The Fastest Way to Fall(43)

I laughed, remembering how excited teachers had been to see me on their rosters after having my sister. How bamboozled they must have felt once the year began. “English and writing classes were okay, but everything else was just filler.”

“Home for me was . . . chaotic, and school was always kind of predictable,” he said, looking back to my foot. “I liked that.”

He switched to my other foot, and I watched him peel my shoe off, like he was undressing me. Guess I’m glad the only working out I did in them was getting up off the floor.

My breath caught. “What changed? Or are you also an undercover preschool teacher?”

He cocked an eyebrow and met my gaze. “Undercover preschool teacher?”

“Like, you sneak in under the radar past the ogling parents and then sneak out unseen.”

He laughed, the wonderfully deep sound that sent small bolts through me.

“Thirsty parents would be all over you.”

“You think so, huh?”

“For sure. You’d be a TILF.”

“TILF?”

“Like MILF, but a teacher instead of a mom.” I was rewarded with another of his laughs.

“I didn’t know you had a dirty side.”

“This whole thing could be a great book idea.” Or maybe just a fantasy, because I’d want him, too, especially if he kept touching me in that achingly slow and deliberate way. I wondered if Wes did other things like he gave massages, because he was firm without being aggressive, knew just where to stroke, and just kept going.

“Well, I guess we’ll never know.” He returned to running his thumb along my arch. “I started playing football in middle school and ended up getting a scholarship based on that. Then . . . life.” He didn’t elaborate, but a visible flash of sadness crossed his face. Maybe it wasn’t sadness so much as longing. It made me want to write something about passion and career paths and where the two sometimes diverged.

“You should be out celebrating your birthday tonight with friends. Unless . . . I promise I’m okay, Wes. I talked to someone, and you don’t have to worry about me hurting myself again.”

He looked sheepish and set my foot down after one last undulating squeeze. “I wasn’t worried.” He glanced around my apartment and scratched his jaw. “I just wanted to see you. Maybe hang out. I was thinking we’re kind of friends, right?”

“We are,” I said. Something about this sturdy, solid man looking unsure made my stomach flutter. It was okay to hang out with friends. It wasn’t completely okay to hang out with sources, but he wasn’t exactly a source. I searched his face. “So, we do this here,” I said motioning vaguely around us. “And then we do the coaching on the app. It will be kind of strange, but we won’t talk about your job.” I bit my cheek, because then I wouldn’t talk about my job, either.

“Is that . . . okay?” He looked like he was used to people turning him down. I had a hard time imagining that happened often. “It’s okay to tell me I’m out of line. We can go back to online only.”

“No, stay. As long as you keep massaging me.” I adopted a playful smile.

I was met with the briefest of flashes in his eyes before he shifted to match my expression. “I can do that.”

“That’s what I pay for, right?” Silence. For a writer, I had a keen ability to say exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time.

The mood in the room had shifted, leaving me wondering if I had imagined the flirty vibe to begin with.

Wes straightened and cleared his throat, leaning against the arm of the couch. “So, what happened with that guy? Kick him to the curb?”

“We weren’t really together,” I said, pulling my legs under me. I’d texted Ben to tell him I was in the hospital, and he’d replied with a doctor emoji.

Wes contemplated my response for a minute. “You’re not seeing him anymore, though?”

I shrugged noncommittally. “No.”

“Good. He sounds like a dick. You deserve better.”

I snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

“I’m glad you agree,” he said, shoving his hand in his pocket, which had his sleeve riding up to reveal impressive, tanned biceps. “Anyone else on deck?”

“No. My parents will try to set me up with someone back home, and I’m sure my friends here will, too. What about you?”

He shook his head without elaborating, and another moment of silence hung between us, but his tone was light when he spoke again. “You’re close with your family?”

“Yes. I have an older brother, and my sister has three boys, plus a ton of cousins, so everything is always loud and kind of sticky.”

“That sounds fun.” His voice returned to the timbre I was getting used to.

“It is.” I wrapped my arms around my legs, pulling them to my chest, the movement stretching me in a way that felt good and awful at the same time.

“Do they know you’re doing the program? Are they supportive?”

I laughed, picturing my parents. “Oh yeah. They’re kind of aggressively supportive about everything. I come from a big family of literal and figurative cheerleaders, especially about relationships. My mom will be back at full speed trying to set me up with someone from her church, or my high school boyfriend, Calvin.”