Bring Down the Stars (Beautiful Hearts Duet #1)(52)

Paul weathered my scrutiny with calm, smiling placidly under his mustache as he put his hands in the pockets of his khakis, rocking on his heels.

“Now, don’t you give him that look, Weston Jacob Turner,” Ma said, wagging her finger with its gold and pink acrylic curve. “Paul’s a good man and he’s good to me, so you just take that attitude and stuff it.” She gestured to Connor. “Why can’t you be more like this one? Mr. Handsome, always smiling.” She reached over and patted Connor’s cheek. He had his shades on, despite the cloud cover, and looked a little pale and a lot tired.

“You feel like eating, Wes?” Paul asked quietly. “Or maybe just sit and ice the knee?”

“Yes,” Ma answered. “Where are we going to lunch? Hannigan’s? I just love that little country bumpkin breakfast joint.”

Connor grinned. “Lunch at Hannigan’s then. On me.”

“Well, aren’t you the sweetest,” Ma said. “Sounds perfect.”

I studied my best friend. He called to where Ruby stood with Hayes. “Ruby. Lunch?”

“Love to,” she called back, but Hayes’s smile vanished as he and I exchanged glances. She conferred with him and then sighed. “Rain check, okay?”

“Definitely.” Connor turned to us and gestured across the field. “Shall we?”

We headed to the parking lot, my mother walking ahead with her arm linked in Paul’s, gabbling away, while Connor matched my slow limp.

“How’s the knee?” he asked.

“Hurts like a sonofabitch, but I’ll live. How’s your hangover?”

“Hurts like a sonofabitch, but I’ll live.”

My glance slid to him then away. “How late did you get in?”

“Around three. I didn’t think I was so wasted, but apparently I had a whole conversation with Autumn on text that I don’t even remember.”

“Oh yeah?” I said, securing my Academy Award nomination for Casual as Fuck. “How’s she doing?”

“Good. Really grateful that she made it to be with her dad.”

“Thanks to you.”

“So what happened out there today?” he asked, shooting me a glance. “Did you not get enough sleep?”

No, as a matter of fact. I was up until three in the morning texting your girlfriend for you.

“I don’t know what happened. Bad day. Couldn’t be worse timing either.”

“Why not?”

“NCAA people were here.”

“Shut up.”

“One of them was a liaison to the regional Olympic Committee.”

“Oh fuck,” Connor said. “Man, that sucks.”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

“You guess? The Olympics.”

“I don’t know about the Olympics,” I said. “The Olympics won’t pay for next year’s tuition. If the NCAA people were feeling generous today, I blew it.”

Connor looked about to say more, but we’d arrived at his Hellcat and Paul’s silver sedan.

“There’s four of us,” Ma said. “Let’s all ride together. Weston, go up front with Paul. Connor, you come sit by this old lady.”

Paul and I exchanged glances over the hood of his car as we climbed in. He offered a smile I didn’t take or return.

Hannigan’s was hopping and we crowded into a small booth.

“Connor, that Ruby seems like a nice young girl,” Ma said, after the waitress took our order. “You say she’s your girlfriend’s roommate?”

“I did,” Connor said. “Ruby’s all kinds of fun.”

“She’s a hoot,” Ma said. “But where is your girlfriend again? Nebraska?”

“Family emergency,” Connor said. “Her dad had a heart attack.”

“Oh no, that’s awful,” Paul said quietly. “Any word on his prognosis?”

“Not yet,” Connor said. “But I’m supposed to hear from her again tonight.”

“Well, give her our best,” Ma said. “Too bad, I’d like to meet her. And too bad about your race,” she said to me. “I’ve been telling Paul about how fast you are. It was his idea to come watch the meet, since you won’t take the hour drive to come visit your mother.”

“I’ve been busy, Ma,” I said.

“Busy,” she said. “Where’s your girlfriend? How come you don’t got a girlfriend? With your face and your brain, they should be falling all over themselves for you. I’ll tell you what it is—you don’t smile enough.”

“Jesus, Ma.”

She nudged Paul with her elbow. “For years, I’ve been telling Wes he’s a sweet, handsome guy, but he don’t smile. How can you attract pretty girls if you look like you’ve got a stick up your ass all the time?”

“Miranda, leave him be,” Paul said mildly.

Beside me, Connor was laughing into his napkin, shoulders shuddering silently.

“Look at Connor,” Ma said. “Always smiling, showing those beautiful teeth. And let me tell you, Wes.” She started counting off on her fingers. “You’re a beautiful boy. You’re the fastest runner out there when you’re not falling on your face. And you’re a brilliant writer. Paul, did I tell you he’s a brilliant writer?”