19. Wilder #2
“I don’t know, there are a lot of homoerotic themes in both Greek and Roman mythology, maybe he would have enjoyed the view,” he replies, his response taking me by surprise, and I move to stub out my cigarette, no longer needing it to take off the edge.
“No wonder you like history so much.”
His gaze snaps to mine, as if he’s surprised I have even noticed that about him, before he nods. “It is one of my passions.” He says it with so much conviction that I am suddenly in desperate need to know more.
“What else do you like?” I ask, once again surprising him, so I find myself adding, “Aside from my dick of course.”
Prescott laughs again, moving his focus back to where the sun is rapidly starting to appear, at the line where the ocean meets the sky.
“Everything,” he sighs in wonder, and I let my eyes close at the sound of his voice.
“I love history, fashion, music, photography, philosophy, astrology,” he lists, and a knowing snort slips free.
“Ah, so you’re one of those,” I mumble, my heart rate finally back to normal, as relaxation finally starts to take root in my body. “You want the answers to everything and put your life in the hands of the damn stars.”
He’s quiet for a moment, before he finally asks, “Is that so wrong?” His voice sounds vulnerable, and I’m reminded of the house he must have grown up in, and my jaw hardens.
“No, I think it’s pretty cool actually,” I tell him honestly. “We live and then we die, might as well listen to the stars while we do it. Makes sense considering you’re a libra,” I add, not realizing my mistake, and I feel him pause.
“How did you know that?”
Fuck. I can’t exactly tell him I went down a Google rabbit hole after we met, so instead I shrug. “Lucky guess, that’s an opal birthstone, right?” I wonder aloud, trying to remember what I read, and I feel him nod beside me.
“What about you, what do you like?” he asks, and I almost groan, not wanting to focus on me.
“Racing.”
I know he will absolutely hate the one word response, and I can feel him rolling his eyes beside me. “Apart from racing, dick.”
“Fucking,” I supply sweetly, and it’s him that lets out a groan.
“You really are infuriating,” he tells me firmly, but I can’t stop smiling.
“I think you like that about me,” I tell him with a sigh. “Now tell me more about this god of the sun you like so much.” And like the good boy he is, he obeys instantly.
Prescott talks and I let his voice lull me into a serene state, until the rising sun and his voice are the last thing I remember, before I drift off to sleep.
A soft ringing sound pulls me from slumber, but I’m too comfy to move so I ignore it, but it stops and rings again, before I hear the yells of my name.
“Wilder!” Matteo.
“Wilder, where the fuck are you man?” Knox.
Both voices are clearly coming from another deck, and I almost ignore them until one from right next to me groans, “I guess the sun is finally up.” Prescott.
My eyes snap open to find him stretching out beside me, as if the voices pulled him from slumber too, and it’s only now I realize we both fell asleep next to one another on the top deck.
When his sleepy, blue stare meets mine, he flashes me a shy smile, one unlike any of the others I have seen before from him, and it makes my heart beat a little faster.
But not in panic, no, in something else entirely.
I open my mouth to say what, I’m not sure, but before I can get anything out, another voice reaches us.
“Found him!” Beck calls, storming up onto the top deck, not seeming to care about the fact that I was clearly sleeping beside Prescott.
“Dude you need to answer your fucking phone!” he scolds, grabbing it from where I left it on the side table and tossing it into my lap, just as it starts ringing again.
Both Matt and Knox join us on the deck, the former taking in the scene with keen eyes and smiling knowingly, and the latter glaring at me because I’m still not picking up my phone. I spy my dad’s name on the incoming call and frown.
“What’s going on?” I grumble, still half asleep considering that’s the best I have slept in months, but forcing myself to sit up.
“Oh my gosh,” Prescott gasps, already on his own phone, his fingers flying across it in quick succession.
“Oh my,” he starts again, before trailing off as his gaze snaps back to mine.
“Answer your phone, Miles,” he orders, and for some reason, the gentle command in his voice has me grabbing my phone and picking up the call.
“Hello,” I say warily, wondering why the hell my dad is blowing my phone up, and I hear his sigh of relief.
“Finally. I thought I was going to have to charter the plane to come and tell you the news in person.” I can tell instantly that this is a call as my manager and not my father, so I don’t bother saying anything in response, but his next words come out a little softer.
“You fucking did it, Son, you were fucking invited.”
Still half asleep, I flick my stare to my fellow racing mates and find them all wearing matching pride-filled grins, and I let myself imagine something impossible. “Say it,” I demand from my father, needing to hear him say the words officially.
“You, my boy, are going to the Elite World Championships!”