levi on a long picnic bench. I put a whole chip in my mouth and glance to Wes, offering a smug smile.

  “It was a slider,” he says, raising his eyebrows at me in a challenge as he lifts his plate and carries it to the seat opposite of me.

  I hold his stare for a few seconds and wait as he takes a bite of his sandwich, proud of his pitch. I lean back and pull one leg up next to my body and chuckle before popping a whole chip in my mouth and crunching it.

  “Like hell it was,” I say.

  Wes quirks an eyebrow and pauses mid chew, and I lean forward on my elbows and stare into his hypnotic blue eyes. I’m lost to them, but I’m not losing me and going all gushy just because he’s the cutest boy I’ve ever seen.

  “Change. Up.” I bite down after the last syllable and give him a matter-of-fact, tight-lipped smile. TK busts through the quiet quickly, laughing so hard, he actually chokes on his sandwich.

  “I like her,” his dad says, stepping into the bench seat next to Wes and leaning into him. Wes is still frozen in his reaction to me, but I can see the amusement in his eyes, and when his mouth slowly starts to chew and grin at the same time, everything inside me goes warm.

  “Joss, you can call me Bruce, by the way,” his dad says, wiping his hand on a paper towel and reaching it over the table to shake mine. I grasp it firmly, to show I’m not weak, and I can tell his dad notices that as well. “How’s your sandwich?”

  “Good sir…I mean Bruce. Thank you,” I say, never fully taking my attention away from the boy across from me.

  One thing about a table of athletes is they never eat for long. We’re all done with our plates in a matter of minutes, and I help Levi clear the table and rinse dishes off, dry them, and put them away. There’s a Warriors game on the television in the living room, and I follow Levi in, stopping behind the couch when we reach the rest of his family in the room. He hops over the back and sinks into the well-worn blue sofa, patting the cushion next to him.

  “Oh, no…it’s okay. I should go,” I say, glancing at Wes, whose eyes are bouncing from the TV to me. If he wanted me to stay, I’d think he’d ask, or at least be more interested.

  “Ah, come on, Joss. You can’t leave the middle of a Warriors game. It’s bad luck,” Bruce says, holding up his bottle of water to toast me. I’m struck by the irony that in my house, that hand would be wrapped around a beer. And my dad wouldn’t be toasting me, either.

  Reluctantly, I round the couch and slip into the corner of the sofa, giving most of my attention over to the TV. TK and Levi seem to be more into basketball than Wes or Bruce, and eventually, the room is divided into two conversations, one over who the Warriors should have picked in the draft, and one about whatever truck part was in the box Bruce brought home.

  While Wes is involved in his conversation with his father, his eyes keep glancing to the side, checking on me, and it feels nice. I catch him more than once, and I smile and even give a thumbs-up once or twice to let him know I’m okay. After a few minutes, he gets up and says he’ll be right back. I stand to follow him, but he holds up a hand.

  “Just checking something on that box Dad brought home,” he says, urging me to stay where I am. I like that he doesn’t want me to leave his home, so I step back toward the couch, this time sitting on the other end, closer to his father.

  TK and Levi are engrossed in the game. The Warriors are playing the Lakers, so I get it.

  “You guys have a favorite baseball team?” I ask, immediately getting three different answers. TK says the Dodgers, Levi the Padres, and Bruce is a Texas fan. I laugh at how different they all are.

  “Maggie, that’s my wife, she likes the Yankees,” he says, and I wince, because I’m more of a Red Sox kinda girl. Bruce laughs at my reaction. “I know, and to think,” he says, leaning forward and whispering, “I married her anyway.”

  He leans back again with heavier laughter, the full-belly kind that shakes his shoulders. I’ve only met him today and yet feel like he’s some uncle I’ve had for years. I like Bruce. I like his entire family, and I bet I’d like his wife too.

  “Thanks for having me over,” I say, pulling my legs up and tucking them underneath me so I can sit sideways and talk to him more. This is how Sundays should be. I have vague memories of mine being this way. I was young, too young for the memories to really stick—but before my mom left, I know we used to do things like this. I watched games with my dad on the TV, and Mom would make us snacks. Everything was perfect. Fake…but perfect.

  “Wes…he likes you, you know?” Bruce says, surprising me. My stomach drops with rollercoaster strength, and I work to keep my reaction away from my eyes.

