Page 60 of Home Game

“I guess I should go ahead and break the news to you now, then,” Wyatt says. I take a step back, a little nervous and also anticipating one of his usual jokes. I tilt my head and squint one eye.

“My mom’s in the kitchen. She got off early, and she’d love to meet you. Odds are high we’ll also get a lecture about safe sex, which will no doubt make both of us want to crawl into holes, but, well . . .”

“Oh . . .wow.” My mouth hangs open as I pace his room and stop at the foot of his bed so I can flop down before I pass out.

“Really, my mom is amazing. And this way you’ll recognize her at the game tonight.” He’s trying so hard to spin this as a positive.

“This isnothow I wanted to meet your mom, Wyatt. She’s going to think?—”

He steps in front of me and cups my chin, lifting my gaze to his.

“That you make me very happy. And that we are both eighteen and responsible young adults.”

“Minus the fact that one of us is now a delinquent with a two-day suspension?” My pulse races from my anxiety. It’s pushing against my eardrums and making it hard to focus.

Wyatt reaches for my hands, urging me to stand.

“When I tell her why you were suspended, I promise she’ll want to buy you dinner and celebrate. Theresa Stone has zero tolerance for bullies.” The serious look on his face sets me at ease, at least about my suspension. However, I’m still a ball of nerves about meeting his mom.

I blow out hard enough that a few stray hairs that were tickling my nose blast away from my face. I follow Wyatt out of his room, my keys, phone, and wallet clutched to my stomach, my body now sweating bullets under this Bills sweatshirt. The blunt smell of strong coffee hits my nose, but so does the alluring scent of bacon. My senses are definitely weakened, and then my gaze lands on the small woman with short dark brown hair and chocolate eyes.

“Breakfast?” She pushes a plate to the center of the table, then pulls her hands back to cradle her coffee mug in front of her. She arches a brow at Wyatt.

“Thanks, Mom,” he says, doing his best to ignore her, I think. She reaches forward as he sits down, though, and shifts the plate in my direction.

“You can make your own plate. This is for our guest.”

He laughs softly through his nose and shuts his eyes before moving into the kitchen and making himself a plate of bacon and what looks like quiche, I think.

“They’re frozen, so don’t feel guilty like I spent hours slaving in the kitchen,” she says to me. She likely noticed the way I eyed the very nice meal with curiosity.

“Thank you,” I cough out. I slide back the heavy wooden chair, squealing it along the tile. I wince and mouth, “Sorry,” but take my seat and immediately spear the egg dish with my fork. It oozes cheese, and it smells incredible. I carve out a bite and blow on it to cool.

“So, Peyton, yes?”

“Mmm hmm,” I say, nodding and glancing up as I eat my first bite. My hunch was right. This isso good.

“I’ve heard . . . a little about you. Though, I have to say, most of my conclusions are based on the fact when I grill my son for information, he turns bright red and runs away. But it’s nice to meet you. You must be special to him.”

I suck in my lips, my cheeks balling tightly with my desire to smile, but I also want to crawl under the table and hide. Hard to say which urge is winning.

“Thank you,” I say, dropping my gaze back to my plate.Thank you? Was that the right thing to say?

“I assume you will not be moving in with us, and this was a . . .rareoccurrence.”

I choke on my bite, coughing as I bring my eyes up to hers.Wyatt tried to warn me.

“Yes. I mean . . . no? I don’t know what the right answer is, but no, I’m not moving in. I had a terrible day yesterday, and?—”

Wyatt’s hand lands on my shoulder, shutting off my verbal spigot.

“She came over after practice. We know about being safe. I was a gentleman, and she needed someone to listen.” His foot slides into mine under the table, and I have a feeling it’s a warning for me not to question thatgentlemanpart. Though, he was a gentleman. I wouldn’t have felt the way I did if he weren’t.

“Okay.” His mom nods. She sips her coffee but eyes both of us over the rim. Her gaze dips briefly to the sweatshirt I’m wearing.

“She’s coming to my game tonight,” Wyatt says, pulling her attention back to him.

“Oh, yeah? Have you been before? To one of his games?”

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