Chapter 10
AVERY
Istared at the potatoes on the kitchen counter, and they stared back at me.
Did I want to go to a cookout at Wilder’s place?
If I did, then I needed to hurry up and start turning those potatoes into potato salad.
Because okay, Danny had said only to bring whatever beer I was drinking, but screw that.
You didn’t go to a neighbor’s cookout empty-handed, and my potato salad was excellent, thanks for asking.
But did I really want to go? Kind of. The real question was did Wilder want me to go?
I wasn’t sure if he remembered kissing me, but the sideways look he’d given me suggested that he did and that maybe he regretted it.
That made one of us. I’d kiss Wilder again in a heartbeat if he offered.
But I got the feeling that this was going to be like the lap dance—something we both ignored until we forgot it had ever happened.
Not that I was likely to forget the feel of Wilder’s lips against mine anytime soon, or the way he’d called me pretty.
Focus on your potatoes, Avery.
Right. Just a neighborly cookout with the guys next door. If Wilder mentioned the kiss, we could talk about it, but otherwise I’d pretend it had never happened, the same way I did when one of my kids picked their nose in class.
I grabbed a knife and started cutting up the potatoes. If nothing else, it would be nice to spend time with adults who weren’t teachers. Well, maybe not Chase. Chase didn’t seem very neighborly. But I could probably win him over with my potato salad. It was pretty fucking magical.
I’d just put the pot on to boil and was searching my pantry for the mustard when there was a knock at the door, so soft I almost didn’t hear it.
I stopped what I was doing and listened, and there it was again. I hurried to the door and swung it open to find Wilder standing there.
“Hey,” he said, looking at some point over my shoulder. “About the cookout.”
My stomach dropped. Here it came: he was here to rescind my invitation. He couldn’t have done it before I’d put the potatoes in the pot? “Sure,” I said brightly. “Well, thanks anyway.”
I tried to close the door except his foot was in the way.
He pushed the door open again, his expression wary. At least he made eye contact this time. “What?”
“You’re here to tell me I’m not welcome,” I said.
“No, I’m not,” he said. He looked over my shoulder again. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.” I stepped aside and Wilder came in.
He stood in the entryway awkwardly until I said, “Come on through,” and led the way to the kitchen.
His gaze flicked to the pot on the stove as I turned to face him.
“Potato salad,” I said, even though he hadn’t asked.
I leaned back against the counter and folded my arms, aiming for casual while I tried to figure out why exactly he was here if not to tell me I wasn’t welcome. “So.”
“So,” he repeated, rubbing a hand up and down his forearm. “I didn’t really want to talk about the cookout.”
Color me surprised.
Wilder cleared his throat. “It’s… I wanted to apologize. For kissing you.”
Ouch.
I nodded and forced a smile. “Okay. I get that you were hurt and tired. It never happened, okay?”
He blinked at me. “What?”
“It never happened,” I repeated. “We can go back to being friends, or… not friends, and you’re Gracie’s dad and I’m her teacher, and we’re neighbors, and that’s it.”
“No,” he said, his brow furrowing. “I wanted to apologize for how it happened. I’m not—I’m not sorry it did happen.” The furrow deepened. “Unless you are?”
My stomach clenched and my heart kicked up a few beats. “You’re not?”
He shook his head. “I should have asked. Made sure we were on the same page before I did it, but I was kind of loopy at the time.” The furrow in his brow vanished and he gave me a lopsided smile. “I think I was as surprised as you were.”
“I doubt that,” I said. “I thought you were straight.”
Wilder ran a hand through his hair, making the long strands dance.
“Uh, yeah. I thought I was too. But it turns out a cute guy and a Percocet were all it took for me to figure some things out.” His smile widened, became flirty, and it didn’t take a genius to work out that he wasn’t mad about his discovery.
My pulse picked up and I said, “To be clear, I’m not sorry it happened either. And you’re pretty cute yourself.”
Wilder’s cheeks flushed pink. “Thanks.”
I really wanted to kiss him again. But I didn’t. Instead I said, “Do you want to talk about it?”
He dragged his gaze to meet mine, and whatever he saw on my face must have reassured him.
He took a deep breath and said, “I like you, Avery, but this is all super new to me. Being attracted to a guy, I mean. I know that kissing you felt right, and I’d like to maybe try it again sometime, but after that?
I have no idea what the hell I’m doing.”