  “He’s really nice,” I say, my cheeks warming with my blush. Bruce’s cheeks dimple with his smile as he looks at me sideways and takes a drink from his bottle. He sees right through me, and he knows I like Wes too.

  “Yes he is,” he nods with a soft laugh. “You know, Mags and I always talk about the things we love most about our boys. What makes us proud of each one? Levi is loyal.”

  “Like a dog,” Levi answers over his shoulder, barking twice. TK hits him on the shoulder, but Levi shrugs it off, going right back to the game.

  “TK is our funnyman. He brought joy to this house the moment he jumped up for a piggyback ride and let me carry him through the door,” Bruce says. TK threatens to stand up and jump on him for a ride now, and Bruce holds a hand to his back. “That only worked then. You’re twice my size now.”

  “Maybe this way,” TK says, patting his head.

  “Ha ha, very funny,” Bruce grunts out, folding his hands over his belly. He gives in with a real laugh soon, and TK moves into the kitchen to grab another drink.

  “What about Wes?” I ask, wanting nothing more than to sit here for hours and hear stories about the boy hiding out in the garage.

  “Well you had it right. Wes is kind. I’d like to say we raised him that way, but he just came that way. We adopted him at nine, after a few months of living with us as a foster kid,” he says, staring down at his hands and smiling at the memory. “We threw a birthday party for him before the official adoption. Mags had just lost her job at the bank, but we didn’t talk about that stuff in front of the kids. Somehow, though, Wes…he must have heard us. He crawled up next to her on the couch the night before his party and said he didn’t want any presents. When Maggie asked him why, he just shook his head and said there was nothing he needed. But she knew…and so did I. He didn’t want us spending money on him when we didn’t have much to spend.”

  “That’s sweet,” I say, my chest squeezing, trying to picture the little boy who did that. My head pictures Christopher instantly. I’m about to ask for a picture, when the front door opens and Wes steps inside, and all of my inner thoughts fizzle at the sight of him. Seeing him—looking at him—it takes over everything.

  “It’s the wrong size. Thanks for trying though, Dad,” he says, wiping his hand with a rag from the garage. “I saw the receipt. I’ll take it back today; get the right one. No big deal.”

  “Ah damn. I’m sorry. I was guessing,” Bruce says.

  Wes is standing by the front door with the truck keys in his hands, so I stand and move toward him, my eyes meeting his.

  “I should go too,” I say, offering a hand to Bruce. “Thanks again for the sandwich. And company.”

  “Anytime,” he says, patting the top of my hand before letting it go and
sinking deeper into his seat.

  I turn to Wes, who is still at the door with the keys in his hands. “Mind if I grab my things?” I ask, tugging on the shirt that isn’t mine and looking down at the rest of my borrowed wardrobe.

  “Yeah, here. I’ll give you a ride,” he says, shutting the door, jogging past me and dashing into the laundry room. I hear him inside, pulling things from the dryer as I step to the doorway. He walks out just as I’m about to enter, and we press into each other, the hot clothes in his arms between us.

  “Sorry,” I mumble.

  “It’s…it’s okay,” he says, not moving. His fingers are grasping my clothes, and I blush at seeing my bra in his hands, my mind immediately imagining him touching me. “Your shoes aren’t very dry. More…hot really. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I say, sucking my top lip in, not falling fully into his eyes. I move my hands slowly around my things, and we brush over each other on the exchange.

  “I’ll get you a bag,” Wes says, stepping into the garage. I follow him out the door, and he quickly shakes out a plastic grocery bag, holding it open for me to drop my things inside. I do it quickly, tucking my bra and panties in the bottom. I tie the handles in a knot, then hold my warm, damp things to my chest.

  “I read the card,” Wes says, looking down at my feet, the right side of his mouth tugging upward before he peers at me, one eyebrow raised. My mental state is instantly shot to the level of humiliated. I was feeling sappy and spontaneous when I bought the card. I wrote that I thought he was my hero, and that I’m not sure how he was able to save me, but that I’m glad he did, and I’m glad it was him. I gushed, and went on and on to the point that I even had to write the rest of my note about how amazing I think he is on the back, drawing an arrow for him to flip the card over as if he would think that I actually stopped mid-sentence.

  Stupid girl. Gah!

  “I’m not that special, Joss,” he says, his head to the side. I can’t bring myself to look up into his eyes for long, so I just give him short glances while I shrug my shoulders to my ears.