Page 8 of Home Game

My stomach instantly tightens. Why? I have no clue. Maybe because of the way Bryce is trying to redirect my conversation with my dad. Or perhaps it’s because of the interaction I had with Wyatt yesterday at the car wash. Or possibly it’s the fact I have not stopped thinking about the way the ripped T-shirt stuck to his chest and stomach while he washed cars.

My dad’s quick stare washes all of those thoughts away. I’m about to be grilled. I can feel it. I shoot an annoyed look Bryce’s way, then roll my head back to face my father.

“He came in once for pancakes. I didn’t even know who he was. Bryce had to tell me. I swear you both have a crush on the guy, though. Now, I’d like to get home and ask Mom what she thinks about me spending the night with my friends in the city. If you don’t mind?” I’m pushing it with the attitude, but I refuse to be bullied into a date I don’t want to go on. And now I have leverage. My dad wants to ask me questions about Wyatt—questions I could not possibly answer but that he will ask anyway. Becausehe’s obsessed!

“Fine. If your mom agrees you can go. Bryce, you looked great out there today,” my dad says, patting my ex-boyfriend on the chest twice to placate his need for constant praise.

“Thanks, Coach. Just doing my job,” Bryce says, stepping into my path after my dad’s back is turned. His breath is hot against my bare shoulder as his chin lifts and his eyes meet mine. More moves that would have affected me differently a year ago.

“Text me later. Maybe I’ll drive up too,” he suggests, his eyes lingering on mine, waiting. I hold his stare for a full second before a sharp laugh slips out and my mouth hangs open.

“Yeah, okay.”

Bryce backs away with a careful smirk on his face, his tongue caught in his front teeth. It’s cute—he’s cute. He’s also arrogantand annoying. And has zero sense of sarcasm. There’s no chance I’m texting him anything.

I get to the Jeep before my father, who gets caught talking with a few of his players on the sideline. I turn the engine on so I can blast the air at my face. This area is an inferno until well into October. I shoot my mom a text to prep her for my request to go into the city with my friends.

ME:Dad is trying to push me into a date with Bryce tonight. Lexi and Tasha are going into the city. Tasha’s mom got a suite. I said I would ask you if I could go. Please, Mom. I’m begging.

I can tell she sees my message right away, but the dots that indicate she’s answering disappear and reappear about a dozen times before my dad gets to the Jeep and ushers me out of the driver’s seat so he can drive. My phone vibrates with my mom’s response as soon as I climb into the passenger side.

MOM:You can go. But be responsible. You know that you get attention, and you don’t want the wrong kind.

I sink back into my seat with relief and turn to my dad.

“Mom said yes,” I say, holding up my phone screen to face him for proof. My dad shakes his head and blinks rapidly, no doubt shocked that I got her permission. He doesn’t know about my conversations with Mom about Bryce, though. At least, I don’t think my mom has shared them with him yet. I am certain that’s the only reason she’s loosening her rules. My mom might be strict, but she is also incredibly sympathetic to the plight of her teenage daughter.

“And she knows it’s Tasha?” My dad is throwing out a Hail Mary. Tasha is a lot like my Aunt Sarah, always up for a party, and definitely attracted to the wild side.

I nod, leaving my dad to huff out a short laugh in disbelief. His eyebrows rise as he shakes his head.

“Huh. Didn’t see that coming, but okay,” he says, shifting the gear into reverse and peeling us backward in the school lot.

I grab the handle as the Jeep jerks forward and the familiar smile inches up my face. My dad flies from the parking lot and crosses the paved road to take to the small stretch of open desert next to campus. I howl with laughter as the tires kick up dust and spit bits of rock in our wake while my dad twists and turns over the rugged land. It’s a silly joy ride he’s been taking me on since I was a kid, a lot safer than the off-roading he does with Uncle Jason and some of their friends. It’s a good thrill though, and he ends it the same way he always does, with a perfectly timed fishtail that adds dirt to the berm he’s been creating on this open land for years. We own it, and I doubt anything will ever be built here as long as my dad can drive this Jeep.

I brush the stray hairs from my face as my dad and I idle amidst brush-covered mounds. We laugh like kids until my dad shifts back into drive and weaves us toward the main road home. He doesn’t broach the topic of Wyatt until we’re halfway there. But I am ready. I knew it was coming.

“So . . . you know Wyatt.”

I laugh at his poor attempt to segue.

“I have to ask, Peyt. I mean, you didn’t tell me you met him. Did he slide into your DMs or?—”

“Ugh! Dad, no! And don’t say things like that. It’s . . . creepy. People don’t say that anymore.” Heat crawls up my neck and into my cheeks. This conversation is going to kill me.

“Hey, I see the memes. I know sliding into DMs is a thing,” he argues.

I flatten my palms over my face and growl.

“It’s notreallya thing you say—except in memes!” I drop my palms to my lap and glare at him.

He holds up a palm.

“Okay, fine. I get it. So he didn’t hit you up on social media. Then, how did you meet?” My dad’s hands grip the steeringwheel. Of all people for the universe to literallythrowinto my life this week, it had to be Wyatt Stone.

“It’s like Bryce said, Dad. He came in for pancakes. Once. A couple nights ago. He said something about finishing moving into his family’s house. I didn’t even know who he was until Bryce walked in and told me. That’s it.”

And really, that is. Of course, then there was the car wash altercation, when apparently Wyatt figured out whoIwas. After which I drove through a median, taking out a lot of nice landscaping just to get away.Peyton Johnson, always up for a grand exit.I think I’ll leave that part out.

---