His expression reminded me of my six-year-old nephew the first time he’d ridden his bike without the training wheels—determined, excited, and low-key panicked all at once.
And as eager as he was, Wilder was going to need a steadying hand to make sure he didn’t crash out as he navigated this whole thing.
I hoped he’d find someone who’d be good to him and teach him what he needed to know.
Because he might have a kid of his own but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still young himself.
I kind of hated the thought of someone treating him badly or going too fast and expecting too much from him when he wasn’t ready.
And to be clear, it wasn’t that I thought Wilder was some blushing virgin or anything, but gay sex was a whole other deal, and he deserved to be treated right and introduced to it at his own pace.
I just wasn’t sure he’d meet anyone like that in the bars where he stripped or in Goose Run for that matter.
Ideally, he’d meet someone who would take their time, let him figure out what he liked without pressuring him.
Someone like you, maybe, my brain whispered.
And once I’d thought it, I couldn’t unthink it.
Wilder liked me. He was comfortable with me.
We’d kissed, and he’d liked it, so clearly we were compatible.
And I wasn’t going to push him for more than he was willing to give, because if we did this—and suddenly, I wanted so very badly to do this—it wouldn’t be about me.
It would be about teaching Wilder, about putting him first for once.
Who better to do that than me, a guy he already trusted?
I wasn’t arrogant enough to think Wilder would want to date me, not looking like he did. Plus there was the whole mess of me being his kid’s teacher. But maybe he’d appreciate the chance to get some hands-on experience. Or maybe he’d decide that he didn’t want that.
The only way to find out was to try.
I stepped forward and reached out, taking his hand in mine while my heart pounded and I tried to find the right words. His fingers trembled, and my breath caught as I realized how nervous he was. “I think,” I said slowly, “that I’d like to try kissing again too.”
I closed the space between us, giving him plenty of time to pull away, and pressed my mouth to his.
Was this smart? Hell, no. Wilder was a neighbor and a parent, and things could get messy and complicated as hell.
But also, Wilder was kind, hardworking, great with kids, and he was hot as the sun, and I wanted to know him better.
The kiss was electric. Wilder let out a tiny, shocked sound against my mouth before cupping my face in his hands and parting his lips under mine, and the kiss was as good as I remembered.
Better, because this time Wilder’s hair was down and I got to run my fingers through it as I explored his mouth, and it was just as silky and sensuous as I’d imagined.
Time stretched and slowed around us, and the only thing that existed right now was this kiss.
I was jerked out of my reverie by the gentle hiss of steam, and reality intruded in the form of the lid on the potatoes clattering merrily as they came to a boil.
I pulled back with a sigh, lowering the heat on the burner before turning back to Wilder, who was watching me wide-eyed. He ran a thumb over his bottom lip. “That was…”
I waited, my heart in my throat.
“Kind of incredible,” he finished, and I found I could breathe again.
A smile spread across my face. “It really was.”
Wilder’s grin matched my own. “We should definitely do that some more.” And then he leaned forward and pressed his mouth against mine, and we did, and it was amazing.
We stood there kissing with the potatoes bubbling away and my insides doing the same, my body heating with every swipe of Wilder’s tongue against mine.
I ran my fingers through his hair again and slid them down the planes of his back, his muscles flexing under my touch, but when I got to the curve of his ass he tensed. I slid my hands onto his hips and left them there, breaking the kiss to say, “Hey. We’re just kissing, okay?”
He let out a shaky breath. “I know.”
I hooked my thumbs into the belt loops on his jeans and tugged him a little closer. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. “I don’t think I—”
“Shhh,” I said, pressing a finger to his parted lips. “You’re not even freaking out over this, and that’s so amazing, but we aren’t going to do anything you’re not ready for, okay?”
Wilder nodded silently.
I took my finger off his lips and pushed a stray lock of hair back from his forehead. “But I want you to know that if ever you do feel ready for more than kissing, I’m here. I can be your safe space. Just two guys figuring out what feels good.”
Wilder’s brow creased. “You mean like no strings?”
“Yeah,” I said, seizing on the idea, if that was what he wanted. “A place to fool around and find out what you like. I can guide you through the mechanics of it.” I couldn’t resist adding, “I’m an excellent teacher.”
Wilder gave me an uncertain smile. “The kissing is already kind of a lot. Like, it’s awesome, but my brain’s still catching up.”